> Along New Tides
>  by Merchant Mariner
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue : West Hinder
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The twenty-third of May 2015 marked the end of humanity as we know it and the beginning of what is now called the post-Event era in the western world (Disappearance as it is called in East Asia). What followed immediately after the Disappearance is a 100-year period which local historians have chosen to name the “scavenging century” in which the people who were the earliest to reappear tasked themselves with rebuilding civilization out of the bones of humanity. This period is usually considered of importance because of how it is seen as the time period during which most of the new nations formed themselves and established their power base, despite this also being the time period during which the world was the least populated by a wide margin. Estimations rate the global population anywhere from a measly 20.000 to 100.000 (all species considered, without expeditionary forces) by the end of June 2015.

This production intends to relate the events of the Disappearance and the creation of the World Seafarer Union, which is often considered the bonding agent of early post-Disappearance civilization and by far the group with the most capabilities in this day and age (save for the HPI, obviously). The reader should however be advised that the WSU shares strong ties with said HPI, often carrying out missions in their name and keeping a continuous cooperation in the fields of intelligence, high tech trade and data recovery activities. Said cooperation hasn’t always be looked upon kindly by populations which do not harbor a lot of former humans.

The unenlightened reader will be happy to learn that even now, 500 years after the cataclysm, we can still trace most of our international groups and maritime organisations back to the efforts of the WSU. A lot of it can even be thanked to precursor groups back before the Disappearance, responsible for building and setting up much of the infrastructure used by the WSU. Praise the IMO.

An extract from Griffon historian Fleetwing’s Impact of the Event on the Maritime Industry, Imperial University of Beijing, 512AE (master thesis, controversial, translated from Mandarin).

  North Sea, 23rd May 2015, anchoring station « West Hinder ».

It was almost a moonless night out on the North Sea, not that anyone would have noticed with the large cloud cover looming above the sea. A light drizzle was falling, but despite that the weather was relatively quiet. If previsions were to be trusted, that weather would keep going for the rest of the week.

Saying today had been a busy day would have been an utter lie for the mismatched crew of M/V Amandine but it wasn’t something any of them felt like complaining about. For the past month and a half, they had been busily sailing their fairly sized car carrier all over the North Sea, dropping off trucks and cars here and there along the shorelines. Now, they were at long last free to enjoy a couple quiet days at anchor in front of the port of Zeebrugge before the beginning of their next assignment. All inspections were done, all publications updated dutifully and the paintwork couldn’t be in a more pristine state.

The ship was a white and grey roll-on/roll-off vessel with a large superstructure at the back, a semi-protected deck onto which they usually loaded trucks and trailers, and a pair of ramps on either sides of the vessel to go with the bigger stern ramp. She had a bright yellow stripe running around the surface of the superstructure, along with the logo of the ship's owner painted on her single yellow funnel, on the port side of the superstructure. The ship, being unloaded except for a sparse amount of ballast and her fuel reserves, had quite a large freeboard. Furthermore, not being designed to carry passengers meant that she had a tendency to roll that would make most people queasy. The bridge's clock showed midnight and all her deck lights were on. A lone crewman was smoking on the main deck, but most his shipmates had already regained their cabins for the night.

As usual since he had begun working on that ship, Third Officer Vadim was taking charge of the first watch, which, considering they were lying at anchor, was nothing but an excruciatingly boring affair. After wishing a good night's rest to his colleague and friend, Micha, a Pole and Amandine’s Second Officer, the 26-year old Ukrainian grabbed himself a large mug of coffee and set about double checking the folder in which they kept all of the ship’s pre-planned routes. Not really a necessary process, but the Chief Officer was always adamant about fine tuning and optimizing their routes, or adding little details and subtleties that made their voyages easier. After all, anything you don't have to do later on is time you've gained to catch up on sleep, and oh boy was that in short supply in the industry.

Coffee thankfully wasn't, Vadim thought to himself as he downed his first mug and poured himself a refill. He was exhausted, having barely managed to sneak in six hours of sleep in the last three days. Still, job's gotta be done and slacking off is a deathwish at sea.

This state of affairs kept on for about an hour of leafing through the folder and giving periodic looks at the instrument panels before fatigue began to set in for the young man. Grumbling, he filled in the first part of the logbook for the night and went to the back of the bridge to get himself yet another mug of coffee.

Being the youngest officer of the ship, Vadim didn’t have the more rugged look of the other crewmen yet but he did carry himself with a certain assurance. He was a 1m74-tall male of Slavic descent, which was quite clear in his round face and dark brown hair and eyes. He wore his hair very short with a thick mustache –not what he’d prefer, but per order of the Captain it was the only authorised type of facial pilosity, so that they all could make use of breathing apparatuses in case of a fire-. He wore orange high visibility coveralls with the initials of the company on his back, ankle-high safety shoes and an old black faux-leather jacket in which he liked to keep his cigarettes. Right now, he had a bit of a limp due to a fall he’d had earlier that day in the mess hall (because of this he also sported a bandage around his knee and a tablet of painkillers to go with the cigs in his jacket) and he had the beginning of bags developing under his eyes.

As he took the first sip of his new cup, Vadim heard a crackle of static over the radio and what he thought was an announcement of sorts. He made his way over to the radio station and pressed the replay button on the VHF panel. The system replayed the message and out came a short burst of static followed by a garbled message... sounded like Dutch to him but he didn’t speak the language so he just shrugged and assumed it wasn’t meant for Amandine and went back to his oh so important and fascinating task of monitoring an unmoving and unloaded vessel.

Seconds later, before he even had the time to contemplate how bad the coffee tasted, the radio came to life once more. This time it was a longer burst of static which came from the short wave receiver. It wouldn’t have mattered much if that hadn’t been followed by another bout of static on the long waves, then another via VHF, and another... Soon, all of the radio equipment was crackling with an unending stream of static. He leaned over the equipment and tried to figure out was the hell was up with the radio but the problem ceased as fast as it had appeared.

Vadim scratched his hair in bewilderment and walked outside, coffee in hand to check if anyone was on the roof of the bridge messing with antennas – Carlos from engineering did love to mess around with the ship’s electronics so it wasn’t that far out of left field- but there was no one there and the antennas looked fine. He wrote a note next to the radio station about the incident so as not to forget to look into it the next day –he didn’t feel like waking anyone up over some meaningless static, however weird it may seem-.

But just as he stuck the post-it note to the radio station and moved back to pick up his coffee, he spotted a pink flash out of the windows of the bridge, followed shortly by an electric crackle that lasted a couple seconds.

Completely forgetting his coffee, he ran to one of the bridge wings to investigate. Just as he stepped out, he spotted the sky flashing a bright pink, once, twice, thrice, and then the electric crackle followed yet again.

Vadim thought about warning the captain and reached for the interphone, but before he could type the right number, the sky flashed but like a stroboscope this time. A coppery taste filled his mouth as a stronger crackling sound rang out, louder than ever. Dropping the handset and pressing his hands against his ears to block it out, Vadim gave the sky one last look. It was shining with all colours of the rainbow. Shortly after, he whited out, unaware of the significant turn his life, and that of the entire world were about to take.

Elsewhere in the aether, forces long left dormant stirred.
> Chapter 1: A Shocking Awakening
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vadim awoke to the sound of the bridge's alarm, the one tool that was supposed to ensure no Officer would fall asleep during their watch. Apparently that worked out poorly this time, though for the life of him he couldn’t recall how he wound up lying on the ground in the middle of the bridge.

The ship rolled and an empty mug slid lazily in front of his eyes. Oh yeah, he was sipping his coffee when he was knocked out by the mother of all electric storms or something. He remembered some sort of pink lights before blacking out.

The ship rolled to the other side and the discarded mug crossed his vision again. With his mind still a bit hazy, Vadim followed the object with his gaze. It came to a rest at the foot of the door that led to the port bridge wing. He saw a slightly overcast but well-lit sky outside.

Wait a second.

Well-lit.

And he had the first watch.

The alarm rang again and Vadim practically bolted upright, only to stumble and catch himself on a console with his hands when his feet failed him. He slammed a palm against the alarm's reset button and froze.

Pressed against the button was something that certainly didn’t look like his hand. First off it the colour was wrong. The appendage was covered in a matte yellow layer of slightly scaly skin. The fingers, one less than on a human hand, were arranged differently with the “thumb” further away from the rest of the fingers, each ending in a wickedly sharp talon.

The young slav's eyes followed the limb upward, a yellowish scaly hide covering his arm up to the elbow at which point the scales were replaced with dark frey feathers. The grey was only broken up by the bright orange of his coveralls’ sleeve somewhere above the elbow where he had folded it. Looking behind him, he spotted his discarded jacket on the spot where he’d fallen seconds ago.

Looking back like he did allowed him to spot a flicker of brown in the corner of his vision. He attempted to turn around to follow the object but the moment he let go of the console he was leaning on he lost his balance and once again got acquainted with the floor. Landing on his back sent a sharp jolt of pain coming from two bulges in the middle of his back. Vadim instinctively let out what sounded like an irritated growl and grit his teeth.

This seemingly harmless act brought its own set of problems because he now noticed that his arm wasn’t the only body part affected by whatever it was that caused him to grow claws and lose some fingers: right in the middle of his vision (which, by the way, now appeared oddly sharp and with a wider field of vision) protruded a matte yellow object.

He brought up his hand to feel it, and lo and behold, it was a beak. The sharp and slightly curved appendage –like a falcon's, he could feel the notorious tooth shaped indentation- poked out of the middle of his face. It looked like he would need a mirror later on, he noted numbly.

Vadim slowly crawled backwards and used the console he leaned on to prop up his torso. Once he felt himslef stable, he took a long look at the rest of his body.

Even through his clothing, he could easily spot how misshapen he now was : the way his shoes bent and the pain in his feet made it very clear he would need a new pair. The shape of his hips was all wrong, and his legs looked shorter as well. This had the effect of making his coveralls look a couple sizes too big for him.

And then there was the tail. Covered in light brown fur and ending in a darker, almost black tone of colour, it poked out of the rear of his clothing, having torn a hole in the seat of the coveralls.

He could also spot some grey downy feathers spilling out of his collar.

Worst of all, the two bulges Vadim had felt on either side of his back when he fell were visibly straining the fabric of his coveralls.

All in all the poor Ukrainian was pretty weirded out by what happened to him, understandably.

“What the fuck is this...” He muttered somberly in Ukrainian. The more alarming part of this all was that the sky was clearly indicating that it was at least early morning, yet no one had come to the bridge to wake him up in the meantime, allowing him to merrily snooze on duty for a couple hours. Logically the bridge's alarm should have at least warned someone when he failed to reset it on time.

Except that, even more bizarre (as if that wasn’t enough already), the bridge's clock indicated that it was 01.30, meaning that he was only out for a couple minutes (not that it was any better) instead of a couple hours. It didn't appear to be damaged either.

Crawling back to the radio station, he quickly checked on the navtex to see if the ship had received any of the periodical automated messages, but no, there was nothing in the message log except for messages they had received prior to the electrical storm. This couldn’t be a fault in the system, the Captain himself had programmed the weather stations into the bloody thing and the antennas had been inspected two days before the event. Still, there should be a new forecast in the log.

Confusion growing by the minute, Vadim walked over to the electronic chart display. Or rather: he attempted to. The moment he let go of the console he was leaning on, he once again got a faceful of the flooring. He let out an exasperated sigh and gave an annoyed glare at his own misshapen legs.

All while keeping his eyes locked onto his rear; he twisted himself so that he was lying on his side and tried moving his leg and foot. First came the foot, which bore a similar connection to his leg as it was before, so no problem there save for the continuous discomfort he was getting from within his shoes.

Step number two: trying out the knee. There, he noticed a slight problem as his knee felt much closer to his hip than it had any right to be. The range of motion, however, stayed similar to that of a human knee.

The last step turned out to be the real problem because if he could probably overcome the higher position of the knees; the range of motion of his new hip prevented him outright from walking on two legs. He simply couldn’t move it far enough backwards. He could probably manage to stand up relatively normally if he could figure out how to balance which ought to be doable, but the hip structure prevented him from taking any significant step without leaning forward so much that he’d fall. Whatever he’d turned into definitely was some kind of quadruped species. 

Resigning himself to stick with the four-leg drive option for now (which came with no small amount of internal mantras to prevent himself from collapsing into complete misery), Vadim shakily hoisted himself onto his four brand new limbs. The position wasn’t very stable but it was a definite improvement over trying to walk upright. Still, from that height he could barely peek over the consoles that bore the navigation instruments, being halfway as tall as a human.

He shook his head in annoyance and centered himself once again. First off, figure out what the hell happened and what was wrong with the clock and the sky, only then would he let himself fall into self-pity. He slowly but surely began walking toward his original objective: the electronic chart display, which would tell him a number of things about the ship and hopefully yield some answers. Vadim kept a close focus on the order of legs as he walked, front left, rear right, front right, rear left, one at a time. “Kiddy steps” He muttered to himself “One at a time, learn to walk before you learn to run like they say”.

The mantra didn’t stop him from falling over once, letting out a loud “Kurwa” in passing (so what?, he lived in Poland, of course he’d pick up some of the local profanities), but he did make it to the console. Thankfully for him, the console was right beside the navigator’s seat so he just lifted himself up by grabbing an armrest and secured himself firmly in place. The position wasn’t comfortable because of the tail and the protrusions in his back, but he was at least in a position from which he could achieve something.

He gave a gentle tap on the keyboard with one of his talons (he would have to be careful with those, they looked kinda sharp) and the screen sprung to life. A quick survey of the screen’s contents allowed him to better assess the situation: the ship had barely moved during the time he had been out. Amandine was completing a lazy circle around her anchor, still safely secured to the ground if the tension on the chain was anything to go by.

Yet some information was still puzzling him: while the ship’s digital clock indicated that it was indeed a little past 01.30, the time check he was getting from the GPS satellites was telling him it was about nine in the morning. Adding to that was the fact that the direction of the current had suddenly reversed (not a problem to the safety of the ship by itself but it shouldn’t be occurring in the first place, the tide was supposed to swing around by dawn that day).

All these problems with the time however, were but a fickle when Vadim gave a second hard glance at the electronic chart in front of him. Usually in this part of the world the chart would be showing him a large number of green arrows moving about, the symbol being a representation of other ships observed with the instruments, be they from the radar or the radio transponder.

There were no such symbols on the chart. The only transponder data they were receiving was coming from buoys marking some sandbanks in their vicinity.

Vadim double checked his findings by casting a glance at the radar; maybe the link with the chart was defective or something else. But no: none of the radar antennas were spotting any vessel in the vicinity, not even the trademark pilot vessel that ought to be anchored in visual range of them. In fact, of the fifty something vessels anchored in the area, a lot of which could easily be seen from the bridge earlier, all of them had mysteriously disappeared. The only things present around the ship at the moment were a couple buoys and some offshore wind farms far off in the distance.

The Ukrainian was in deep thought, trying to fit all pieces in a puzzle that didn’t make much sense. By force of habit he began to rub his temples with the tip of his fingers but hissed in pain when his sharp claws almost pierced his skin. Another habit he would have to be mindful of until he solved his feather problem (which had to be linked with the navigational conundrum he was facing, not that he knew in which manner). Vadim resumed the motion, but this time with his knuckles, feeling less like rubbing the tip of a knife against his skull.

Now to the matter at hand, one more time.

First off, the radio picks up some static on a seemingly random set of wavelengths.

Second, big bright pink electromagnetic storm knocks him out. The time at which the event occurred was 01.23 according to both the GPS time and the ship’s clocks from what he remembered.

Third, he wakes up to the sound of the bridge alarm. Ship time was 01.30 but the outdoor lighting was indicative of morning. What did the GPS time tell him then? 09.03.

Vadim grabbed a pen from a drawer and began to write it all down on the back of an old navigational note. Having to write with knives for hands and with one less digit barely made him better than a doctor, but as long as it could be read he didn't mind.

Next up, the ship didn’t receive any of the periodical navtex messages and neither Alejandro (the Chief Officer) nor Micha came to take their watch. And he only heard the bridge alarm once knowing it starts beeping every 15 minutes if he doesn’t reset it.

Just in case he pressed the alarm's button.

So that leads him to the conclusion that the ship had, somehow, jumped seven and a half hours into the future. This was further supported by the current being different from when he had last checked it. It didn't match the predicted current for 01.30, but it did for 09.00.

Didn’t explain the anchorage being deserted though.

Nor him turning into some bizarre kind of quadruped creature.

From where he was looking at his notes, Vadim’s gaze strayed ever so slightly to the side and met the control console for the interphone. The item that was generally used to contact the Captain or the engine room whenever necessary.

The current situationcertainly called for it.

But how would he react to his third officer having a beak and feathers? Vadim spent a good five minutes weighing in the pros and the cons. On one side the Captain deserved to know about the incident and Vadim couldn’t possibly be blamed for it, but on the other hand he was uncertain on how to explain to an experienced mariner that his ship had managed the feat of travelling through time.

Vadim’s hand (or claw as probably should start calling it) hovered over the handset for a few seconds, was he really ready to take the leap?

He grabbed the phone.
> Chapter 2: Captain on Deck
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vadim breathed out slowly, phone in hand. He would need to remain calm to explain the situation, a thing which was becoming increasingly harder the more he pushed his current form to the side.

With a touch of his claw, the quick call button for the captain’s quarters was pressed and he heard the phone begin beeping. He pressed the handset against his head, a bit more forcefully than needed. He noticed in passing how the sides of his head, too, were covered in a thick layer of down.

The phone rang, and Vadim waited. Time seemed to slow down as the officer waited for the ship’s master to answer. Finally, after a good thirty seconds, someone picked up on the other end of the line. He spoke up.

“Hello captain, this is the officer of the watch on the bridge. It’s nine o’clock in the morning, we are at anchor and there is no traffic. We have a situation.”

Vadim waited a couple dozen seconds, patiently awaiting an answer from the captain. The elderly Indian captain was usually much more diligent in answering any call from the bridge regardless of the hour, but all he could hear on the horn was some ragged breathing.

Before he could contemplate dropping the call, the captain finally spoke up with his telltale Indian accent.

“This is the captain. Can you repeat what is the problem?”  The voice came slowly but the captain oddly didn’t sound tired. It sounded like he was cautious, maybe a bit alarmed.

“Sir, we are still at anchor, but there was some meteorological anomaly. Instruments are giving strange readings and...” Vadim hesitated. “There is more sir, something happened, I don’t think I can explain on the phone, can you come up to the bridge?” 

There were a few more seconds before the line lit up with the captain’s voice.

“Vadim, I must know, are you, you?

“Sir, can you elaborate the question?” Even if he had an inkling of where the conversation was going.

“What I mean is, did something... abnormal happen to you?” There was a cautious edge in the tone of his voice.

Vadim hesitated again, should he come clear now? How much should he let on now on the phone? After another brief moment, he mustered another burst of his quickly diminishing reserve of courage.

“Yes sir.” He answered curtly. 

“I am coming.” The captain answered, immediately getting off the phone.

Vadim dropped the phone. Now, he had seconds before being confronted in his bizarre status. What should he do? What would the captain think when he saw him like that?

Because, honestly, how do you explain to your boss that you just dropped dead an instant and the next you were some furry, feathery kind of beast? That’s not the kind of situation they train you for in simulators, at least not those in maritime academies.

The transformed Ukrainian elected to just stay seated for now and browsed the surroundings of the vessel on the chart, taking a particular interest in the nearby ports, particularly Zeebrugge, which was in the range of their transponder system. Even there, there wasn’t a single ship emitting inside the port, not even in the marina.

After a couple minutes, much longer than usual for the captain to get to the bridge, Vadim heard someone walking up the stairs that lead to the bridge. He didn’t dare turn around.

He heard someone work the mechanism of the heavy duty door a couple of meters behind him. Vadim gripped the edges of the console with both his claws. He could hear his heart beating at a rapid pace. His throat felt constricted.

The door opened and closed, but he still couldn’t get himself to even look back towards it. This was now or never, either the captain accepted the situation and all was fine or... he would see him like some savage animal and have him thrown overboard... or worse, his mind raced.

“Officer Zinovyia, situation report.” The captain’s voice rang out, though lacking its usual firmness and confidence.

Vadim finally got himself to turn around. And he gaped at the sight that awaited him. Right next to the door, was a large bipedal dog, standing with its arms crossed and wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a white shirt (visibly outstretched by the creatures’ bulk) which left little doubt as to whom it actually belonged considering the ranks of captain were displayed for all to see on its shoulders.

The “dog” was a bit shorter than a normal human would be, but that lack of size was widely compensated by its bulk that would make all save the most muscular humans look like wimps. It had short bronze coloured fur, with a lighter tan tone in certain areas like the neck and inner limbs. A visible lump in the back of its pants indicated that it did have a tail. Facially, it had a short muzzle than jutted out slightly in front of its face. On the sides of the muzzle were some shaggy bits of fur that looked like a moustache. The rest of its face looked like a mix of human and canine features, with the eyes being definitely human. Two large mobiles ears poked out of the top of its head, each with a tuft of fur at its base.

The creature was bare-footed, standing on the ball of its feet. The legs were noticeably shorter than a human, but its bulky arms on the other hand, were longer. Vadim spotted a golden watch wrapped around its left wrist, which he recognised as the captain’s (who had once boasted about its acquisition after a long stay in port in the Netherlands). At last, he finished inspecting the unknown but no quite unidentified being by taking note that its fingers, a bit shorter than those of a human, bore some stubby claws at their tips.

“Captain?” Vadim asked with a tremor of doubt in his voice.

The dog gave him a firm nod and walked up silently to the central console next to Vadim. He then sat down in the captain’s chair on Vadim’s side, still in complete silence.

“You know, if it weren’t for the jacket I wouldn’t have recognised you Vadim.” The captain spoke up quietly.

“You seem oddly calm about it sir. I would have thought you’d be more alarmed to wake up like this, which if I may say I didn’t expect.”

“I could give you the same remark.”

“Just stuffing it away for later sir, can’t afford to have a panic attack on the bridge like you always say.”

“And you will get your chance to fall apart once your watch is done. But I gather that you called me because of you... feather issue, correct?”

Vadim leaned back in his seat and turned his head away the captain and towards the chart screen. No other significant change had occurred since he had last checked it.

“Actually captain, that is not exactly why I called. Both issues are probably linked, but I can’t see how yet.” He waved a claw around, indicating the well lit windows of the bridge. “Do you notice anything out of place sir?”

The captain raised an eyebrow at that, an odd sight on the doglike face. He stared out to the horizon and suddenly appeared confused.

“It’s in the morning like you said on the phone. Nine o’clock as you said. Normally it should be Micha’s watch now unless you switched with him. Hold on a second.” The captain gaze a more attentive glance around. “Why isn’t there any ship around?”

“That’s the trouble sir; I didn’t switch watch with Micha. In fact, I still have two hours to go before the end of my watch.” Vadim pointed to the bridge clock behind the helm. “In fact, according to the ship’s time, it’s now two in the morning. But...” At that, he pointed a claw at the chart screen. “The GPS time check says that it’s actually past nine o’clock and the current pushing the ship right now corroborates that fact.”

The captain frowned, and stared cautiously at Vadim now.

“What is it you’re getting at now?”

“Well, the bridge recorder should support what I’m saying, but at about 01.25 today, there was some kind of magnetic storm, an anomaly of some kind, never seen anything like that before.” He gestured vaguely towards the radio console. “The antennas started to pick up some static on all waves. Started with the VHF, and ended with the lower frequencies. Weird thing is, the filter didn’t block it out. I went to check the antennas, which were fine by the way, and there was about 20 seconds give or take before the sky started to flash pink a couple times. There was an electric crackle too, sounded like someone was doing some arc-welding on the monkey bridge, but louder even.”

“And what happened after?”

“I blacked out sir. Woke up to the sound of the bridge alarm, it was about three minutes later. No trace of the anomaly, but no traces of any ship around us either, not even a single sailboat. And of course I had a beak too.” He punctuated the sentence by flicking the tip of his beak with his beak. Bad idea, he cringed, the sensation felt like tapping cutlery against your teeth.

The master gave him an odd look at the gesture but caught himself with a shake of his head. He asked Vadim if they had received any of the automated messages or if he had detected any radio chatter, both of which were a sound negative. 

“For all I know sir, all conclusions seems to lead to the fact that we... well we moved ahead in time. That about the only thing I could draw a conclusion on, not that I would any idea about the “how”, or about the fact that moving ahead in time makes ships disappear and their crew turn into animals.” He halted himself. “Even drunk off my mind on the strongest kind of booze I couldn’t come up with that sort of bullshit.” He muttered.

“And I agree that if I weren’t a talking dog now right now, I’d have you pissing in a cup. Unfortunately, I can’t really say time travelling is the least believable thing at the moment. That and you’ve got the fact that Alejandro didn’t come to take your watch to back you up.”

“Hold on a second. I bring you all my arguments to support my point, and you choose to believe me not because of those, but because Alejandro wouldn’t miss his watch?” Vadim asked incredulously.

“Exactly.” The captain simply answered.

“Well, I did see him crawl his way to the bridge with 40 degrees of temperature once so I can’t exactly say you’re wrong but still, talk about trust sir, sheesh.” Vadim complained.

His only answer to that was a chuckle from the captain.

“Just pulling your leg there and quit calling me sir, that’s for the navy guys, we’re not military. Just call me by my name.”

“Dilip, then?” The captain nodded. “Alright, I just prefer sticking to procedure in situations like that if you understand. But now that it’s settled, what do we do?”

“First off, I’m gonna assume that everyone on board suffered the same fate as us. Seems like the most logical assumption, if there is any logic to this to begin with. Grab the mike for the PA system; I want to make an announcement. Wake everyone up and gather them behind the bridge so we can make a list of who’s what.”

Vadim pulled out said mike from a drawer under his seat and passed it to the captain, who plugged it in a socket on his station.

“Thinking of it now, before I make the announcement, I want you to stay on the bridge. You can listen in to what goes on from here, but we’re still at sea so you keep on with the anchor watch, got it?”

“Understood. Do you want a name list?”

“Yes please, and add a blank column so that I can write down what each person has turned into.”

“Here’s hoping that everyone has turned into something practical.” Vadim added, beginning to unstrap himself from his seat.

“What do you mean Vadim?”

“What I mean is you’re lucky you can walk. I tried getting up after the event, and it feels like I’m a quadruped now. Who knows how bad it can get, I just hope nobody winds up turned into something too inconvenient.” At the end of his sentence, he let himself fall off the side of his seat. He inelegantly stood up on shaky limbs. “I can stand if I find something to lean on, probably could do it without if I can get some training. Moving however? I tried out my legs and walking on two legs is outright impossible.” Then, he went to another side of the bridge where there was a computer and a printer in a corner next to the paper chart table. His pace was, of course, excruciatingly slow. “Now, just let me pull up the right excel sheet and you will have your list in a minute.”

Dilip looked at him quizzically; Vadim’s gait looked more like it belonged to a wounded horse than to his third officer.

“You sure you will be alright there? ‘cause you don’t look like you are.”

Vadim waved a claw dismissively, and then hoisted himself up with both claws to the computer station.

“Like I said earlier, I will just bottle it up for now, do my work, and finish my watch.” He gave the elder seafarer a pointed look. “Afterwards however, I feel like I may need a couple hours in my cabin and a bottle of vodka. Emotional breakdowns, those I only do in a dark corner on my own if you don’t mind.”

“As long as you’re sober by your next watch I won’t mind. I might need the same thing actually... not with vodka though.”

“Aye aye cap’ain.” Vadim booted up the computer. “Just a reminder, crew list, that’s in damage control procedure folder?”

“That’s the old one, take the one from the abandon ship folder instead, Alejandro updated it last week.” Dilip paused. “Avoid using that of the company, too cluttered, can’t do anything with it.”

“Will do, thanks.” Vadim said as he set to work.

On his side of the bridge, Dilip was trying to come up with what to tell on the PA. He tried to pinch his nose in frustration but instead gave himself a scratch on the upper side of his newly acquired muzzle.

Might as well go for it and make it up as he goes he told himself. Regardless of what he said someone would panic anyway. He pushed the button on the mike.

“Attention, attention, attention, all crewmembers.” He paused for three seconds. “This is captain Prateek, repeat, this is  captain Prateek, be advised: the ship suffered from an unknown phenomenon. All crewmembers must report to the muster station on deck A, behind the bridge. The ship is not in danger; do not bring fire fighting equipment or life saving appliances.” Dilip stopped briefly to figure out how to continue. “Do not be alarmed if you are experiencing any... unprecedented change. Make your way to muster station 1 on deck A, do not panic, the situation will be... explained once the crew is assembled. Out.”

Dilip leaned back in his seat, feeling the touch of fur against his seat’s soft leather. Then he heard a small laugh behind it. He turned around.

“What?”

Vadim shook his head with a small smile on his beak (which made Dilip wonder how he could even do that, wasn’t a beak supposed to be hard? How could he even bend it to show facial expression was beyond him).

“It’s just... ‘do not be alarmed of any unprecedented change?’ For a moment it sounded like you were talking to pre-teens about puberty. I’m sorry, just trying to make light of a bad situation, not dissing your ability to give speeches.” 

“You really are running short on nerves aren’t you? Don’t worry, no offense taken, but please work on that sense of humour.”

“Wilco to that.” Vadim fiddled a bit with the mouse on his computer. “Printing your list right now by the way.”

Suddenly, they both head an incredibly loud scream, followed by a disturbingly long succession of expletives in Russian.

“Someone’s angry...” Dilip commented.

“Meh, if I’m right and it’s Artyom, then that’s not even close to his best.” Vadim added. “You should have heard him scream at random machinery back on the Undine. Eh, this time he sounds genuinely pissed at least.”

“I’m starting to regret waking everyone at once...” The Indian muttered.

“Could be worse. I regret waking up to that shitfest at all. Still, better get ready captain, you’ve got an audience coming.”

“Watch the sarcasm boy, that was out of line.” The captain glared at his officer, who had the presence of mind to straighten up.

“Excuses sir, won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, it’d better not.” Dilip said, standing up and walking in the direction of the door that led outside to the back of the bridge, grabbing his list from the printer’s tray in passing. “While you’re keeping watch and I’m busy, try downloading the feed from the security cameras, I want to take a look at it later on. Priority to the outer cameras, got it?”

“Understood sir, good luck.”
> Chapter 3: Who's What.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dilip slowly walked through the backdoor of the bridge, getting a fresh breath of sea air in passing. The drizzle that had plagued the skies for the past two days had finally stopped, but the air was still heavy in humidity and pressure, indicating that more rain awaited them sooner or later. The deck’s dark anti-slip flooring was littered with small puddles glistening in the light of the morning sun. A reassuring rumble could be felt coming from the generators, a sign that the ship was still very much alive despite being at anchor.

A small breeze from the North-East rustled Dilip’s fur but he didn’t feel cold, his newly acquired fur making a good job of protecting him from the elements. Far off in the distance, he could see the offshore wind farms, barely visible due to a thin bank of mist above the surface. He walked over to the edge of the deck, where there was an orange post with a sign saying “muster station” and a tube in which they stored the fire plan. He leaned over and rested his weight on the barrier, overlooking all lower decks behind the castle from where he was. He would be able to spot the crewmembers as they came from this position.

With a wince he began to massage his foot with a hand. Walking barefooted was a bad idea on a ship and coming from him it set a bad precedent as the captain, but he couldn’t fit any of his shoes over the now deformed appendages, they were too different from a human’s feet. Sure they seemed sort of tough, but that wouldn’t be sufficient in an industrial environment where there were many things that could crush or slice them; hence why he would have to spare some time later to jury-rig a pair of safety shoes, that and enlarge the collar on his shirts too among other things. He suddenly got an idea and turned around in the direction of the bridge.

“Vadim, if you find the time and you’ve got a satellite connection, try to compile a list of sewing shops along the coast, with locations and directions from the closest sea port. We might, pardon, we will need those later on, got it?”

He heard a muted “Roger captain” coming from inside the wheel house. That was enough for him and he turned around again. Bringing out the crew list from his pocket, he quickly perused the thing. 25 crewmen and 16 different nationalities on board. Everyone had a good knowledge of English but still, Dilip wondered what HR had been thinking when they gave out assignments at the company office. Probably some twat got some ideas about diversity in his head, he mused. 

With a pen, he wrote down two entries in the column Vadim had added, “Species”. Next to his name, he wrote “bipedal dog” and next to Vadim’s, he wrote “quadruped bird man”. Not the most imaginative name, but now was not the time for penmanship.

As he finished writing that, he heard a door open two decks below him, on the side of the officer’s berthing. He peered down curiously but reeled back when out of the door came a giant parrot.

The creature had a humanoid stance, not unlike his own new form, but the similarities stopped there.  It stood slightly shorter than a human if you didn’t count the large crest of feather on the top of its head. It looked a bit burly and had a tail of feathers extending half its height behind him. Its beak was quite large, in the typical shape of those found on macaw species but its eyes were facing forward instead of on the sides of its head (they were distinctly human, much like his own). On the sides of its head were two large ears covered in down, unlike what you’d expect on a bird.

Also uncharacteristic of birds were that it had arms instead of wings. Both handing in claw-like hands similar to those Vadim found himself saddled with, and also identical in shape to its feet, which were bare for this particular individual. It had a deep blue plumage with hints of yellow around its eyes and beak. The scales on its hands and feet were a dark shade of grey, reaching up to its elbows and knees respectively.

The creature was wearing the standard orange high-vis coveralls the company provided the crew, with its sleeves rolled up. It was also wearing a pair of aviator glasses, which were resting on its forehead. More interesting for Vadim were the epaulettes on the coveralls, indicating that the being was in fact Chief Officer Mendoza, or Alejandro as the other officers called him.

The aforementioned person looked up and spotted his superior peering down at him. Looking up as he did made him more aware of the sun’s current status. He looked around him this way and that for a moment, and then stared again at the captain for a few seconds, this time with a very bewildered look upon his features.

Dilip didn’t bother addressing him just yet, not particularly willing to hold a discussion with someone two decks below him. He took out his list and wrote down ‘Giant parrot’ next to Alejandro’s name.

Said Spaniard conveniently reached the top of the stairs as he was pocketing his list. Dilip elected to speak up before the parrot (who was currently levelling a fierce glare at him for no apparent reason) could bombard him in question.

“Alejandro I presume?” The bird guy just nodded and Dilip continued. “Brief explanation before the rest of the crew arrives. One, we apparently travelled through time, so you didn’t miss your watch, it’s 01.30 ship time, 09.00 in local time, Vadim’s keeping watch right now. Two, yes, there is the transformation thing, couldn’t figure out the reason yet but looks like everyone is affected, Vadim has become some kind of quadruped bird and I’m a dog. I’m making a list right now to see who is what. Three, for some reason, we’re alone on the sea. All ships around us disappeared for some reason and we can’t get in contact with the shore either. Any question?” He finished, resting his back against the railing, arms crossed in front of him.

The parrot scratched the side of his head with a claw, they weren’t as sharp looking as Vadim’s Dilip noted.

“Actually I was gonna ask if you were indeed the captain but the accent is enough of an answer. Am I the first one here?” 

“That you are, no disbelief about the time travel thing, really?”

“Disbelief flew out the window the moment I saw a parrot looking back at me in the mirror. Didn’t see anyone when I was coming here, but from what I heard coming from the cabins, we’re in for some trouble. Unprecedented changes, really? Talk about the understatement of the year captain.”

“Don’t you start with that. You go and try to improvise a reassuring speech when you just discovered that your entire ship is affected by some unknown supernatural phenomenon, your third mate is a bird and you a dog.”

“Fair point” Alejandro just shrugged in acceptance “At least it happened at night when no one was working. Wouldn’t want to know what would have happened if we suddenly transformed like that whilst doing work, might have been nasty.”

“Vadim was conscious, said the thing made him black out for a while. I will have a look at what the camera feed shows for when it happened, and the radio log too; Vadim also mentioned he heard some static on the radio before it happened.”

“I can probably look into that later on when I get the time. If the radio picked it up it’s probably saved somewhere on the server, did he say on which wavelength it happened?”

“All of them, though you will have to ask him yourself about the order ‘cause they didn’t ring all at once.”

“Copy that. Did we have an order from the company yet?”

“Nah, it was just ‘standby at anchorage ‘til we get an order’. The supply chain on new cars was running short because of a strike in the railway industry, and trucks usually prefer to pass to England by ferry this time of the year. Why the question anyway? It’s not like we’re in any shape to weigh anchor right now.”

“Just hoping we’d have some shore contact, even if it’s outdated. That would give us a direction to follow from here.”

Dilip made a stop sign with his hand at that.

“Hold your horses there Alejandro, we don’t even know the state of the crew and in my case my clothes barely fit me, meaning most of the PPE is a lousy fit. Heck, I doubt you could fit those feet in any kind of safety shoes.” He said, waving a hand towards Alejandro’s feet in emphasis. “In those conditions I’m not willing to let anyone even attempt to get the ship running just yet.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“For now, let’s stick to figuring out who’s what, fix our PPE so we can work without crippling ourselves and maybe save some time to get used to the transformation. I don’t know about you but my balance is all fucked up and I’m still fumbling with the new shape of those fingers.”

“Fine, to be honest that tail of mine does feel very strange and I could use some slight adjustments with the coveralls. Among other things...” He mumbled towards the end, not willing to go over the fact he had fallen over four times trying to figure out how his prehensile feet-claws worked.

They fell in silence after that, each busy with their own train of thought about the situation. Alejandro went to lean against the funnel to profit from the warmth of the exhaust (which was not as intense as usual due to the ship only running on the electric generators at the moment), probably not the healthiest of choices but he found it more comfortable than being exposed to the elements.

A couple minutes later, they heard a commotion below them and turned around to the sight of the first crewmembers emerging from the accommodation. The door opened anew and out stumbled a bleary eyed parrot dressed in coveralls like Alejandro (though that one appeared to be a cockatoo instead of a macaw). It was followed by a large lizard, an anthropomorphic cat and another dog-like creature similar to Dilip. All were dressed like Alejandro: poorly fitted coveralls and no shoes.

“May I have your attention please?” Dilip intoned.  All creatures below them turned their eyes upwards at the sentence. “Good, I’m the captain if you hadn’t noticed. As you can see, we are all victims of an as of yet unknown phenomenon which changed our bodies like you are currently experiencing. No, I don’t have a cure to that; we will have to make do with it for now. At the moment I want to take presences and write down what everyone has become so that we can begin to sort this out in an orderly fashion.” He paused to catch his breath. “Please, come up to me and tell me your name so that I can add you on the list. Copy that?”

With a few murmurs of agreement, the new group made their way up the stairs to their captain.

The first one to reach Dilip was the parrot guy he had identified as a cockatoo. He had spotless white feathers with hints of sulphur yellow at the tips of his tail and a bright yellow crest on the top of his head, which was currently folded. His beak and scales were a matte black. Upon closer inspection, Dilip also spotted countless oil stains on his coveralls, an engine room guy thus, those feathers weren’t going to stay white for long.

The bird man came to a halt two meters in front of him and stood at attention.

“Carlos Alvarez, reporting for duty, sir.” He said, loudly.

Dilip dutifully added a mention next to the name in his list. As an afterthought, he also added a mention of colour next to the species, to avoid confusion.

“At ease Alvarez, we’re not navy no need to stand at attention. How were things downstairs? Not too much chaos?”

“People seem to be doing their best to stay calm captain, but it’s going to be slower for some to get there. I saw a couple guys trying to walk on four legs and heard that some didn’t even have hands.”

“No hands you say?” Dilip raised an eyebrow saying that. This will make getting the ship to port a lot more difficult.

“Yes sir, thankfully I heard Angelo and Ajit were helping them. Didn’t linger myself, the situation is pretty much taken care of and they should be there in a minute.”

“Thank you Alvarez, you may dispose for now. I will give a detailed explanation when everyone gets here.”

Carlos nodded and departed. Immediately, his place was taken by the anthropomorphic cat.

“Nguyen Van Duc, catering department.”

The captain appraised the being with a glance, he was taller than him by a head, but certainly didn’t have the bulk the transformation had given him, being very lean instead, so much so that it would have appeared abnormal were the creature human. His arms were longer than those of a human by a hand’s length and he had a fluffy tail swishing behind him. He bore two large ears upon his head and his eyes were an odd mix between a feline’s and a human’s, with the colour and white being distinctly human while the slitted pupil was definitely feline. His fur, from what Dilip could see, was a greyish brown with white stripes running along his backside.

“Noted for Van Duc, anything to add?” The dog said, adding ‘bipedal cat, brown’ next to the guy’s name.

“Nothing except for the fact we will have to delay kitchen operations due to the change. Might want to figure out if our diet changed too.”

“You believe it has?” The captain asked.

“I presume it has sir.” The cat barred his teeth “See? Mostly canines, no incisive. I’m assuming I’ve become a full carnivore, don’t know ‘bout you. Still gonna try vegetables and starchy food tho’.”

“You do that, the more we know the better. As long as the chief cook approves of course.”

“Roger captain.” And with that finish, he walked off, leaving Dilip face to face with a giant lizard. The reptile was at his shoulder’s height, but reached up to his jaw if you counted the line of backwards swept white spikes on his head. His head, unlike his own head or Nguyen’s, didn’t bear a resemblance to a human’s, instead bearing a much more pronounced muzzle and having the eyes very close to the top of his head. Said eyes were a ruby red with slitted pupils and had a ridgeline of thicker scales hanging over them as a stand-in for eyebrows. Running down the underside of his jaw line and continuing under his coveralls was a length of sky blue leathery skin, the only part that was not covered by the dark cyan scales. The master also noted that, beside two notable bulges on the back of his coveralls and a tail terminated by a translucent fin, the lizard’s torso was very narrow and had the ribs meet at an angle in the middle of it. As for the rest, the limbs were of similar proportions to his own; the lizard was standing on the ball of his feet, and only had four fingers per hand (except those were each ending in a wickedly sharp claw).

“I’m starting to wonder if the Forces that Be have a thing for humanoid animals...” The captain commented “Anyway, who shall receive the honour of being the first labelled as a giant gecko?”

That earned him a glare from the lizard who muttered something in Russian.

“A good morning to you too Artyom.” Dilip said sarcastically “I hope you find the scales comfortable ‘cause you’re gonna be stuck that way for the foreseeable future.”

The Russian’s only answer was to walk off to the opposite side of the deck, muttering angrily as he walked.

“He sounds hung-over” Alejandro commented, coming up behind him. 

“He probably is. The bar was open yesterday and it’s technically the middle of the night for us after all. I may not like him but he’s not really in the wrong so I won’t go and pester him for nothing. Talk to him if you want, I know you both get along better than he and I, and I got better things to do right now.”

The Spaniard just shrugged and followed after the Russian, asking him if he felt like sharing a cigarette. More people had come streaming out of the accommodation in the meantime, Dilip observed. There were two more parrots guiding two creatures bearing a high resemblance to Vadim who were having difficulties moving on four legs. Two more quadruped creatures flowed suit after them, one being a living replica of the sphinx he had seen a decade ago when he had visited Egypt, the other being another birdlike creature, except that it had a brightly coloured mane, a bushy tail and its rear legs ended with hooves instead of paws like the other avian creatures beside it. It also had an odd colour, being covered in seafoam feathers, with a yellow beak and claws, and its mane, tail and hooves were pale grey.

For some reason, his gaze kept being drawn towards the parrots; there was something different about them. He filed that for later and turned around to catch the name of the last guy from the first group, a lanky black dog with short fur and light brown eyes, slightly smaller than him but with a longer tail and muzzle.

“Name please?”

“Rahul Goswami, chief cook.” Came the answer.

“Ah Rahul, good to see you. Sorry for the rough awakening, hope you’re coping. Did you hear what Nguyen said?”

“Yeah, and I agree with him. Guy can be start when he wants to; hopefully we don’t start getting along like cats and dogs down in the kitchen, eh?” He joked, earning a soft chuckle from the captain.

“Let’s hope not, and I hope I can still eat your cuisine, wouldn’t want to miss that curry. Now why don’t you go and begin planning this changed diet thing with Van Duc while I sort through the rest of the crew?”

“Aye Cap’ain, will do.” The smaller dog walked off in the direction of his feline colleague.

That was one group accounted for, 18 more people to go through now. But now they were coming at a faster pace, everyone starting to make their way to him all at once. With a sharp cry for order, Dilip had them all in a file at the bottom of the stairs and then he began his work.

The oddness about the parrot was explained shortly after that: they presented themselves as the cadet and one of the welders respectively, but it was very easy to notice upon a closer look that the poor saps had won a free sex change in addition to the transformation, the voice was a dead giveaway, and even if it appeared that the females of this species were taller than males (when compared to Alejandro) the lean and curvaceous appearance left little doubt about the question. The cadet, now a brightly coloured scarlet macaw, was quite clearly very distraught when he heard the captain comment about that, apparently having failed to notice the quirk in his change. With little time to spare, Dilip moved on.

The sphinx, who was sticking with the welder who helped him deal with his lack of hands, was apparently a Greek guy from the engine department.  The master found his appearance quite pleasant to the eye, albeit being surprised by his large size from up close. The engineering guy had a face with large feline yellow eyes that mixed both leonine and human features. He had a mane that bore the colour of red wine, from which were poking out two large fluffy ears on the top of his head. His body was radiating hidden power from beneath the sand coloured fur. Under the coveralls, Dilip spotted two large bulges on his back, and there was a tail trailing behind him, ending in a tuft of wine coloured fur. Dilip tasked the welder (who was more composed than the cadet) with helping out his handless colleague and then he was immediately onto the next guy, quadruped bird man with hooves.

The aforementioned guy, called Yuri, was the other welder. Now that he could get a better look, the captain had to correct himself about the tail and mane: those were actually feathers, very large and supple, but still feathers. The welder also reminded him that there was a name for bird/horse creatures: hippogriffs, which the captain found a lot more professional to write on his list than avian/equine pastel monstrosity. Apart from that, he took note that contrarily to Vadim and the other bird guy behind him (which, as he would learn later on, were called griffons, he really had to brush up his mythology), his avian features were those of a seabird (some kind of petrel in this case) instead of those of a raptor.

Afterwards, the next people flew by without him really getting to put a face on the transformed creatures. One of the engineering officers had become a minotaur and two guys had become gargoyles, but there was no other novelty in the type of transformation. Much to his chagrin, Dilip discovered that more crewmembers had suffered from a sex change, including the chief engineer (a dragon, as he corrected his list, not a giant gecko) and the chief steward (now a sphinx lioness). His second officer, now a female griffon (griffoness? Griffess? Whatever) had walked off into the wheelhouse to have a talk with Vadim, both being known as close friends to the rest of the crew.

With a shudder, Dilip realised some crewmates might actually try and get to dip their sausages; they were desperate like that sometimes. He didn’t dare to think of the implications this new variable might have on morale. Back to the topic though for now, the crew was now assembled for some well deserved explanations, all looking at him in expectance. He pocketed the list and straightened up.

“Alright folks, I don’t think I need to call for your attention so I’ll skip straight to the heart of the problem.” He walked through the crowd as he was speaking, making his way to the mast’s ladder. He climbed a few rungs so as to be in sight of everyone and continued his speech, explaining what details they had gathered about the situation with Vadim, mostly going over the time travel part and the disappearance of all maritime activity in the vicinity of their ship. Much to his regret, he had to admit to not having a clue as for the reasons behind their transformation, save for the anomaly experienced by Vadim, who was still busy pulling out the feeds from the data banks.

Dilip asked if anyone beside the third mate had been awake at the time of the event, but as suspected everyone else was sound asleep at that hour, not having any reason to stay up and wanting to catch up on lost sleep.

“Now that I’ve brought you all up to speed, I’m going to give you my orders for the time being. We are not currently in any shape to be leaving anchor, some of us are barely managing to stand up as is.” He gave a pointed glance towards another dog who was threatening to fall over any moment from now. “Hence, I want everybody to start working on getting familiar with his new... proportions. In particular for the quadrupeds, it’s hard, but we have to push on. For the sphinxes, try to figure out any way you can possibly lend assistance without hands, even if it’s not in your department. I noticed some of you now have wings, but now is not the time to learn how to fly. We can’t afford to have an accident. Step two; I know everyone has some degree of proficiency when it comes to sewing and improvised craftsmanship so I want you all to patch up and adapt your gear to your new form. I’m willing to give some leniency when it comes to protective glasses, but come tomorrow I want everyone to have fixed his situation when it comes to coveralls, safety shoes and work gloves, got it?”

The crowd around him voiced their agreement and Dilip waited a few seconds before continuing, assembling the next part of his speech in his mind.

“And before any of you ask, I don’t want to see any tail uncovered when in coveralls; they’re here for protection, so tuck it in or add a sleeve on your ass if you’re feeling creative. Chief Steward Farkas has access to a small amount of spare sewing supplies and fabric, might not be enough but try to make do for now, we’ll try to get more when we reach our next port.”

There were a few inquiries about the next port of call, but the captain ignored them, preferring to continue his speech and answer questions later.

“I will wait for the Chief Steward to come report to me that everyone is ready before we can continue and resume navigation. Now for my orders per department, I want the cooks and officers to stay here. For the rest, dismissed. Farkas, you show them the supply closet.”

Dilip also spotted the cadet beginning to leave, and intervened.

“Cadet De Vries, stay here with us I will have a task for you too. You have all your credentials for officer of the watch right?”

He just got a nod from the cadet as an answer. The newly-made girl was still in shock from her ‘discovery’. Dilip turned away from her to address both cooks.

“Goswami, Van Duc, I want you both to figure out a menu that can fit everyone’s new diet, if it has changed that is. We will change the ship’s clock to match actual local time, so consider it’s nine in the morning. The usual twelve o’clock meal can be delayed, but I want it no later than half past two. That’s all for you two, dismissed.”

The cat and the dog departed without a word, but Dilip had to add a last remark before they left.

“Oh, before I forget. Mind the hair in the food. I won’t make a fuss about it for now but try to find a counter to that and if you need help or gear, don’t hesitate to ask Farkas.”

He turned towards his engineering officers now, a female dragon (his Chief Engineer), a minotaur (the second) and a female hippogriff (the third). The event really had messed up with their previously all-male crew.

“For engineering, priority number one is keeping the generators online. If the electricity goes down we’re toast. If you can, leave someone on watch down in engineering, rating or officer, I don’t care as long as someone’s down there. I also want you to keep the main engine ready. Shut down, but I want it ready to get going under fifteen minutes, copy?”

“Aye cap’ain!” All three said at once, earning a nod of approval from Dilip.

“Good, dismissed.”

Dilip turned away from the engineers and walked away towards the bridge, indicating to Alejandro and De Vries to follow after him with a wave of his hand. Inside, he saw as he strode in, Vadim and Micha were hunched over a laptop hooked to one of the entry points for the ship’s network. Both were next to the helm, at the navigator’s post so they could monitor the electronic chart as they worked. Micha, the captain observed, had turned into a griffon with a bald eagle front and a wildcat rear end. The oddity (in addition to being turned into a female, a fate he was glad not to be a victim of) was that the griffon had some lime coloured highlights around the eyes and a spot of lime feathers on the back of the head in the shape of a diamond.

“How far did you get with the feeds?”

“Got the complete video feed downloaded. That one I already sent to your computer via the internal network so easy enough.” None of them turned away from the screen as Vadim answered.” Problem is the video feed isn’t matched with the proper audio, it’s an old program. We’re sorting through it as we speak but it’s a bit confusing. Give me fifteen minutes and you will have the files on your workstation.” Now they turned around to face the captain. Micha spoke up then, a sliver of hesitation in his voice due to being unfamiliar with how he (or should he use she?) sounded.

“The radio log however, that one’s gonna be a bitch to pull retrieve. For one the program is fucking old, and for second it’s on an outdated OS coded with the arse.”

“Meaning?” Dilip asked, leaning his head to the side.

“It’s gonna take a while sir. If we want to be able to use the radio log, I’m going to have to code a conversion algorithm, create a backup of the log and run it through the program until it works correctly. Might take hours, might take weeks, I can’t really tell. Good thing is, once we have the algorithm that kind of problem won’t pop up in the future.”

Dilip nodded. “Okay, I want you both to put it on the backlog for now. Try to work on it when you have some free time and nothing better to do but it’s not top priority for now.”

He went and seated himself in the captain’s chair, turning it around on its swivel to face the deck officers.

“The orders for your department are as follow : you keep doing the anchor watches as usual as prio’ one, and while you’re at it I want you to monitor all telecomm traffic within the realm of feasibility, even if you wind up listening in on what goes on in Japan. Satcom or radio, I want to hear what goes on on the waves, copy? Also, set the telex to receive all stations no matter the language.” Dilip paused to collect his thoughts.

“We’re switching the watch pattern to match local time. Meaning, it’s your turn Alejandro right now, hope you don’t mind. Cadet, you’re with the chief officer. Vadim and Micha, you’re both free, be diligent if possible but I know Vadim is pushing the 30 hours barrier now so I won’t mind if you get some rest. Beside watchkeeping, I want you to plan an entry in the port of Zeebrugge. Should be about 20 nautical miles from here; use the berthing you see fit. Remember however: if we’re not seeing or hearing anything at the moment, this might mean there isn’t any activity in port. No tugs, no stevedores, so assemble a party to send ashore with the rhib to handle lines and choose an easy berthing which we can leave easily. If you can, prefer one where we can use the rear ramp, but it’s fine if it’s only the side ramps. I needn’t tell you we won’t have a pilot for the manoeuvre, but we’ve all been to that port at least a dozen times so it’s pretty much standard procedure. I want the charts and a briefing in my office within the next 48 hours, and I’m being generous so don’t abuse it.”

With that, Dilip stood up from the chair and began making his way to the stairs leading down into the accommodation.

“By the way cadet” He added in passing “I know that voyage was your last as a cadet with us, but if the shore is as deserted as this anchorage, you might be in for a promotion, just sayin’.”

And then he was off.
> Chapter 4: A Bed, a Bottle of Vodka and a Mirror
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The captain was off to his cabin and they now had a course of action to follow. Vadim’s gaze swept the group around him. He spoke up.

“So, how do you all want to go about this now?”

Alejandro crossed his arms and shrugged, as the head of department he could have unilaterally steered them in the direction he wanted but he didn’t feel the need to do that, his fellow deck officers were mature enough to get their job done on their own.

“It’s not really like we’re in too much of a hurry, so I wouldn’t worry. Charting a passage to Zeebrugge should only take an hour, tops. Just need to modify a route passing by the pilot station and adjust the calculations in consequences, no big deal and I’m pretty sure I left an excel sheet on the server to compute that.” He let himself plop down in the helmsman seat. “That can be done by whoever’s on watch, and that will even help ward off the boredom. And setting up a shore party? Just make a list with any of the deck guys that are not busy doing the mooring. There, job done.”

“And what about the tug problem?” Cadet De Vries asked. She (he? Might want to give some thought on which pronoun to use with Micha and De Vries before it blew up in their face) was leaning on the chart table as she said that.

The Chief Officer chuckled at that. “Please, I know my trade. There is a trick in that port with the whirlpool that’s just after the breakwater. I’ll calculate our speed so that we come with the right tide and it will swing us just right so we can lay Amandine’s arse right on the quay. We only ever use tugs because they’re compulsory for a ship her size. As I said, easy as can be if you know what you’re doing. Heck, we don’t even have to go to a particularly difficult berthing, I’m pretty sure if no one is home in port control, we can nab the car terminal that’s right in line with the entrance.”

“You sure the captain won’t mind us using that trick? I remember he’s pretty by the book when it comes to manoeuvring.”

“He’s the one who showed me how to do it, no biggie. He’s just forced to use standard company procedures usually. You should see the vids he keeps of his manoeuvres with the Indian navy.”

The cadet tilted her head in confusion. “Navy?”

“Oh yeah you’re not up to snuff about that.” Alejandro realized. “The captain, he’s a reservist with the Indian Navy, never mentioned the rank tho’.”

“Eh Chief that’s new to me too that.” Vadim added. “I knew he was giving lessons at a cadet school but I didn’t know their navy actually put him on their ships. You knew that Micha?”

“Nope” The bald eagle headed griffon said wide eyed. “But that explains the attitude.”

“That it does. But I think that’s beside the point.” The Ukrainian said. “Not that I want to kill the gossiping in its infancy but I’ve been up for an ungodly long time and I’d rather be asleep right now. That time travel is giving me a nasty case of jetlag to boot. So... if we could clear out the watch thing if you don’t mind?”

“No te preocupes” Alejandro said with a shake of his head “But if we keep the four hour watch plan that only gives you uh...” He glanced at the clock, it was now half past ten. “Less than five hours of sleep.”

“What, you want to skip to a six hour scheme?”

“Nah.” He glanced at the female parrot next to the chart table. “I was thinking our young and fresh cadet was now ready to monitor the anchor.” That surprised her(him? For the love of God that’s starting to be annoying Vadim thought).

“Me? You sure about that?”

“You got your certifications and the sea time to back it up, and you heard the captain. You’re technically a new third officer as soon as we reach port. And I’m only asking you to pick up the slack for Vadim, complete with a favour, to be redeemed later.” A glance towards the Griffon killed any protest about the last clause in its egg. “And we all know what kind of favours he can provide.” Vadim rolled his eyes.

“A true capitalist uh, Chief?”

“Shut it, you were a few months old in ’89 last I checked, don’t you dare go the communist route on me.”

The Slavic griffon reached for his heart with a claw. “You wound me chief, and here I thought we were friends, oh the agony.” He smiled and shook his head “Anyway cadet, or I guess I should start calling you by your name right? So, Geert... “The pronunciation of the name made everybody wince in sympathy for the poor syllables “What is it you’d like from uncle Vadim’s stash? Rare vodka, cigs, Havana’s?”

“You guys aren’t even going to worry that much about a wet behind the ears cadet being left alone on the bridge? Really?” Geert asked with a dubious look.

“Eh when I was in your place my first watch alone was crossing a traffic lane at night and at full load” Micha commented “You really aren’t in any position to complain as far as I’m concerned. And you’re getting a pick in his stash at that.” The Pole pointed a claw towards the now smiling griffon that had retrieved a notepad from his pocket. Geert gave the Chief Officer a pleading look but that only sent the guy into a snickering fit. Eventually, she relented.

“Fine, hook me up with that Polish Vodka I saw you sipping like juice the other day.”

“Fantastic choice! One bottle of Belvedere coming up to your cabin by next watch. Have a good watch folks –urk!” Vadim gargled when Micha stopped his escape by grabbing his collar.

“Forgot to tell us if we should wake you up when they open the cafeteria opens.”

“Fuck no! Just tell Rahul to save me a plate of whatever you and the other griffons found palatable, I need my sleep. I have the keys to the kitchen, so I’ll just grab it in the fridge and reheat it.”

Micha didn’t stop him when he ran off again. It seemed like the appeal of a bed had given him a good control of the four leg drive. Except that the Ukrainian failed to pay attention to his tail when he went for the door and closed it behind him.

“Blyat!” He practically yowled in Russian, reaching for his tail. That, of course, meant that he missed the first step in the stairs and his fellow officers saw him disappear down the stairway. There was a dull thud, followed by a pained groan.

“Should I check on him?” Geert asked, slightly worried.

“Nah, he’s fine. Third time this month. You’d think he’d start paying attention when he’s learning how to walk anew but nooo, mister’s got a meeting with his bed so let’s sprint ahead without even knowing how to.” Micha commented. “He always does that when I come to relieve him at night. It’s a wonder he’s never woken up the captain.” He hesitated. “The Russian swearing is new tho’, usually it’s just ‘shit’,’fuck’ or ‘kurwa’, he must have got that from Artyom.”

“Uh, guess some things never change regardless of how bad the situation gets...” Alejandro commented. He looked at Micha “You’re not leaving?”

“Nah, what for? My watch is almost in an hour anyway. It’s not like I’m tired either since Vadim insisted on doing most of the navigation from Purfleet to here to pay back some favours.”

Alejandro just shrugged. He glanced at Geert.

“Oh and if that helps remember that every cabin has an interphone so if there is any trouble during your anchor watch, and there won’t be any, feel free to call anyone.”

If she wasn’t already red because of the feathers, the Spaniard could have sworn he saw her blush.

“Oh... Guess I forgot about that.”





Uncaring of the fall, Vadim continued his way towards his cabin. The fall had been more of a scare than an actual danger anyway, but his tail was still throbbing.  He would have to start paying attention to the bloody thing, or else he could be in for a lot more than a bruised ego if he failed to keep in check. Many things on Amandine could make mincemeat of the unwary, and dying because your tail pulled you in the equivalent of a giant grinder didn’t sound particularly appealing to him.

He was on deck B, the first one immediately below the bridge, which housed the captain’s quarters, the servers, library, chart room and the ship’s office being the most important rooms, the rest of the space being occupied by supply lockers, backup systems and control nodes. The hallway on this deck was just a straight line with the captain’s quarters on one side, and the other rooms on the other. On one end of the hallway was the stairway leading up to the bridge and on the other was a weathertight door leading to the outer deck, next to a closet in which they stored fire fighting equipment.

The ship was of a recent build and it showed. While certainly not luxurious and instead very utilitarian, the shipyard had taken great care in making the appearance of the interior (at least, in the accommodation part of the ship) pleasant to the eyes and easy to maintain. The walls were lined up to waist height with fake pine wood planks, the rest being painted off white with vertical red stripes. The floor was covered by a cheap but admittedly decent looking burgundy carpet, with a striped pattern parallel to that found on the walls. And it was easy to fix and clean to boot.

Vadim walked over to an alcove on the captain’s side of the hallway which hid a hatch leading deeper in the accommodation. He eyed the steep slope of the stairs warily, not really willing to get a repeat of his fall. Still, emboldened by the call of his bed, he just grabbed the guard rail firmly in his claws and let himself slide down, skipping all steps. The impact was jarring, but at least the technique had the merit of having him land on his feet instead of his face, a definitive improvement.

He was now on Deck C, or the Officer’s deck as was its implicit name due to it housing only the officers’ cabins (and some extras for pilots and VIP’s) and lounge apart from some offices.

This one was designed around a U-shaped hallway pointing forward. The offices and lounge, as well as the ship’s vault were all on the inner part of the U, whereas the cabins were on the outer side. There was an access to the main stairway, where Vadim was at the moment, in the bottom centre of the U, leading both up and down. There were also some stairs leading down next to the doors leading outside, on both extremities of the U.

All officers shared similar cabins and Vadim’s was the closest to the portside door. While he walked to his own cabin, Vadim spotted the Second Engineer, Angelo, who had been turned into a minotaur, make his way to his cabin with a large bundle of orange fabric under his arm. Big guy had his work cut out for him modifying his coveralls to fit his enlarged bulk, he had gone the whole way from a small scrawny geek to a 2m10 tall giant with the musculature of a Greek god. For now the Greek guy (fate has some odd sense of humour it seemed) was walking around bare-chested, exposing his hairy muscle-bound frame for the world to see. 

The Third Officer didn’t bother engaging in a conversation with the clearly busy engineer and simply walked past him to his cabin.

He embarrassingly shuffled around for a bit trying to extract his keys from his rear pocket. While he could bend his spine easily enough, the two bulges on his back (which he know knew hid a pair of wings he honestly didn’t know how to react about) kept preventing his arms from reaching the pocket behind his kidneys (yes, he had a thing for coveralls with oddly placed pocket, so sue him if you will, his jacket had eight pockets).

With a sigh of relief, he managed to extract the keys from the pocket after a frantic exercise in agility, having had to wedge himself against the wall to get access to it. The key slid in the lock out of muscle memory and he was inside before he had time to think about it.

The cabin, if simply designed, was rather spacious and quite comfortable. He had some light streaming in from two portholes, good ventilation from the A/C and he could set it to whatever temperature he felt like if he wanted. A luxury on many merchant ships. The cabin was divided in three parts: the entrance, in which he had his desk and filing cabinet, as well as a couple shelves on which he stored some books and a CD collection. His laptop, a slow but sturdy machine, rested on the desk, powered off but hooked to the ship’s grid. Opposite the desk was a wardrobe laid in the wall with a few hooks for clothing on it and a rack to store shoes. There was also an interphone attached next to the door with a list of numbers for every connected room on board.

The second part of the cabin was his own personal bathroom, which he cherished very much after having had to share on previous ships. It was covered in white and blue tiling, had some powered racks to dry his clothing and towels, a toilet, sink, and a shower. It was in a small room set in a corner of the cabin.

The last part was the ‘bedroom’, hidden behind a curtain. It was recessed from the rest of the cabin and had a large bed placed below the second porthole of the room, for which Vadim had personally gone out of his way to find a comfortable blanket. There were also a couple drawers under the bed and another wardrobe laid in the wall. His nightstand was solidly attached to the floor and heavily reinforced; it doubled as his safe locker and had the boon of coming with an integrated retro-looking digital clock.

All over the room were signs of Vadim customizing it to give it a feeling of home far away from home. There were a couple posters of cars attached to the wall, with one larger one drawing the eyes: it was the general schematic of a Ford Escort Mk2 he was building back home. There were a couple post-it notes stuck on it, ideas he had had about this feature or that he wanted to add when he completed the kit car. Above his desk, an erotic calendar was proudly displayed. Vadim had sworn to himself to wait the whole way before taking a peek at Miss June. The bookshelves were an assorted mix showing his preferences in music (which was a disturbingly odd mix of classical compilations and hardbass CD’s) and literature: some war novels, a couple actual after-action-reports he had salvaged, the obligatory porn magazine and some vintage instruction manuals for kit car aficionados. 

On his desk, next to his laptop, there was a framed photo of a smiling blonde girl with Vadim by her side and a small silk covered box beside it.

Vadim shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the wall peg and made his way into the bathroom after taking off his shoes, intent on finding out what his new mugshot looked like. In passing, he grabbed a lone half full bottle of Eristoff. That would help him with processing the sights.

Inside, he took off his coveralls, which he tossed in the bin and then steeled his nerves for the reveal. He had already seen the results on Micha and the other griffons, now it was time to see it on his own person in all its gruesome details. He absent-mindedly took off both his T-shirt and his boxers (those were good for the thrash anyway, having been ripped apart by him sprouting wings and a tail) as he approached the mirror. With a heave, he braced himself with both claws on the sink and lifted himself up.

Oh Hi there Mr Bird. He thought, immediately popping the plug on his vodka and downing a sizeable part of the bottle. Boy was he a sight for sore eyes.

“Good lord I’m fucking ugly.”

Staring at him was something that was quite a ways away from his formerly handsome facial features. Because, of course, birds could not be handsome. His head was now covered in grey feathers of varying shades. The back of his head and neck were covered in dark grey feathers speckled with black spots while the rest of his face was covered in light grey feathers. He had a smallish crest of feathers pointing backwards on the top of his head, and some tufts of down on the sides of his face akin to sideburns.

Of course, there was also the beak present in the middle of his face. It was a matte yellow, with a black tip which curved downwards. As he had noticed earlier on the bridge, the tooth-like notch on the upper part of his beak, just behind the tip, indicated he had turned into some species of falcon, though he couldn’t point out which (not that he knew many to begin with). Just on the top of his beak, he also spotted two discreet holes, he was now part of the noseless people club (Lord Voldemort being a famous member). Vadim opened his beak. He had a long black tongue inside and... he saw a flash of white and started poking around carefully. Yep, he did have some teeth, some rows of molars in the back of the mouth past the beak, but that was all, no row of teeth in the middle of the mouth, just his sharp beak. Still, that left him hope at having a somewhat omnivorous diet. He made a face in the mirror, noting how the beak seemed able to bend to show very humanlike expressions despite being hard to the touch.

His eyes were enshrined in a circle of yellow skin. They were a bit odd he found, because contrarily to what intuition would have led him to believe, they weren’t really those of a bird of prey. Sure, they were larger than human eyes, but they also had whites which he had never seen on raptor birds, though that explained how he was able to move them around without moving his head. The pupils were rather large, but he was more surprised by the size and colour of his iris. He had brown eyes before, but now they were yellow, with the colour progressively turning to a greener shade towards the outer edge of the circle.

Vadim couldn’t spot ears on the side of his head, but a quick search revealed that they had been turned into ear holes, each hidden behind a layer of down slightly thinner layer of down. Both holes were surrounded by a cartilaginous ridge. He would have to see if it affected his ability to hear (probably more about the sound location than the sensitivity) but that change meant he was now unable to use glasses. No matter, he had a pair of safety stashed... somewhere.

Now that he was naked, Vadim also got a good look at his body with the sight unimpeded by the presence of his coveralls. The entire front half of his body was covered in feathers, those keeping with the pattern of dark grey on his back and light grey on the rest. He pressed a claw against his chest, noting how thick and fluffy the down on his front was. Probably wouldn’t freeze with that anytime soon.

He halted a moment. There was something odd. He pressed the palm of his claw against his chest and moved it around a bit, feeling a heartbeat but not in the usual place.

Talk about a day full of surprises: his heart had been moved in the middle of his chest, safely protected behind his sternum.

The next object of his focus was the pair of wings on his back. Very large wings from what he could tell. In folded position like they were at the moment, they still occupied the entire length of his body. They were the same colour as the rest of his body, with the addition of having black tips. Vadim tried to move them, but only managed to make them twitch a bit. He tried again to no avail, unable to figure out how to work the muscles beneath the feathers, so he pried one open with his claw. Bad idea, very bad idea.

Touching the wing itself wasn’t the problem. Moving it by force, however, sent an unexpected jolt running through the wing’s nerves which sent him to the floor gasping. It felt like an electrocution but at least he was now keenly aware of the way his nerves were connected: the wing was segmented like an arm with a ‘shoulder’, ‘elbow’ and a ‘wrist’. Vadim tried to make a few motions with it but that only made it trash about haphazardly so he grabbed it with both claws and folded it back in place. By some thankfully ingrained reflex, the wing stayed in place.

Next stop on the way to self (re)discovery: take a look at your own hindquarters, Vadim thought, taking a swig of vodka. The rear half of his body, he recognised, was that of a mountain lion. He had buff fur all over, except in the belly area where it was a darker shade of brown similar to the tip of his tail. Like his feathers, the fur was quite thick and would keep him warm (and most likely, too warm). A quick look at the skin in the area where avian and feline halves met revealed no notable change in the skin underneath his coat. The tail wasn’t of much interest to him and he didn’t feel like touching it because it was still throbbing from being smashed by a steel door.

No, what he really had to know at the moment was the situation with his other tail. The third leg. The rod of glory. He flipped on his back and spread his legs to take a look. First note of the inspection: seldom had he seen balls this hairy. He paused to take a large sip from his bottle. The cataclysm (because what else could you call it in such circumstances?), had made his nut layout change from parallel to in-line, in addition to hiding his dick in a furry sheath. Vadim carefully eyed his claws. Did he really feel like poking around his genitals with sharp objects he was not quite familiar with yet? Another swig of vodka. Yes he did, what was he supposed to fap with anyway? His hind legs? Careful prodding revealed that (much to his relief), the rest of his genitals was of a similar brand to the previous model so he already knew the user manual. Still, his claws would need a trim if he wanted to practice his tried and proved techniques. He gazed upwards at his sink. The nail file was there, so that was a task to be done, but later.

Vadim didn’t even look at the content left in the bottle before downing it in one go. With a practiced swing of his arm, it landed in a bin next to his desk outside the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped in immediately. With how much pressure the engine room guys insisted on dumping into the heater, the temperature was quick to rise and he was soon enjoying a nice shower after a long (and that was quite the understatement) day of work. Cleaning his new coat took him quite a bit of work and a lot more soap than expected, the fur in particular, but he didn’t need more than fifteen minutes before he was out of the shower and drying himself with an hairdryer (which he usually used on wet clothes when the air was too humid outside) and a brush (‘cause he’d readily bet that not using it would just lead to him looking like half of a poofy furball).

Trimming his claws was a quick affair. Vadim elected to only leave the index sharp and dull the rest so he would always have something sharp on hand (or claw?). To avoid slashing something when he didn’t mean it, he added a layer of isolating tape around the sharp claws, which he retrieved from his desk.

The Ukrainian allowed himself to yawn. Why use sleeping pills when you have vodka, eh. He had done just about everything he wanted before hitting the hay. In short order, he had programmed his alarm clock to ring eight hours later. After that, he was under the covers trying to find the right position. Failing to sleep normally due to the presence of wings, he wound up basically making a nest out of his bed covers and sleeping in it curled up like a cat.
> Chapter 5: Needlework
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple hours later, Vadim awoke to the sound of his alarm clock.  For a moment, he seriously contemplated staying comfortably tucked under his blanket but his brain was unfortunately quick to remind him of the present situation. With distaste, he starred at his claws and how he was curled up in his bed, right when they were finally going to get time to rest this shit had to happen. He sighed and threw off the blanket. Time to get some work done. He got up quickly.

Not a bright idea apparently, given the splitting lance of pain that surged through his skull. Maybe downing half a bottle of vodka and expecting to process it that fast hadn’t been too wise. Or so he would have thought if he didn’t have a bottle of water and a tablet of painkillers within arm’s reach under his bed.

Always prepare the terrain for your next bout of drunken debauchery (or in this case alcohol induced emotion dampening). The difference between a good officer and a bad one mostly boils down to preparation, case in point. Getting some additional extra strong painkillers had been the first thing on his mind at their last port of call in Purfleet.

Now it was high time for him to get some food to help settle his stomach, he was running on fumes. Hopefully the rest of the crew had already had their meal and he would be free to have his dinner in silence, the way he preferred it. Hopefully Rahul hadn’t overdone it with the spices again...

Vadim grabbed a fresh set of coveralls from his wardrobe, not bothering to transfer his items from the last one’s pockets, or to put on anything under it (it was already hard enough to put it on as is due to his goddamned wings). He would have to take it off later on anyway to adapt it to fit his new form better. Shoes were a no-no for now until he managed to snag the tools to adapt it to fit digitigrade feet. 

He went to grab his keys on the desk, but stopped when he noticed a folded piece of paper stuck under the door. He picked it up quickly; curious about what it was about. It was a message from Micha, written in polish.

‘Vadim,

Captain announced departure for 25 May 1600WT, demanded to begin work on refitting respiratory gear for the fire suits. Engineers are busy with it (in engine room) but any help is welcome.

Charts ready for entry into port, Alejandro says you gotta do the mooring plan and choose a team to handle the lines ashore. Must be ready before 10 on the 25th. You’re doing the mooring operation on deck with the Chief (I’m on bridge with De Vries and the captain).

Spared some sewing supplies for you in my room. Door’s open, top shelf in the wardrobe by the bed. For the shoes, Boris is doing it for the deck department. Drop yours off for him by the cafeteria before 2000 if you don’t want to walk bare feet.

Nguyen left you a meal in the kitchen. Tried out the new diet, can still eat anything, but apparently now we have a preference for meat. Mind the spices, tongue’s very sensitive to curry. Haven’t tried the rest.

Remember for the watch : yours is now the 4 to 8,  AM and PM. You’re with De Vries (who’s expecting her  his vodka).

Xx

PS : attached a copy of the list (with species) on the back, thought you might find it useful

Vadim nodded his head, now having a rough idea of how to go about his evening. He took a folder from the filing cabinet, as well as some paper and a pen which he shoved in his breast pocket. He would, try to catch up on his work as he ate. He also remembered to take his shoes. If Boris was intent on helping with that he wasn’t going to stop him, he didn’t have any clue on how to modify his shoes himself.

Walking out of his room, he contemplated how odd it felt to walk bare feet with his new paws. On one hand (or maybe would it be topical to say claw) his front gave him the feeling of walking on his hands without suffering from the soft skin being hurt (the scales on his palms were much rougher than human skin but managed to somehow retain their sensitivity).On the other hand, his rear half was still puzzling him what with walking on his toes, the paw pads dulling the impacts of each step and the retractile claws nestled between his toes (that he hadn’t bothered to figure out how to use. What were they for anyway? Climbing?).

There was no one out in the hallway and Vadim could see that the drizzle outside had resumed. The ventilation was blasting air loudly and if his hearing was right, a second generator had been started down in the engine room. That was a sign the engineers were running the main compressor to clear the main engine and have it ready in short order.

He proceeded to make his way to the centre of the ship where he took the stairs down one deck, on the level on which the cafeteria and the kitchen were situated. It was a much bigger deck than those above and it was there that you would find the ratings’ cabins, those for any possible passenger, and the ship’s gym (albeit a small one). The cafeteria and the kitchen, both adjacent to each other, were placed all the way to the back of the ship. Vadim crossed path with a couple sailors on the way, including a thoroughly pissed off cat who shoved him out of the way as he stormed out of the cafeteria yelling something in Italian. That barely earned him an annoyed glare from the griffon who already had an idea as to what caused the feline to react that way. He pushed the door and went inside without a look back towards the cat who still was yelling in frustration.

“Hi there Rahul, I see you’re still antagonising Roberto. What’s the deal this time?” He said whilst making his way to a table.

The cafeteria cut away from the interior design of the rest of the ship by being decorated with a brighter atmosphere than the dark tones found elsewhere: the walls were painted white with spots of light blue here and there. As for the floor, it was covered in black and white rectangular tiles. An ugly choice, but preferable because of how frequent it was to accidentally spill something on the ground when the ship jerked about. There was a wide window on the stern side of the room giving a very good view of the ship’s trail. Most tables were arranged on that side of the room, but there were some on the opposite side too, where the buffet and access to the kitchen were, meaning there was a fair sized void in the middle of the room. A couple fridges and water dispensers lined the sides of the room. In one place, someone had placed a white screen next to a projector that was safely secured to the roof. 

There were only two other persons in the room besides Vadim: a dog who was cleaning the buffet and a griffon who was seated at a table, hunched over a sewing machine. Both were looking at him, the dog with a cocky grin on his face.

“No deal to speak of Officer, just sharing puns with a fellow sailor.” The dog answered.

Vadim addressed the other griffon in the room a look with a raised eyebrow.

“Really now? Puns?”

“Well yeah, what he doesn’t say is he’s been assailing our poor secretary with cat puns non-stop for the past twenty minutes. I can only admire the Italian, ‘cause that was like watching a tennis watch, except you replace the ball with witty remarks.” The griffon, Boris, said.

“Cat puns? That’s not very inventive of you Rahul, shame on you. Regardless, I trust you to know when to stop so he doesn’t lash out right?” Vadim commented offhandedly, handing his shoes to Boris who placed them on top of a not so insignificant pile. The guy was practically swimming in half dismantled shoes and bits of leather.

“Really?” Boris said “He barely gets a slap on the wrist and I get called to the captain’s quarters whenever I have a verbal spar with Artyom?”

“Last I checked bird-brain a verbal spar doesn’t end with someone getting smashed in the face with a bottle of rhum.” Vadim drawled flatly.

“Quick reminder dear officer” Rahul pointed out “I’m seeing two half birds in the room and one of them just happens to be you.” 

“Point to the fleabag, I gotta work on my wit. Now if you wouldn’t mind serving me a plate so I can get back to my work?”

The Indian cook threw his hands in the air “Hold on there, no need to get offensive, we’re all adults here.” He said.

“Sometimes I wonder...” Vadim muttered, though that fell on deaf ears because Boris was already back to modifying shoes and Rahul had gone off deeper in the kitchen.

Within minutes, Rahul was back with a tray full of food for him. On it were a plate filled to the brim with curry rice and beef, an apple, some bread and bottle of coke. Vadim accepted it with a curt ‘thank you’ and turned around. Oh right, can’t carry a tray if you’re walking on all fours.

“Say Rahul, you wouldn’t know how to...”

“Trolley next to the water dispenser, you can’t miss it. Please don’t even try to walk with your tray, the other quadrupeds already made a mess of it earlier. You drop it you clean it, I don’t care how important your duties are it’s a cafeteria not a pig pen.” Rahul cut him off.

With that matter settled, Vadim got himself seated after moving his tray with the trolley (and putting it back after some nasty curses were directed at his person courtesy of a certain cook, he preferred Nguyen for a reason). As it turned out, Micha had been understating the reality of his tongue’s sensitivity because even if the curry was pretty mild by Rahul’s standards, the poor griffon still found himself with his beak stuck under a water dispenser after finishing his plate. He couldn’t even accuse the cook of messing with him because the colour of the plate clearly indicated he had used a lot less spices than the usual fare. That being said, the plate had been a fulfilling meal, and hopefully provided him with the right nutrition. Not that anyone said they couldn’t use diet supplements in any case.

“Word of advice Vadim” Boris intoned “I know some will say it’s a dumb idea, but if the cooks are gonna stick to their spices, you might want to smoke a cig or two before dinner.”

“You’re right Boris” Vadim said between two gulps of water “That is a dumb idea” He stuck his head under the dispenser again.

“Beats drinking a litre of water per plate I’d say.” He looked towards the counter; Rahul was off again “Unless you manage to convince Nguyen that is... He would make us a menu, Rahul sure wouldn’t, too prideful.”

“I’ll look into it; consider it a payment for the shoes. Why are you doing that anyway?”

“It was that, or help Roberto file some documents. I’d honestly rather die than do paperwork. The guy’s nuts, we’ve got an apocalypse on our hands and he’s worried about being late with his papers. Also, it’s simpler than it looks once you get the hang of it. I’ve already completed three pairs and I’m just two hours into it. Easy peasy.”

“Whatever floats your boat I guess? You feel like taking part in the mooring tomorrow? I need a few guys to go ashore for line handling.”

“Sure sign me up; just remember I’m not a certified boat pilot.”

“Not a problem, I already got an idea for the pilot. Hope you don’t mind riding shotgun with Danny, do you?”

“The welder? Nah he’s alright. What’s he turned into anyway? Too many things to keep track of you know...”

“Hold on” Vadim looked at his list “Apparently he’s a she-parrot.”

“She-parrot?”

“I mean he’s turned into a female. Tread carefully with that, I can’t help but think all these guys-turned-gals are a ticking time bomb on our hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don’t tease him too much ‘bout the lost dick and it will be alright.” The Russian said, barely paying attention.

“Boris I’m serious, the situation is bad enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if someone snaps and attack his fellow crewmembers. Don’t add fuel to the fire, roger?”

“Roger...” He relented with a soft nod. “Still, can we choose our third guy?”

“Sure, just slip the name under my door.” Vadim said and then returned to his table to work on his mooring plan.

Drawing up the plan was done rather quickly. The berth they had their eyes set on was just a regular quay for roll-on/roll-off vessels, meaning they would be able to use their rear ramp (the biggest) and make sure the ship was solidly held in place. They would even be able to open a side ramp if necessary because the berth was L-shaped. He only placed lines on the side of the vessel and didn’t bother putting any on the stern; experience had shown they only ever were really needed in case of storm or a very exposed berth.

Having to work with three guys less for the mooring would make things slightly difficult but if he put the bosun on the stern and he dealt with the bow they would have a good enough oversight of the situation, though he would have to insist on going slowly. With two or three sailors per winch, Artyom and he wouldn’t have much of a margin if the equipment started being capricious.

He would leave it up to Artyom to figure out who went where for the mooring. The guy had a better appreciation of his subordinates’ seamanship and would know who to trust with a winch.

Before he could put the finishing touches on his plan and add a secondary berth in case theirs was taken, someone –a brown cat- burst through the door.

“Hoy, we need Vadim down in the infirmary stat. Anybody seen him?” He cried out.

“I’m right here.” The aforementioned griffon said, standing up. “What’s the situation?”

The cat turned towards him. He was a bit dishevelled, and was panting loudly. He had a white apron (marking him as the ship’s other cook, Nguyen) above his coveralls and some rubber gloves. Both were stained with blood.  

“Farkas is down in the infirmary, got injured falling down some stairs while trying to get to the holds.”

Vadim was instantly walking at a brisk pace towards the exit door, not bothering to pick up any of his papers on the way out. He tossed his set of keys to Nguyen.

“Got it. Go to my room and grab the white folder with a red cross on it, it’s in my filing cabinet next to the desk. Find me another officer if you can, too.”

The Ukrainian swore in his head. He was considered to be the ship’s ‘medical officer’ but that was only due to him receiving a slightly more extensive training than the average officer, not him actually being any good at it. If the circumstances were normal, they would have a contact with the shore to evacuate a wounded or even just receive medical advice. But now... He was on his own, and someone’s life may be on the line (he dearly hoped it wasn’t).

The infirmary was a deck below the cafeteria, on the port side of the vessel. It was placed closer to the actual holds so that it would be easy to access in case of casualty, but that made it so that it was in a more Spartan part of the ship, surrounded by more practical rooms like the ballast control room and the ventilation controls. There, the walls turned to simple white painted steel covered in wiring and piping running along the walls. The floors were covered in a single shade of dark grey anti-slip paint that didn’t feel too pleasant against Vadim’s bare feet.

In itself, the infirmary was very barebones, much more so than it really ought to be because they usually counted on being able to evacuate casualties within hours. It consisted of two gurneys separated by curtains against a side of the room, a recessed area with a bed on the other side of the room, and the last part of the room being occupied by the cabinets, shelves, sink and whatnot that the medical officer would need to provide treatment to patient... Treatment which was, unfortunately, limited by the scope of Vadim’s own abilities as far as medicine was concerned. 

There were two people in the room. One was a sphinx laying belly down on a gurney, Farkas, Vadim assumed. He had a blood soaked bandage wrapped around his front left leg, and the other guy in the room, a white parrot with a nametag on his coveralls which read Alvarez, was holding a now red rag against his head.

“Can I get an explanation on what’s going on?” Vadim asked, immediately going for the cabinets on one side of the room, next to which there was a sink which he used to clean his claws (all the more important considering the fact he had to use them for walking).

“Well, we were going to go down the holds to have a walk on the main deck. Just to get used to moving in those bodies you know...” Alvarez said.

“And then he fell down some stairs I head? Is that correct Carlos?”

“Yes it is. We didn’t even get past the first flight of stairs... At least that got us close to the infirmary.”

The sphinx, who for the past minute had just lied there silently, opened his eyes and spoke up.

“I tried to go down the stairs but I couldn’t really see how to. Tried head first, didn’t work out, I slipped and couldn’t catch myself... ‘cause you know, no hands and all.”

“Ah good you’re talking, that’s a plus.” Vadim brightened up. “Word of advice, try to treat stairs like they are ladders, it’s slow but it’s safer. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?”

“No” The sphinx squinted in pain. “But I’ve got one nasty motherfucking headache. And how in hell would you already have figured out how to take stairs?”

“That I would expect from falling on your head like that. Just trying to figure out if you’re concussed... As for the stairs, that’s just the way I take them when I’m not feeling steady, the usual two bottles drunk that is.” Vadim said. “Now what was it they said after nausea?” He muttered. “Was it sleepiness?” He turned to Farkas the sphinx “Are you feeling sleepier than usual?”

“Boy everyone on this fucking ship is sleepy, we’ve been working our asses off all month.”

“I will take that as a yes and add irritability, though that might be normal for you.” Vadim quipped, adding a barely audible ‘skurwielu’. “Carlos, can you drop the rag you’re holding and get me a bottle of paracetamol. It’s the white and red one in the top cabinet. And please grab an IV kit with that. Maybe some painkillers will make our dear patient...” He levelled a flat stare at Farkas “A bit more courteous.”

“Eh asshole if you think smashing your head against industrial grade flooring is anything pleasant, then go ahead and try!” Farkas cried out, but went ignored by both crewmen present in the room.

Vadim pulled a lever on the side of the gurney which brought it to his level. Good, now he wouldn’t have to balance on his hind legs to examine his patient. He pulled off a corner of the rag on the sphinx’s forehead. Under the fur and coagulated blood, he could spot a jagged gash that was still bleeding a bit. It was about four centimetres in length. It would need stitches. That at least he could do. He put the rag back in place and instructed Farkas to keep compressing the wound with his right paw.

“Eh Carlos, what about the bandage on his left paw? Did you really get a look at it?”

“Not really” The parrot said from his side of the room where he was sorting through a cabinet “I just put a bandage without looking to stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, well Farkas I’m afraid I will have to take it off to get a look.”

“Just get on with it...”

Thankfully for Farkas, the blood had already coagulated under the bandage thus stopping the bleeding, but Vadim would have to remove the clot once he got a sterile field going: there were hairs in the wound, and just like on his forehead, the gash was long enough to require stitches too. On the bright side, it shouldn’t require any fancy technique to fix considering the edges of the wound were rather clean. He would have to take a look under to see if any nerve had been damaged.

“I guess you’re kinda lucky Farkas, ‘cause I don’t see any bone fragment in the wound. Doubt you’ve got anything broken, though you may want to take that with a pinch of salt, I’m no expert in this thing. Point is, I’d say it’s likely only sprained... Probably.”

“You sure sound confident there Vadim.” Carlos commented wryly.

“You try to remain proficient at that without any practice for months, then come back to me and see if you still got that wit. In either case, grab me a razor, I’m gonna have to shave around the wounds... and an armpit too, to plant his IV.” Vadim said, and then he put the bandage back in place. No need to inspect further without a sterile field and some disinfectant. “Also, where the fuck is Nguyen off to? That ship ain’t that big.”

“Why? Is he of any importance right now?” Farkas asked.

“Considering I sent him grab my medical folder, yes he is.” Vadim answered.

While it had taken Carlos a few moments to find the materials for the IV, Vadim had the benefit of being much more familiar with the infirmary. In a matter of seconds, he had brought out a foldable trolley onto which he piled everything he would need to take care of the wounds, including some local anaesthetic and disinfectant. 

“Why do you need the medical folder anyway?” This time the question was coming from Carlos, who handed him a medical razor in a plastic bag.

“Two things in this case.” He started.

Vadim put on a pair of nitrile gloves. Actual sterile gloves wouldn’t be necessary for the first step, and using the expendable nitrile gloves allowed him to try to get them on a couple times without ripping them apart with his ‘index’ claw (hint : by the end of it he was surrounded by shredded blue rubber). The glove also had a finger too many, but that shouldn’t be too much trouble unless he somehow snagged it on something.

“One is I put the inventory for the infirmary in it. Gotta keep track of what’s used you know? Second is, I need to check out my procedure for concussions. The wound I more or less know how to treat. As far as what’s inside your skull however Farkas... I remember a few symptoms, but not the whole thing so in the meantime that’s no sleep or water for you.” He finished.

The sphinx just grumbled and laid his head on his front paws. Not that Vadim would complain, that made his forehead easier to reach. He began his work by pulling out the sterile razor from its bag and shaving a small area around both wounds, just enough that no hair would get in. After that, he shaved some fur in the crook of Farkas’ right elbow (if that was the right terminology anyway, not that he cared overly much) to make room for an IV.

“Eh Carlos, prep me some bandages and medical tape would you? Take one of the dressings for catheter, the green ones on the top shelf too. After that, grab some cotton balls and dunk them in isobetadine.”

While the Filipino was busy seeking what he had asked, Vadim had already placed a rubber band around the sphinx’s arm and was looking for veins.

“Come to think of it I should be considered a pioneer in the medical field.” The Ukrainian commented.

“And why’s that Vadim?” Farkas asked.

“You think anyone has ever stuck a needle in a sphinx? That’s gotta be a new one.”

“Are you always that reassuring to your patients? ‘cause I’m feeling real confident in your abilities right now...” Farkas drawled.

“What, you want the Captain or the Chief to do it? Last I checked neither of them have renewed their medical certificate, and Micha hasn’t had any practice in years. You with me on that Carlos, uh?”

“That I am, but what about the Cadet?”

“De Vries?” Vadim snorted, hunched over Farkas elbow. “She says they let you skip medical practice at the academies now. Guess what she did? Went sailing instead of practicing. On a fucking sailboat to boot. How bloody useful.” He muttered. “Ah, I think I got a vein there!”

It was that moment that Alejandro chose to enter the infirmary, with the medical folder tucked under his arm.

“Hey what’s going on in there?” The blue parrot asked.

“I’m treating a patient that’s what.” Vadim answered, not looking back towards his superior. “You wouldn’t know if we’ve got a contact with the shore would you? And where is Nguyen?”

“I sent cat guy back to the kitchen and no we don’t have any contact.”

“You got my keys from him at least?” Vadim grabbed the IV kit Carlos had dropped on his trolley and began disinfecting the arm.

“That I have.  You need any help?”

“Yeah you can replace Carlos.” He looked at the Filipino “No offense buddy, but even if he’s out of date on his certificate, he’s got more training than you.”

“None taken.” The white parrot answered. “Want me to inform the captain?”

“You do that. Just remember to tell we’ve got it under control, no need to alarm him without reason, got it?” That came from Alejandro, who was leafing through the folder.

“Yessir, good luck with those stitches. And Farkas... take care; I will be back when they’re done.”

With that last phrase, the guy was off, leaving the two officers and the Chief Steward in the room. Vadim was quick to sum up the situation to his senior officer and asked him to bring up the page on concussions. He had a vague idea on the ins and outs of that procedure, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember if it was allowed to give patients fluids or not.

Vadim remembered to grab two spare needles in case he fucked up on the first try and failed to get the IV in (which he expected would happen). 

“I hope you don’t mind needles Farkas, ‘cause I’m going in.” Vadim said just as he pushed his first needle in after testing it briefly.

He inclined the needle slightly and tried to carefully slip it in the vein, but the ship’s motion and his own position made him overshoot. Farkas winced in pain. Vadim tried to salvage the situation, but the blood had already congealed in the needle. Time to bring out needle number two then...

Much to his relief, this time he managed to slip it in just right and with a content sigh he pulled back the needle, leaving only the pink catheter in place. He immediately compressed the vein.

“Hoy Alej’, drop the folder and purge the IV for me, I don’t think Carlos did it. Be quick I don’t want that one to congeal.”

The Chief Officer was thankfully reactive enough to get the air out of the tubing in short order. Before Farkas had the time to contemplate on his poor situation, the system was in place and he had a flow of painkiller directly feeding into his bloodstream. Vadim hung the bottle to a hook affixed above the gurney his patient was resting on.

“Ah crap.” A mistake suddenly dawned on Vadim.

“What’s it now? Nothing too important?” The Chief Officer asked him.

“Nah, beginner’s mistake, I forgot to take his parameters. Shouldn’t be too big of a mistake though...”

“What makes you think that way?” Farkas asked.

“Not that I would know since I’m not a vet, but I don’t think your parameters occupy the same range as those of a human. Still, want me to take your temperature?”

“No, just begin that stitching so I can get some rest.”

Vadim didn’t bother answering that question and set about prepping his sterile field on the trolley. He also moved a stool next to the gurney so that he would be steadier. He’d honestly rather avoid leaving too big of a scar if he could help it. He was glad that he had tucked his tail in his coveralls because he was pretty sure he would have bumped it into a couple dozen things in the rather cramped room that was the infirmary.

At first, he dumped a box of single-use sterile tools on the trolley (now covered in an aseptic field), as well as some balls of cotton dunked in isobetadine.  He hesitated for a bit regarding which type of thread to use, but elected to use a number 4 average thread on both wounds. It was probably wrong, but the material looked sturdy enough to him and he didn’t want it to break. These tools were joined by a syringe he filled himself with xilocaïne (a numbing agent he would use as the local anaesthetic) before dumping it on the field.

Confident he had the materials need to make his suture, the griffon nodded softly and grabbed some actual sterile gloves to begin his work.

“Okay, that should do it. Alejandro, I will need you to back me up and prep anything I might have forgotten once I get these gloves on. Do not touch my aseptic field under any circumstance, roger?”

The blue parrot, who was leaning against a wall at this point, gave him a firm nod.

“Anything else?” The Spaniard inquired.

“Yes actually, try to look for antibiotics. I will need ten days worth of it for him.”

Vadim then picked up the syringe he had prepped with anaesthetic and checked that it was void of air and that it had had the right needle, which he bent at an angle. He would start with the head wound. Syringe in one claw, cotton in the other, he ordered Farkas to peel off the rag covering his wound. The sphinx complied and Vadim, with his elbows propped up on the gurney, set about cleaning the congealed blood off of the gash.

Doing so resulted in a small trickle of blood, but the griffon deemed it negligible and kept going. This revealed more details on the wound: the edges were uneven and jagged, but it didn’t run too deep and it didn’t seem to come into contact with any important blood vessel. Unfortunately, it wasn’t linear, instead being shaped like a T. He would need to make a double point at the crossing or risk leaving a fold in the skin. But that would come later. He sprayed a bit of anaesthetic on the wound so Farkas wouldn’t feel the needle, waited a couple seconds, and then started making his injections directly in the wound.

To the Greek sphinx’s credit, he didn’t move too much when the syringe made contact with his skin, which was a nice plus. Moving would only have made the endeavour more painful for his patient. Vadim waited a couple minutes more to let the numbing agent take effect before dropping his syringe on the trolley and picking up a pair of medical pliers. Time to investigate the underside of the gash and look for veins and nerves.

Farkas barely registered when the pliers lifted a side of the cut, allowing his Ukrainian colleague to look under the skin. Nope, nothing on that side save for some stray hairs, which Vadim was quick to wipe away with some cotton. Inspecting the other side didn’t reveal anything either, so he judged it safe to begin the suture. He had however taken note of the thickness of the skin. The underside of it, he could see, was solidly fastened to the flesh underneath by wiry strands with a small but noticeable layer of fat (the colour was very distinctive) stuck between the two. The flesh directly under the wound was just scratched and tinted a crimson red by all the blood that flooded in the area, so no suturing would be needed under the skin (he didn’t have the thread for that anyway).

Getting the motion down with one finger less took him a bit longer than he’d rather admit. The empty latex finger on each of his gloves kept taunting him each time his grip on the surgical tools faltered, for he didn’t have a little finger to help stabilize the end of the tool that held the needle. He switched his grip a couple times before being satisfied with the position, squared his shoulders and dug in.

An actual doctor would have considered Vadim’s work crude and unprofessional. Unfortunately, beggars can’t be choosers and he had to take wide margins, poking his needle just a couple millimetres further away from the lip of the wound. He wasn’t confident enough in his abilities to risk having the thread break the skin when he tightened the suture point. Critics might say he also used too much thread on each point, but that was a moot point because the gash wasn’t long enough for it to be a relevant factor.

Vadim was so focused on his work that he didn’t notice the passing of time (or Alejandro peeking curiously at his work over his shoulder). He had to stop for a while around the midway point when Farkas remarked he was starting to get some feeling back, but that was solved by a quick application of anaesthetic. 

He had to catch himself before he rubbed the bridge of his beak (that would have broken sterility). He was starting to feel parched so he stopped a moment.

“Say Alejandro, you wouldn’t mind calling the kitchen and ask them to bring down a bottle of water? All that sewing is starting to make me thirsty.”

Vadim didn’t even bother listening to the Chief Officer’s answer before he dove back in, intent on finishing that first cut quickly. His headache was starting to come back from the neons that lit the infirmary despite the painkillers he had swallowed earlier after getting up.

The good thing is, he was progressively starting to work at a faster pace the more used to the process he got. If putting the first point (a double suture that had required him to poke three times through the skin to secure the centre of the cut) had been difficult, the last one was almost a breeze that was accomplished in a couple seconds. All in all, he had put seven stitches on that cut alone. He tested the resistance of the suture with a gloved finger, then, satisfied; he put some disinfectant on it and hid it behind a pad of gauze.

Even if it was bleeding a bit more, the second cut was nowhere near as hard as the first and took him only half as long as the first wound despite being twice as long. Working on a limb was definitely less stressful than poking a needle around someone’s head. By the end of his work, Vadim had a twelve point long suture that (at least, to his own eyes) looked like some proper work.

Of course, a more squeamish person might have been a bit nauseous at the sight of Farkas’ blood soaked fur and the bits of thread snaking their way through his skin. That was not the case for the persons present and Alejandro looked at Vadim’s handiwork in amazement.

“Well pal, I had no idea you had it in you for that kind of work. Where did you get the practice for that? We’ve been at sea for what? Three, four months?”

“Pig feet. I try to grab one from the kitchen once every two weeks to practice. That burns through the medical supplies, but I get my practice and the company’s happy to keep the supplies coming.” He answered, taking off his gloves. Those weren’t really necessary for putting bandages.

Vadim was all too glad he could take off the blood soaked gloves, finally able to get rid of the itching at the base of his beak. Someone behind passed by on the way to the main deck and dropped a bottle of water for him, which he swiftly guzzled down.

Cleaning Farkas’ wounds and putting bandages on top was merely an afterthought with the biggest part of the work already done (except medical tape didn’t work with the fur and he had to waste some more gauze to keep the bandages in place). He instructed the sphinx to avoid changing the bandages unless he soiled them or felt any sign of infection under. He also gave him his antibiotics and told him to avoid straining his injured leg if he could help it (he probably couldn’t but Vadim felt it necessary to tell him). After that, he sent him off with a warning to be careful around stairs.

“You need help with cleaning up Vadim?” His parrot colleague asked, and Vadim noted that Alejandro seemed to tilt his head to the side whenever he asked a question or showed curiosity. Avian body language, that’s a new thing he noted in his head.

“I will be fine” He replied with a wave of his claw. “That should be done and filed in a couple of minutes. I will fill in the incident report tomorrow and send it to Farkas to sign. For the rest of work, I remember my watch plan, your mooring plan is in the cafeteria, just remember to pass it along and if you’re looking for me, I will be in my room doing some sewing after I’m done with that. Is that all?”

“You remembered to get your shoes to Boris?”

“I have. Have you?”

“Nah, we don’t have the same foot shape. De Vries is trying to think of something during her watch.”

“His watch.” Vadim corrected him.

“Yeah whatever. Not important.”

With that last remark, the Spaniard walked off ignorant of Vadim’s stare.



Gender issues were sooo going to fuck up this crew’s relations.



Vadim just tossed the used materials in the bin with a huff (that sounded like an annoyed trill).
> Chapter 6: Anchor Watch and Morale Talks
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

While a certain Ukrainian griffon was busy practicing his sewing on living tissue, work for the watch officer up on the bridge was a lot more boring.

Cadet De Vries had honestly expected that the first watch he would do on his own was going to be a lot more... active. That expectation might have held some truth... had it been under normal circumstances. If the area they were in had been one of the world’s busiest waterways before they got themselves turned into furry fetishes (he shuddered at the thought), now the anchorage was all but deserted and the safety margins they had taken, which were considered sufficient with traffic, were now ludicrously excessive with an absent risk of collision. So he was just twirling a pen in his claw.

With nothing to keep him busy but his own thoughts and filling the logbook (which didn’t even take that much time), Geert soon found his mind wandering towards places he’d rather avoid, namely, his own transformation. He could only clench his beak when he thought about the implications of the bloody thing.

He hadn’t been entirely awake when the captain called them earlier to the bridge and had only realized part of the change. 'Oh look I got feathers' He had thought then. The complete scope of the change just hadn’t quite clicked into place yet.

But it had come crashing down at terminal speed when someone pointed out to him that his body shape was a bit off... for a male. Of course he hadn’t noticed at first, being more concerned by other... details, like the presence of a large feathery tail and a black and white beak.

Then other elements sprung up to add themselves to the puzzle. How wide his hips were, the fact the proportions of his ribcage and shoulders were quite narrow (fortunately he wasn’t burdened by breasts, but the angular shape of his ribcage was still very different from a human bone structure). And finally of course, the thing he really shouldn’t have missed when he got up and put on his coveralls was... the Void in his nether regions. He shuddered again.

The feathers he could deal with. Being the colour of a fucking rainbow he could deal with. Having a fucking beak and claws he could deal with. But having his motherfucking dick ripped off by some weird ass electromagnetic storm thingy. Hell fucking NO! How was this even fair?!

There was a crack. In his frustration he had broken his pen, spilling black ink on his claws. Fucking fantastic... He thought.

Geert stood up to fetch a tissue and wipe his soiled claws with a huff. He had plans before being turned into a macaw mind you. Plans he had drawn since he had signed up at the maritime academy back home for after he got his officer license. He had a girlfriend waiting for him back home in Groningen...

Guess those plans flew out the proverbial window the moment he woke up as a chick... Chick... Shit now he was making puns at his own expense, and in English to boot. He didn’t even like the language! Lacked the more pleasant singing tones of Northern Dutch... His feathers bristled.

There was a sink in a corner of the bridge, next to the toilet meant for the watch officer (so the guy wouldn’t have to leave the bridge if he really needed to release pressure in the tank). Geert went to wash the ink stains off of his claws there. In passing, he got a solid look at his new face in the mirror.

Poking out of his collar, his 'new' neck was thin, fluffy, and covered in bright red feathers. It was noticeably longer than what would be considered normal on a human and contributed to making his general silhouette appear very slender, though it wasn’t long enough to twist his proportions into those of a giraffe lookalike. His new body was lean, and a bit taller than he used to be (and that was something considering he used to be 1m85). He had lost on the strength scale however, because that body was clearly meant for speed and agility instead of raw power. Not very practical in an industrial environment...

Affixed to his neck was an angularly shaped head with a backwards swept forehead that was just high enough not to make people think of a caveman (he wouldn’t say woman)when they looked at him. And right in the middle of it all was a large curved macaw beak, with the top mandible white and the bottom one black. Geert knew that the appendage was unexpectedly sharp, but that it also had the odd property of being able to bend just enough to show facial expressions as he had tested earlier in his cabin by pulling faces in the mirror.

The beak hid some rows of molar in the back of his mouth (which allowed for some variety in nutrition, but not enough for him unfortunately, he had tried and was now stuck with a vegetarian diet after emptying the content of his stomach in his sink, salted beef was a no-go as of now). Geert opened his mouth, revealing a long black tongue in the middle of his mouth. He wiggled it a bit, the appendage was surprisingly agile and in all honesty, creeped him out a little bit. 

As for his eyes, they had turned from their former deep blue colour to a teal colour, but at least they had the merit of having stayed human. Both were framed by a patch of white skin that reached as low as his cheekbones. Standing-in for the hairs which would have made up his eyebrows and eyelashes were very small green-blue downy feathers. The eyebrows themselves were only visible because they stood out against the red down feathers on his forehead.

His ears, too, had fallen victim to the Cataclysm. They were much bigger than before. From what he could feel they had become some sort of mobile elf-ish ears, but their appearance seemed even bigger due to the fact they were covered in the same red feathers that now made up most of his plumage. Most of, because the feathers on his arms, part of his tail and also those that had replaced his hair, were now shades of blue, green and yellow. His ‘hair’ or rather crest if he had give it a more fitting name (though it didn’t seem to have the range of motion the crest of the Chief Officer boasted for some reason), was now made up of a large number of long feathers that reached the middle of his back, with a handful of them forming some ‘bangs’ that framed the sides of his face.

Geert just glared spitefully at the reflection in the mirror, his reflection. He was cute.

“How in hell am I supposed to be taken seriously if I look like some furry fetish?” He muttered to himself in Dutch. He didn't really have anything against these guys, they usually kept to their own turf, but he dreaded being associated with them. That's not something you would want on your CV.

He picked up a towel and dried his hands. The ink had barely been visible against his black scales anyway.

The Dutchman didn’t bother lingering on his thoughts and instead decided to keep himself busy by trying to come up with a design for some new shoes that would fit his transformed feet. Boris down in the cafeteria was busy modifying some, but had only been able to find a design for the digitigrade feet found on most species in the crew, not including the hooves found on the hippogriffs and the lone minotaur. Feet with a backward facing toe on the ankle like those found on the parrots apparently required an entirely different approach.

Geert gave a look in passing at the navigation instruments and found nothing of note. The vicinity of the ship was still completely deserted, and the radio instruments were cycling automatically through every possible channel (that they had an antenna for) without hearing anything. The satellite connection was good though. Might be because nobody was making use of the bandwidth though, so not that good as far as they were concerned. Still, most servers on the Internet were still running. Whether that was going to last, however, was an unknown variable.

He grabbed a sheet of paper from the printer and sat down in the navigator’s chair by the helm. With his tail, he had to take care to push it aside and not sit down on it. The feeling of bent feathers, as he had experienced earlier, was particularly unpleasant, and for some reason he just couldn't stand the sight of his feathers being out of place.

If modifying his own sets of coveralls had been relatively easy (though he still had no idea on how to add some protection for his tail), coming up with an idea for shoes was completely different. His body? Similar enough to a human that he could just loosen the fabric in places and tighten it in others, that he had done plenty of times back when he was human every time he bought a new set. The shoes on the other hand (or claw, he mused, giving a glance at the appendage with which he was twirling a new pen), were something he didn’t think any human had ever bothered to design.

Except maybe... Nah, and if someone learned about that idea he would pass for either a fool or some kind of creep.

But it wasn’t like he had any better idea and exceptional circumstances lead to exceptional decisions, right? Plus if he was quick enough to delete the search history, he would be able to get away with it without attracting ridicule from the rest of the crew.

Geert steeled himself, he had to be sure of what he was going to do, else he slows down and risk having his plan discovered. He quickly fetched a company laptop that had been left next to the chart table and plugged it into the ship’s mainframe. He logged in on the server and accessed the system that would allow him to consult the Internet via the satellite connection. He would have to be quick, the secretary tended to heavily monitor anything that went through that line.

A few seconds later, he was able to boot up a search engine. The moment of truth had come, he thought.

In the search bar, he typed ‘bird furry’ and looked for images.

After a glance he remembered to set the safe search back on. God that one was going to leave a scar in his memory. He shook his head. Thank God the furries didn't openly advertise that content.

On the bright side, the endeavour was not all in vain because after a few seconds he already had a couple results to atone for his sinful use of company bandwidth (to be honest he would have avoided it if it could be helped but he didn’t really have any better idea). Most pictures depicted some really sketchy representations of what he had turned into, but he was more interested in possible designs for a new pair of shoes that included space for the hind toe.

Few pictures had actual ideas for shoes and rather elected to cover the feet with a design akin to a pair of fingerless gloves.

Come to think of it that might be doable if he could get his hands on the appropriate materials. Kevlar and leather certainly, and maybe he could add bits of rubber on the knuckles and the soles for added protection. That wouldn’t be as effective as safety boots, but he could salvage the soles from his own pair to get the puncture protection, though the crushing protection was a lost cause for sure. Yeah, that would do. He began drawing in earnest.

His designing was cut short a good fifteen minutes later when he received a call from an irate secretary that asked him what the hell he was doing googgling furries from the bridge computer. The Cadet apologised profusely and attempted to explain his reasoning, to no avail. The Italian secretary on the other end of the line just called him a dumbass (and some other things in Italian that probably meant about the same thing) and hung up without giving him the time to answer.

“Jeez, someone got up on the wrong foot this morning.” He said to himself, leaning back in his seat. “Eh, not like I wasn’t expecting it...” He mused, before turning back to his drawings after taking a look at the instruments. "Plus it's not like that's the most twisted shit guys can jack off to... That guy should get a look at some of the porn stashes on board before calling me a sick fuck."

Still nothing on the radar, good, he could keep on designing those foot-gloves. Completing a workable design took up about half of his watch, to which he added some notes before scanning it and sending it to the Chief Officer. The guy had turned into a parrot too after all, and he may have some use for it. Geert on the other hand, wouldn’t be able to act on his design until he got the materials for it, which they certainly didn’t have on board. Not in a usable state anyway.

Eh, unless they miraculously turned back human once they reached the shore, he would still need to do it by then. In all likelihood he should be able to get his hands on some materials at a depot in port.

Deciding he’d better keep himself busy for the rest of his watch, lest he start thinking too deeply again, he once again took control of the laptop and accessed the CCTV archives to get a look at what went on earlier that night. What time had Vadim said again? Right, 01.30.

He carefully browsed through every camera installed on the ship. Those situated inside were kind of useless because nobody was on screen and he couldn’t get a look at what was going on outside, but the cameras on the bridge and those on deck were much more interesting to look at on the other hand.

Geert brought up both the deck and bridge cams on screen at the same time and jumped to the moment of the incident. The flashes of colour were there, like Vadim had described, but there was something more. He leaned forward and squinted at the screen. Something had gone on with the ships at the anchorage. He went back a few seconds.

There. On the camera overlooking the main deck, he could get a good view of the other ships that had been around them at the moment. He carefully slowed down the feed and focussed on the other ships.

At the moment where the lightning began to flash, he clearly saw that the phenomenon hadn’t actually been a global occurrence. There appeared to be a circle of light surrounding each ship. It was hard to see because the one around Amandine was overshadowing the rest, but the difference between the circles and the night sky was definitely visible.

All circles pulsated a couple times before the ships began to... disappear outright. But there was a pattern there. First it was the ships on the most western part of the anchorage, and then it began to sweep the rest of them away like a wave. When it reached Amandine, the feed cut to static for just a third of a second, before being replaced by the morning sky that had greeted them a couple hours earlier.

As for the bridge cam, it showed Vadim collapsing at the time the ships began to disappear. The transformation (if it could be called such, one instant there was a human, and on the next frame there was a griffon in his place) only occurred after the feed cut to static, implying that there might be a gap that the instruments failed to pick up. The systems hadn’t rebooted during the incident so there really wasn’t any reason to believe an electromagnetic pulse had knocked out the power, but there still seemed to be a gap. Geert scratched his head, utterly baffled at the thing. He would have to bring it up with the Captain if he had already got a look at the cameras.

Still, that was impressive to see. One instant you've got something like five hundred thousand tons in total displacement worth of ships, all solidly anchored and well monitored. And the next thing you know they've all been swept away by magic sky circles. Aliens? Nah, not enough ass probes.

Geert took out a notepad from his breast pocket and added the cameras to his to-do list. It didn’t really help with figuring out the source, but the circles above the ships were certainly a worthwhile clue he should look into.

Maybe that with a bit of elbow grease he could transfer the files to a better processing system.

The newly parrot then found himself once again stuck alone with his thoughts. No. He thought. Got to keep himself busy else his thoughts begin drifting in a direction he didn’t wish to take. He pinched his beak in thought.

The passage graph to port? Sure it was only 20 nautical miles to port but he could make one. He brought out the folder with the charts on his computer screen... only to discover Alejandro had already made one with a premade algorithm. Damn that Spaniard was too smart for his own sake. Geert closed the laptop with a snort and gave a glare at the clock.

Two and a half hours to go... What to do then? He crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his thighs.

New shoes? Designed, and waiting for materials.

Cameras? Inspected, Captain already looking at it anyway.

Charts? All done by an excessively professional Chief Mate.

On the edge of his sight, he spotted a flicker of movement far off in the distance on the port side of the ship. He squinted and saw a couple grey shapes sink below the surface.

Looks like the seals were having fun. The ocean must be pretty quiet now that there are no more ships to cause excess noise. Cute little critters, they must be happy to have all the fish for themselves now.

Geert glanced down at his own lap. No, he definitely didn’t want to dwell on what was between his legs at the moment. His eyes drifted sideways and he rested his gaze on his feet.

Not an interesting subject, but still miles ahead of thinking about a dick-ripping time travel. He flexed his toes and observed as the claws balled in on themselves, forming a fist. Eh, maybe somewhere down the line he could figure out some practical use for those. He checked the instruments quickly, still nothing new but his pen by the screen drew his attention. His eyes hovered between it and his foot.

Welp, time to figure out if he’s right handed with his feet too.





A couple hours later on the ship, a meeting was taking place in the officers’ lounge. Unlike the cafeteria, which was decorated in a less frivolous manner, the lounge was a place of leisure that was reserved for the sole use of Officers. It had a small but well furnished bar, made out of well a dark varnished wood that also covered most of the walls. The rest were covered in a purple layer of fabric that gave the dimly lit room an even darker appearance. The lightning wasn’t improved by the fact that the room didn’t have any windows.

One side of the room was occupied by a large oak table surrounded by a comfortable couch. Most of the time they used it to host card games and liquor tastings, but tonight it was occupied by each of the ship’s head of departments: Chief Officer Mendoza, Chief Engineer Schmitt (a Luxembourgian now turned into a pale orange female dragon) and Chief Steward Farkas, the sphinx who was still nursing his wounds with his foreleg and forehead heavily bandaged. All were currently seated at the table (though for Farkas, it was more akin to lying on the seating due to his inability to really ‘sit’ like a human).

Besides them, there were two other people present in the room, those being the Boatswain, Artyom, who was leaning against the wall by the door, and the Captain himself standing in the middle of the room, now dressed with a properly adjusted shirt (with a collar that wasn’t threatening to tear up the instant he sneezed). He was leafing through a notepad, which, a moment later, he tucked in a pocket.

“Alright Gentlemen” Dilip intoned “Is anyone of you aware of why we’re gathered today?”

Everyone gathered at the table shook their head except for Artyom who just snorted, expelling a small puff of smoke in passing.

“Very well then, I’ve assembled you all tonight to assess the state of the crew and most importantly...” He halted for a second “To get your opinion on how things will go once we hit port.”

Artyom frowned at that statement.

“Captain with all due respect that question is worthless. We’re all suffering from the effects of the transformation at the moment...” He glanced at Schmitt and Farkas “Some worse than others, of course.”

The Chief Engineer stared back at the Russian dragon “While I appreciate the concern Artyom, you of all people should know that’s not our first time at sea. I personally ensured that everyone in Engineering was aware that even though the situation is pretty dramatic –that much I must concede- the ship does need to be kept running. Everyone is distraught, true, but we are all mature enough to put it past us for as long as it takes to get our job done.” He glanced at the rest of the assembly “Am I mistaken?”

“Not as far as my own department is concerned” Alejandro answered “It’s entirely correct even” He nodded towards Artyom “After helping Vadim with Farkas in the infirmary, we made some rounds to... sample the crew’s opinion, so to speak. Most of those that don’t have duties stick to their cabins, if they’re not smoking on deck. And trust me on that, going by the volume of cigarettes being smoked today, they are pretty stressed.”

Dilip frowned “That much I expected, what I really want to know on the other hand, that’s if this stress is likely to cause any issue down the line. Have you seen anyone who looked troubled enough that they could lash out?”

“No cap’ain” The Chief Steward said “The crewmembers, they have their own circles, if it’s not members of the same nationalities, then it’s friends they made during our voyages and co-workers from the same department. Trust me, earlier today the Chief cook was pretty pissed but Nguyen managed to talk him out of anything stupid. My point is... If we want to avoid any problem, then we’ve got to make sure they don’t isolate themselves. That would only make matters worse. As long as those circles stick together, they should make it through with their sanity well in check.”

The Captain nodded and paced around for a bit “I know people were already overloaded to begin with.” He began “But you guys really need to keep your departments under control at the moment. Presently, our margin of error for any kind of work is drastically reduced due to our equipment not being a good fit and us not being familiar with our own bodies. How did it go with the fire fighting equipment by the way?”

“Pretty bad” The Chief Engineer answered, “But still better than expected. We managed to refit the fire suits for use, but the breathing apparatus is a complete bust. Even with the species that have a shorter muzzle like the cats and dogs, the masks leak way too much. I’ve got guys looking into designs for that, but it’s delicate equipment so I doubt we can find a quick fix for it. And using them on beaks or long muzzles just doesn’t work, at all. I'm just gonna go a bit further with your 'being familiar with your body' thing. Don't you all find it odd that we can walk around at all? I mean, those changes are pretty drastic and while we all have difficulties with the finer details... Even I can walk around mostly fine, and I have to move around on four legs!”

“I try not to think to hard about it. Must be ingrained into us like breathing. You start thinking about it, then you stumble around like an idiot. Back to the masks, you really have nothing to make it work for now?”

“We make do with the chemical suits, if you put those on above the actual fire suit and breathing apparatus, then the leak is somewhat contained. The whole thing really isn’t practical however, and those suits aren’t made to withstand high temperatures. They are rated for 100 degrees tops. It’s good... but it’s not enough.”

Dilip nodded “Very well, let’s minimize the fire hazard then. I want you to cancel any operation of hot work or grinding until we have a fix, and put some more emphasis on fire prevention. The crew will find it annoying, but I’m afraid it’s necessary. For the dragons, I don't think I need to remind you both not to fuck around with the fire breath, if you even have it under control.” He looked at Farkas “Please notify the cooks that using the fryers in the kitchen is forbidden until further notice, and shut down the dryers in the laundry room. You may make use of the holds to air wet sheets and clothing. Understood?”

“Crystal clear Captain.” Farkas replied.

“Good. Before we go further and discuss what’s gonna happen in port, does any of you have anything to add?” He spotted the Boatswain making a subtle gesture at him. “Yes Artyom?”

The dragon stopped leaning against the wall and approached the centre of the room with a confident gait. 

“I don’t want to undermine what’s being said about crew morale but I do need to remind everyone that there’s a factor we’ve been forgetting, and some of us” He gave the Chief Engineer a pointed look, which the other dragon returned in kind “Really should have mentioned it from the start. I’m talking about those on this crew that had their sex changed by whatever it is that happened earlier.”

“And your point is, Artyom?” The Captain inquired with a quizzical look.

“That I pride myself as being closer to the ratings of this crew than you officers, which is normal since I’m here to represent them. And from my observations, while I do agree that the male crewmembers have managed to swallow the pill and move on –at least as long as there’s work to be done-, I get a much more... dubious, I think the word is. Yes, a dubious vibe from the newly made females.”

The reaction was immediate from Schmitt, the Chief Engineer now a female dragon. He stood up from his seat and sent Artyom a scathing glare.

“And what is it exactly that you’re saying now?” He yelled, pointing an accusatory claw in his direction “Just because I got turned into a gal doesn’t mean I can’t do my job anymore!”

“That’s not what I meant” The Russian replied with a shake of his head. “What I mean, is that all, and I insist on all, that includes you Schmitt; of the crewmates that changed sex have been fervently pouring themselves into their work. And on this ship, Captain, that’s something I’ve seen a couple times.”

Dilip inclined his head and motioned to the dragon to keep going.

“Last time it happened? Thanasis, the oiler, just after his divorce. The time before? That was Nguyen when he learned his brother had a car accident on the other side of the world. My point? Each time I saw that, that was a man drowning himself in work to avoid thinking about a problem too much.” 

Schmitt literally growled in response to what Artyom was saying.

“So now you’re accusing me of being irresponsible with my work uh? And do you even have a solution to that?! Like a fucking therapist?” He almost moved to jump over the table to get to Artyom but was stopped by Farkas putting a paw on his shoulder. The sphinx gave him a piercing look. Even wounded, the guy was unexpectedly strong.

“I don’t think violence is gonna help in any form with that issue.” The Greek said. “I can’t pretend we’re qualified for that kind of situation. Nor is anyone on this crew. But I can’t say that bottling it up and avoiding the problem will get you any further either.”

The female dragon faltered and stared at his own claws for a few moments before shaking his head and sitting back down. “Fine!” He growled out “I will gather the... female part of the crew and have a talk with them.” He turned his head towards Artyom with a fiery gaze and a trail of smoke coming out of his nostrils “That good enough for you? And I better not catch any of you treating us any different, else I throw him in the incinerator, got it?!”

“I think that will be plenty enough for now” The Captain declared. “And all hope is not lost either... If whatever it is that happened could change our shape like that, it can probably be undone.” The last part came out with a distinct lack of confidence that didn’t go unheard by the people in the room. “Is everyone satisfied with this decision?” Everyone gave him a firm nod, so he decided to go on. “Now as for what’s ahead of us once the mooring lines are in place. I think it can go two ways, from a general viewpoint. One; is that once we arrive we find activity. I don’t care if it’s human or creatures like we’ve become. Second; is that nobody is there when we arrive.”

“And between those two situations, what does that change for us?” Artyom inquired.

“If the port isn’t as deserted as the anchorage then we can use the company’s office to figure out a course of action, get some contacts, and find out what happened. If nobody’s there, then we’re stuck investigating on our own. And trying not to have the crew run off on their own.”

“Run off?” Farkas asked “You really think the crew will run off like that first chance they get?”

“That depends on whom.” Dilip admitted “I don’t think the Asians are going to leave, but the Europeans, they might want to go and check out what happened to their family. I don’t like it, but let’s face it. We don’t really have any right to stop them from doing that, and I would perfectly understand their decision.”

“And that would only happen if we don’t find anyone according to you?”

“Yes, my assumption was that if we find activity in port, then that means civilization is still present after today’s incident, and their families have a good chance to be safe. Failing that, I would expect them to take matters into their own hands and go see for themselves.”

Alejandro shook his head. “I don’t agree Dilip. Most of the guys on this ship have been working together for a while. Surely they wouldn’t just risk making their way across a deserted and possibly dangerous continent for a family that is very likely to be gone when they get there. I know I wouldn’t.”

“Not everybody reacts the same way Alejandro” Farkas piped up. “Some of these guys, they signed up to work a profitable job for a while before they got back to their families on land. I’d find it abnormal if they didn’t try to get in contact with them when they got the chance. They’re always calling them whenever they can when we're close enough to the shore.”

“You may be right, but that doesn’t mean I’m too happy at the thought of half the crew splitting up and going their own merry way in the middle of the apocalypse.” The parrot added.

“Yet that doesn’t give us the right to hold them here.” Artyom butted in. “And even if people ashore are fine, they will want to contact them and have every right to do so.” He looked at the captain. “And as soon as the ramp is down, they are technically free to go if they feel like it, regardless of what order you may give them.”

“Would you object to me giving a briefing about that Artyom?” Dilip asked “I know as the Captain I don’t have to go through you to do that; but you being a representative for the ratings, I’m going to ask you. Can I give them a short speech about their choices in port? I want to tell them they are free to strike out on their own and leave if they feel like it, but that I’d rather have everyone stick together until that situation is sorted out.”

The dragon raised his eyeridges at the request. That was a first coming from the Captain.

“Agreed. What will you tell them about their wages?”

“If we don’t find anybody you mean?” That whole assumption seemed more accepted than they were willing to let on “I’m ready to dig into the ship’s money supply to pay back the leavers... though I don’t think a wad of cash is really any help if the country is a desert.”

Artyom shrugged. “As long as they get their choice and they’re content with it. I don’t know about you but I don’t feel like leaving either. Now Captain, it’s up to you to convince them to stay. Was that everything we needed to discuss?” He ended his sentence by looking around the table at the assembled creatures.

Dilip gave him a firm nod and proceeded to walk off immediately in the direction of his quarters. The rest of the people in the crew looked at each other before following in kind, with the exception of Alejandro who stayed behind and pulled out a projector from under the couch.

End of the world or not he was gonna catch up on his favourite series.





Not too far from Amandine, a scream resonated in a warehouse, unheard by anyone but its source.
> Chapter 7: Land Ahoy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When morning rose on the 25th, nothing else really happened to put the crew further off balance than it had been the day before. If most were a bit miffed that their transformation wasn’t actually a temporary thing, they had kind of expected to be stuck the way they were for a while. People grumbled, but everyone decided they preferred to keep their pride rather than wallow in self-pity. Work was cathartic enough for them.

By noon, everyone had managed to sort out their situation regarding clothing, even the sphinxes when someone spared the time to modify their coveralls for them.  Those were a quick fix for someone with a sewing kit and some elbow grease. On the other hand, it went without saying that everyone was going commando under the bright orange suits, modifying clothes other their orange uniforms really was too much of a hassle. Plus the weather was warm enough already.

As for the shoes, a constant supply of caffeine had allowed Boris to push through with the modifications for the cats, dogs, dragons and griffons. The Russian griffon was now enjoying some well deserved rest in his cabin before the ship weighed anchor. A few hours in bed and he would be good as new to deal with the mooring. The other species were still in need of shoes though. It wasn’t a big deal for the minotaur and the hippogriffs because their hooves were quit sturdy (though they were clueless as to how far that resistance went), but it was much more of a problem for the four parrots on board, who all had to be very mindful of where they stepped lest they lose a toe.

To the insistence of Farkas, the Cooks organised a barbecue on the main deck to get all crewmen out of their cabins and force them to socialize a bit. The cloud cover had cleared up entirely and the weather was now perfectly sunny, with only some small mist banks having been spotted earlier in the morning. On a regular day, a good occasion to seize for some cheery meal with the crew. In those circumstances? A necessity to bring the crewmen out of hiding.

Rahul and Nguyen had set up a couple tables on trestles towards the back of the long deck, with the help of some guys from engineering who were having a walk outside. The meats had already been pre-cooked and only needed to be grilled for a bit before serving, so that was some time they could save to make food for the vegetarians of the crew.

“Say Rahul, think you can deal with setting up the grill? I’m gonna fetch the food now.” The Vietnamese cat asked his colleague.

“Sure, go ahead. That’s a load I won’t have to carry down the stairs.” The dog answered with a wave of his hand. He was busy setting up a hose in case the grilling went south. It never hurt to be careful.

What the cat didn’t tell was that he also wanted to bring the food by himself so that he could ‘correct’ Rahul’s choice of spices so to speak. The mutt had had the idea of making some honey sauce, but for some unknown reason had decided to add an ungodly amount of curry to the mixture. Sometimes he wondered what went through the Chief Cook’s head; the guy was literally unable to cook a single thing without dousing it with spices.

Any sane person knew lemons were always the best addition to a meal.





Up in the accommodation, Vadim was putting the finishing touches on his suits. He had torn apart one of his older set of coveralls to add a ‘sleeve’ at the back to fit his tail (rather important considering the flame resistant properties of the material), as well as adding some zippers on the back so that he could let his wings free if he ever needed them. Not really necessary, but he had an inkling that those wings would be of some actual use somewhere down the line. He just needed to spare the time to figure out how to make them work... A resource that was in unfortunately short supply for him as of late.

He even had managed to spare some time to remove the pinkie on his work gloves to make them look a bit less ridiculous, though he would have to be careful with his claws unless he wanted to fix the fingers every week or so. Still, that helped him avoid injuring his hands- er, claws that is- just by walking around on the ship’s rough surfaces, and having to wash his hands all the time.

Vadim checked the clock. 13.00. About time he got down to take his share of the barbecue otherwise he wouldn’t get anything in his stomach before they hit port. The engineers were due to begin with the starting procedures soon enough and if he heard correctly they wanted to go through the complete procedure instead of the shortened one. Eh, if it keeps them happy, so be it.

He put on his clothes above his scruffy coat of feathers. He probably should do something about it but he didn’t really know how to go about it. Birds don’t brush their feathers do they? If the Internet was still up when he got the time he would look into it.

Trying out the new shoes was a pleasant surprise for him. As much as he trusted Boris, he hadn’t expected the Russian to manage that good of a job with his work. Of course, there was some margin for improvement, but the result was more than enough to work safely. The soles had essentially been cut in the multiple segments to allow more flexibility for his feet, with some minute changes at the plant of the feet and around the laces to make them more comfortable and keep them tightly in place.

Vadim didn’t bother taking his jacket – the weather was warm enough outside- so he transferred his gear to his coveralls before putting on a harness above them. He also grabbed a copy of his mooring plan, his goggles and his ear protectors, which all went in his harness, accompanying a small number of tools. He was going to need those to get the lines in position for the mooring.

The griffon checked his gear one last time before heading out the door and down several stories to the main deck. He could have taken the lift, but the Captain tended to be very... partial towards using it for anything that wasn’t hauling stores, so he stuck to the stairs. 

Whilst he had gotten somewhat used to moving around on all fours, Vadim still was a bit apprehensive of those stairs, and he perfectly understood how Farkas could have fallen the day before (the Chief Steward and the other sphinxes had thus been allowed to use the lift until they were properly acquainted with their new forms). They were much steeper than regular stairs, almost like ladders, and that’s how the Ukrainian chose to approach them.

Being a vehicle carrier, Amandine’s decks were essentially roads repurposed as parking space for the Lorries and cars she usually carried across the channel. The ‘main’ deck as they called it wasn’t actually the legal main deck but the highest car deck present on the ship, and the one most exposed to the elements. Usually, it was packed tight with trailers, but Amandine had been on a ballast voyage before jumping ahead in time, so they didn’t have any vehicle on board at the moment save for a couple forklifts and two tow trucks they used to move their supply containers around.

The deck was divided in two parts: the fore part was ahead of the castle and was thus entirely exposed, and the aft part (which housed the small inner ramp that allowed vehicles to go up and down the ship’s car lanes) that was sheltered on the sides by the accommodation, and that could be closed off by an as of now open hangar door.

The cooks had set up shop at the very stern of the ship, with their barbecue hanging over the railing, safely protected from the winds by a couple of well-placed sheets of metal. A couple benches and tables on trestles surrounded the cooks who were already serving food to the few crewmembers already present.

Vadim was quick to grab himself a serving of grilled beef and get himself seated with a couple guys from engineering, including the Second Engineer, Angelo, now a minotaur.

Said engineer had gained a considerable amount of bulk with his change, going from a geeky Greek guy to a hulking mass of muscles overnight. As he was dressed in coveralls (his being distinctly stained with oil) like almost everyone on board, Vadim couldn’t see too much of his pale grey fur, but he had a pretty good view of his large bovine head, boasting some pointy white horns poking out of his frizzy mop of hair, right besides the floppy ears.

Sitting next to the minotaur was one of the ship’s two gargoyles, as they had dubbed them (though there was some debate regarding whether they should be called satyrs instead). The being was a bipedal creature that would have stood at 1m50 upright, with a stocky build. He had some goat-like legs complete with black hooves. Vadim could see a tail poking out the seat of his pants, ending in a fork. It was lazily swinging back and forth behind its owner. A bulge in the back of his coveralls indicated that he, too, had been granted wings, though Vadim had yet to see them. His entire body except for the face was covered in ginger fur. He had a shaggy black mane going from the base of his neck to the top of his head, which was quite human save for a stubby snout. On either side of his face, you could see a large mobile ear and an antler timidly poking their way out of the mane.

“So how are things down in the engine room?” He asked distractedly as he took a bite of his meal.

“Thankfully, good.” The gargoyle answered curtly. He was called Nikola, a Bulgarian, if he remembered correctly. “It’s a good thing we had already gone through an overhaul recently, ‘cause otherwise we would be in some deep shit I tell you.” The guy continued without looking up from his meal.

“Really?” Vadim cocked his head “I would think that it being a relatively recent engine it shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

“It’s not the engine that’s bothering us” Angelo shook his head, missing the fact that his impressive rack of horns came dangerously close to goring his table mates. “The problems are coming from the pumps... Both the cooling and fuel pumps actually. We had to replace them recently and the engine controls are still set for the previous models, so they tend to be a bit capricious until we adjust it in the computer. That, and we haven’t entirely worked out the relation between rpm and feed rate yet, so we are stuck to managing it manually for now.”

“And that’s annoying as all fuck...” The gargoyle muttered.

“And I second that!” His minotaur colleague added “Plus there’s only Aleksei that can use the automation program correctly in engineering, and the guy codes like ass.” Angelo caught the pointed stare from Vadim “Eh, I’m not dissing him freely!” He raised his hands defensively “He admitted himself that was he does with the program is mostly throwing shit at the wall and see what sticks.”

“If you say so” The griffon shrugged “Still, will it be alright with the engine start this afternoon?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry about that. We’re manning the engines fully, so everything is under control, even if we’re short one guy until we figure out how to make sphinxes work.”

“Remind me once, who’s the guy? I can hardly put faces on creatures with that transformation...”

“Thanasis” Nikola said, taking a sip from a can of soda “Fella’s been acting pretty pissed off since he lost his hands. Last I checked he was using his mouth to get by... But I hardly think that’s a solution with the amount of grease we’ve got down there.”

“Makes me glad I still have hands...” Angelo added sombrely, giving his plate an empty look.

“Oh come off it now!” Vadim barked at the minotaur and gargoyle “You’re both close enough to human at least, at least you don’t have to deal with walking on all fours all over the place. Lemme tell you that gives you a new insight on keeping the floor clean.” 

Nikola shrugged “Eh at least we all got to keep our dick.”

“True that” Angelo nodded sagely. “How is it going with Micha by the way Vadim?”

“Still bad, but better since Schmitt got them all together for a talk. I have no idea what they said, but he’s been sulking a lot less. Seems to hang around with the cadet a lot too.”

“What, the cadet got turned too? Shit mate, that’s more people swapping genitals than I thought. How many?” Nikola asked.

“Nine of them.” He answered, garnering dismayed comments from the rest of the table. “I know, a third of the crew, could be worse still.” 

“Could be better too.” Nikola countered, jabbing his fork in Vadim’s direction.

“Well unless you’re willing to go and pray to every God in existence, dipshit, then you’re just stuck that way.” Vadim countered. “Like it or not we’re stuck with that and last I checked we don’t really have anything to deal with it.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “Honestly, I’d rather make do with the hand I was given than go bitching ‘bout how depressed the situation makes me.”

“The sage has spoken!” Angelo shouted. “On another note, I’d really like to be able to taste that honeyed meat you’re all eating but...” He frowned “Should I be worried about wanting to eat beef?”

“Cannibal” Nikola blurted out jokingly “Though you ain’t missing much” He eyed his food distastefully “For some reason Nguyen felt it wise to add lemon and didn’t bother stopping Rahul from putting in his goddamn curry.”

“Still better than the cinnamon rice.” Vadim commented.

“Yeah, barely.” Nikola waved a hand towards Angelo’s plate “At least they didn’t mix recipes with your grilled veggies.”

The minotaur snorted at the comment and, with nobody bothering to pick up the conversation from there, the trio fell to eating in silence for the rest of the barbecue. After a while, they all parted ways, with Vadim going to make his checks on the winches.





A few hours later, all the engineers were assembled down in the engine control room. The time had come to start up the engine and get the ship going.

The place was divided into two rooms. One was an office that had the ladder leading up to the accommodation. It featured a couple work stations with computers and a large amount of shelves that were filled with all the paper logs and manuals required to operate the behemoth of an engine that propelled Amandine. It wasn’t really decorated in a particular manner, instead focussing on a very utilitarian aspect. Nevertheless, the crew had seen fit to decorate the walls with some motivational posters and playboy calendars; as well as one very necessary coffee machine. On one end of the room was a stairway that led even deeper in the bowels of the ship, to the control room.

That room was very different from its direct neighbour by being covered in control boards and monitors that showed every nook and cranny of the engine and the generators. Most of the panels lining the walls were colour-coded in a very specific manner so that the engineers would easily find the control overrides for each and every system required to operate the ship. One wall of the room sported a thick glass panel that overlooked the engine itself, and the central control computers were situated just in front of that window.

Beside the window was the access to the airlock that gave access to the engine room itself. It was the only access possible beside a ladder that ran inside the funnel. There were some racks for the hearing protectors they used to go down in the engine, each being equipped with a small radio so they could still communicate over the deafening noise of the engine. One object of note was a small board attached to the airlock’s door that indicated whether there was someone in the engine room or not.

Even through the bulkhead and with the engine shut down, you could still easily feel the vibrations from the generators. For now it was rather mild, and the ventilation kept up with the heat that was building up, but once the engine was on it would easily rise past 35 degrees Celsius on a cold day.

At the moment, all three officers were seated at the control stations with their headsets on, ready to receive the ‘go’ from the bridge and begin the procedure. Behind them, the ratings were standing, each of the four ready to go down in the engine for an intervention the moment their superiors gave the order, though Thanasis the sphinx didn’t expect to be able to do much at all.

“Bridge this is engine room, we are ready to begin start-up procedure, over” Schmitt, the Chief Officer, voiced through his mic.

“Engine room, this is the Second Officer on the bridge, all teams are in place to begin departure from anchorage. The teams on line today will be the Second Officer on bridge and the Third Officer on anchor winch, the Captain shall oversee but will NOT partake in the manoeuvre, over.” The voice of Micha rang out a couple seconds later through their headsets.

“Roger bridge, communications in engine room will be handled by the Chief Engineer today. Ready to begin procedure on your mark, do you have any further request, over?”

“Engine room this is anchor winch” Vadim’s voice came through the radio “We require that you start the deck cleaning pump too. Motive : we need to clean the anchor as we pull it up, over.”

“Engine room to anchor winch, that’s a wilco, over.” Schmitt answered, and then turned to one of the ratings behind him, a parrot. “Carlos, can you go down and open cleaning valve A? Leave it at 50% since he’s only using one hose I bet. We will start the pump once you’re done.”

“Aye sir.” The parrot nodded firmly and moved towards the airlock.

“Alright now,” Schmitt turned back to his console “What’s the pressure in the hydraulic circuit?”

“120 bars, steady.” Angelo answered after flicking through a few menus on his console.

“Raise that to 250 and check the pressure in the compressed air tank. We’re gonna start off with the steering.”

“Air tank is at full pressure, 300 bars ready to be used, all pipes are purged so we’ve got 5 or 6 starts before starting the compressor again” Aleksei, a female hippogriff and the third engineer, said.

“Good, now start feeding some pressure to the steering pumps, then we can try out the actuators’ response.” He paused to push the button on his mic. “Engine to bridge, we are beginning start up on the steering gear, shutting off your access to the helm for now, over.”

He barely paid any attention to the answer he got from the other end of the line. He was already busy activating the valves to deliver some pressure to the anchor winch. Remote control really was a boon to their operations. The dragon looked through the window down in the engine room.

“Say Aleksei, did you run some lubrication on the engine as usual?” He asked.

“Correct sir. Ran the crankshaft a couple times and checked it myself. All in order, self-lubrication circuit already running too.”

Carlos came back from the engine room and told them the valve was now open, so Angelo started the cleaning pump before telling the winch team their gear was ready.

“Steering pump has now reached working pressure and is holding steady” The minotaur beside Schmitt said “I went ahead and put the emergency power unit in standby too.” He added.

“Begin rudder response test and keep monitoring pressure in that part of the system.”

“Copy that” The minotaur replied as he took hold of a small wheel that looked awkwardly small in his large hands “Beginning test of the flaps in three, two, one,... now.” He said, with his eyes riveted to the screen in front of him.

Considering the ship was at anchor, the reaction on the heading was barely noticeable and quickly corrected by the current in any case.

“Flaps response time is in the green, no loss of pressure, proceeding to test of the main actuator.” Angelo intoned flatly.

This time, the ship moved a bit more when the engineer moved both rudders on either side of the vessel, but that was of little of little importance for them, only being an indication of the strong current present in these waters.

“Steering test clear, all green, ready to transfer helm control back to the bridge” Angelo announced his superior.

“Engine to bridge, steering gear ready to use, transferring control now. Proceeding with test of propeller pitch control, over.” With a gesture of his hand, the dragon Chief Engineer indicated to his colleague to begin the tests on the propellers.

While Angelo was busy with the props, Schmitt himself was switching on the pumps for the cooling circuits that kept the main engine from burning out. It was simply a matter of re-routing some water since the system was already running for the electric generators. On the other side of the minotaur, Aleksei was priming the fuel system and bringing fuel to the main engine, being careful to keep it at the right temperature lest the dense fuel start congealing in the pipes. The hippogriff ordered a rating behind them to go check the fuel mixture at the filter.

“Working pressure reached in both pitch control pumps, test done, both propellers are responding correctly to telegraph orders.”

“Switching pitch control to the bridge, now.” Angelo flicked a switch on his console. “How is it going with the main engine, Aleksei?” He questioned.

“Fuel temperature is good, pumps are primed and ready for a first start, got 2.5 bars built up on the fuel lines at the entry point.” The hippogriff frowned at his screen. “Hold on, can’t find the temperature gauge for the engine block... Ah, there it is, ready to go too, are the cooling lines ready?”

Schmitt finished opening the right valves for the fresh water circuit that came in direct contact with the engine.

“The seawater lines are ready for the heat exchanger but I’m still building pressure on the fresh lines, wait a moment, I need 5 more bars to get the right flow.”

While they were waiting for the last preparations before trying their first start of the engine, a rating came back and gave them the green light with the filter. Not that surprising since they had been replaced and cleaned recently.

If it weren’t for being transformed into mythical beings the procedure would be almost boring. Schmitt scratched the side of his snout distractedly with his claw. He had had to dull those to avoid scratching the many touch screens present in the control room, but they still made for some nifty tool when it came to relieving itches.

“Bridge to Engine, confirming that we have pitch and rudder control. Permission to set pitch to desired values? Over.” Micha asked over the intercom radio.

“Negative bridge; leave the propeller in neutral until you have full telegraph control.” Schmitt answered. He eyed the pressure on the cooling line. “We are about to start up the engine. Will tell you when you may use the pitch control. Over.”

The dragon then pulled out a folder from below his seat and gave his checklist a cursory look. Yeah, all details had been checked. He turned towards Thanasis and asked the sphinx to fetch him the Engine Log so that he could register having gone through the list before engaging the start.

Good thing is, if he gave the sphinx things to do, that should keep his morale up and make him feel like less of a burden due to his lack of hands.

A minute later, the rating was back with the folder held in his mouth. He passed it to his superior who filed the documents for the start before signing it.

“Alright, ready for start. Angelo, bring the camera for the funnel on screen, I want to see if the scrubbers are running correctly.”

The Chief Engineer then selected the control to engage the engine on his screen. The computer ran a quick check by itself before asking him if he wanted to proceed. He flicked the safety off of the start switch. His claw hovered over the command.

“Engine to bridge, starting engine in three... Two... One... Mark.” He turned the switch.

The ship rumbled as the massive pistons got into motion. The dragon slowly increased the throttle, his eyes switching between looking at the engine through the window and his screen where he had brought up the rpm indicators.

“Aleksei keep an eye on the fuel pumps; make sure we don’t starve the engine.”

“Fuel intake remains steady sir, looks like we’ve got the correct values for that rpm. Or close enough at least...” He adjusted the rpm on the pump. “There, stable. We were off by twenty rotations by minute on that one.”

“Good, you keep an eye on those for the rest of your watch.” He turned to his other engineer “Angelo, switch on the main engine’s generator, turn off both of the diesel gens but keep one in standby just in case.” He turned to the ratings. “Carlos, Thanasis, you’re with Angelo to inspect them after shutdown, got it?” They nodded. He pressed the button on his mic “Engine to bridge, we are now transferring control of the engine telegraph to you. Remark: limit changes in engine rpm and favour propeller pitch controls for changes in speed.” He paused. “We are experiencing moderate difficulties with fuel intake controls, changes in rpm run the risk of starving or choking the engine, warn the engine room before any significant change. Engine, out.”

He gave a quick glance at the funnel camera. No sign of a particularly bad combustion, and the colour indicated the scrubbers were running correctly.

“Bridge to engine, we are now in control of the manoeuvre. Thank you and have a good watch, out.”

“Excellent” Schmitt said out loud. He turned towards the two other ratings he hadn’t addressed yet. Nikola the gargoyle and John, a Filipino turned into a pastel yellow female hippogriff with dark red feathers. “You both, come with me, we’re going to the bow and get the bow thrusters ready for entry into port.”

Saying that, he stood up and walked off without waiting for their acknowledgment. 





Up on the surface, a plume of smoke erupted from the funnel. Amandine was roaring to get back underway, and her Officers were all too happy to oblige. Vadim turned on the winch and the anchor chain started to be pulled back into the ship, passing through a strong stream of water that cleaned the sand and mud off of it, courtesy of the hose the Third Officer had set up beforehand.

Within minutes, a crewman was putting the brake in place on the winch and securing the anchor. Vadim signalled the bridge they were good to go with a wave of his claw, and Micha gunned the throttle. Below the surface, the propeller blades inclined themselves from their neutral position and started pushing on the water.

Amandine veered on a southerly course and passed between the buoys marking the limits of the anchorage as well as the access to the safe dredged channel that avoided the potentially hazardous sandbanks littering the area. There was a strong tidal current of about 4 knots if the instruments were to be believed, but it was nothing against the powerful engine of the modern vessel that cut through the waves with little to no difficulty.

Up on the bridge, Micha allowed a smile to grace his features. It always felt amazing to him, directing such a colossus of a vessel. The female griffon ordered the helmsman (Boris the russian griffon in this case) to alter course eastward after they passed a buoy. They were now well and truly engaged in the channel, and would reach port in as little as two hours.

Even though they were out of visual range of the shore at the moment, Micha could see its outline appearing on the radar, which also showed the wind farms North-East of Amandine. The GPS was still giving them an accurate position, so there was no cause of worry about that; but the receiver for maritime transponders (the AIS) failed to pick up any signal, nor did the radio.

They still were alone in those waters. Not a single ship or coast station active. All there was beside them were seagulls and seals. He sighed.

Better hope searching the port yielded better results.





An hour later, the boat team assembled on the poop deck. Amandine was approaching the last track of her passage before entering port and they all had a couple minutes left to run the last checks on the system before dropping off the boat and sailing ahead.

The team was made up of Danny, a Filipino turned into a female parrot (a golden parakeet to be precise) as the boat’s pilot, Boris the Russian griffon and Ioan, the youngest rating on board, now a blue-grey gargoyle with a black mane.

Vadim was inspecting each of them for flaws in their gear before allowing them to board the boat. Each was outfitted with an inflatable life jacket harness, for which the CO₂ cartridges had been thoroughly inspected beforehand.

The Third Officer handed Boris a walkie-talkie fitted with a headset.

“Alright, all checks are done, painter line in place, crew gear ready. Boris, you remember which quay we’re aiming for right?”

“That I do, berthing place 1, a ro-ro terminal, can’t miss it since it’s next to the leading lights.” The griffon tapped a pocket on the breast of his sea vest “In any case I noted it on my chart of the port. We still have no contact with port control?”

“Negative” Vadim shook his head “The entry lights are green, but the radio isn’t active. Try to look for signs of activity if you can, but don’t take risks... We don’t really know what happened, so it could be risky. Did Alejandro give you our little secret yet?” He asked his question at a barely audible volume, just loud enough that only the other griffon could hear him.

The Officer was referring to the captain’s revolver, a .38 caliber that was usually kept safely in the ship’s vault in case of emergencies. Having it worn by a crewmember entering a port was, of course, highly illegal, but after much discussion between the officers, they had deemed it necessary that the line handlers be armed.

The rest of the boat crew didn’t actually know about the revolver hidden in a holster beneath Boris’ coveralls. For all intents and purposes, they were only packing a taser (carried by Danny) and some pepper spray, which would already be considered a bit much in normal circumstances. Having a gun on board in European waters at all would raise eyebrows in the industry. Fortunately, Captain Prateek was particularly adept at gaining favours with harbour authorities.

Boris gave his superior a firm nod and secured his headset on his head before putting on his helmet.

“Just so we’re clear, that wasn’t my idea to get in a highly secure port which includes a chemical terminal as well as a navy base with a concealed weapon, got it?” He told Vadim “That’s just a shit idea and I really don’t intend to go around pumping people full of lead.”

“Yeah but if we what we expect with the lack of activity is correct, then the situation could be dangerous and potentially lethal.”

“Sure you think it’s gone all apocalypse-like ashore, I get it.” The Russian said “And I trust you with that” Vadim gave him a doubtful look “Really I mean, but on the chance that you’re wrong, need I remind you of how the local law enforcement has been since all the terror attacks recently? And how do you think they would react to a Russian citizen” He pointed a claw to himself for emphasis “Strolling in one of their ports packing a concealed gun?”

“Badly, I know, and we will back you up if shit goes down. But we’d rather you have it and don’t need it than the alternative.” He pointed in the direction of the approaching port, still just a speck on the horizon (which, by the way, they could see in a very detailed way, those griffon eyes weren’t so bad) “Plus, do you see any kind of movement over there? We checked, their radar tower isn’t even on.”

Boris muttered something in Russian under his breath.

“It’s fine, I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just that I didn’t like it, got the difference, sir?” He said.

“Good.” The Ukrainian concluded before grabbing his radio. “Bridge, this is boat davit, how long until we reach the drop off point? Over.” He asked.

“Bridge to davit, twenty minutes to drop off. Are all checks done and the boat crew ready? Over.” Micha asked over the radio.

“Davit to bridge, davit controls are manned by yours truly, the crew is geared up and ready, painter line in place, awaiting authorisation to swivel the davit and have the crew board the craft, over.” He answered. Now to play the waiting game.

And right on cue, twenty minutes later, when they were much closer to the port, Micha gave them the authorisation to deploy the fast rescue boat.

Amandine slowed her speed down to about 6 knots and altered course ever so slightly so that the boat would be dropped off on the lee side.

With the crane that acted as the davit, Vadim lifted the boat off its rack and lowered it next to the railing. The boat crew mounted their craft, and Boris gave Vadim the thumbs up (claw up? Eh, why did he even bother thinking about changing those expressions...) to lower it.

A griffon crewmember signalled him when to halt the crane. He looked over the railing to see Danny going through the last checks and testing out the engine. The parrot signalled him, he was ready to deploy.

A single press on the crane control dropped the boat the rest of the way to the water. The automatic release hook did its job and, after untying the painter line, Danny gunned the engine and left Amandine behind on his way to the port.

“Amandine fast rescue boat to Amandine, boat deployed, you are clear to resume your initial course and speed, FRB out.” Boris said over the radio.

“Amandine to FRB, roger and good luck, over.” Micha answered before applying more pitch to the propellers, pushing Amandine back to her initial approach speed of 10 knots.

Up on the bridge, Micha was discussing how they would go about their manoeuvre with the Captain. Next to them, Geert was listening intently, interested in finding out about a possibly new technique.

About 5 cables before the ship passed the breakwater, Micha ordered the helmsman to decrease speed by half. If he wanted the manoeuvre to work correctly, they would need to exploit the whirlpool situated right on the entrance into the port.

He checked the controls for the bow thrusters. It would be needed too, because he wanted to turn the ship fast enough that her inertia would carry her stern first out of the whirlpool and towards their berthing place without having to give much in the way of reverse thrust. He was feeling confident; the Captain had been made aware of the intended manoeuvre and approved it, now it was just a matter of putting it into action.

“One cable to breakwater” The helmsman intoned.

Micha braced himself on his console with one claw hovering over the bow thrust control. Moment of truth, he thought, making port entry without the compulsory tugboats. He eyed the edges of the breakwater. Three, two...

“Starboard 15. Full ahead on port prop, full astern on starboard prop.” He ordered sharply.

The helmsman repeated his order and the ship began swinging within seconds with a delicate application of bursts from the bow thrusters.

The griffon officer kept a close eye on the ship’s heading and the quays beside them. When the ship turned sufficiently, he ordered the rudders back to midship and both propellers on a backward pitch. They still had a couple degrees to turn but the inertia carried the ship the rest of the way, with just a small overshoot that he was quick to correct with some push from the bow.

A quick glance at the chart screen told him they were on the exact planned track. Perfect. He told the helmsman to release his control over the wheel, now was the time to move to the port bridge wing and oversee the more delicate part of the approach.

Right beside him, the Captain was looking around with a frown. Micha might have missed it because he was busy with his manoeuvre, but he paid a close attention to the state of the port. And it was... odd.

For one there was almost no ship present in port, and all those that he could see were clearly inactive and devoid of any personnel. Those were all smaller vessels which weren’t always manned like tugs and supply barges. And some old minehunters in the navy section of the port too, he noted.

So all of the vessels that saw continuous activity had disappeared.

Furthermore, the quays too were bereft of activity. Not a single soul to be seen. Nada, zilch. The only presence was the orange specks next to their destination, the boat team. At least these guys had found their way to the quay, and remembered not to park in Amandine’s spot. That would have been amusing to explain on the radio, the dog thought.

Dilip observed his subordinate carefully guide the thirty-four thousand tons ship towards the pier. Stressed as he might be, the griffon was doing a good job. He didn’t understand why he always got so worked up over manoeuvring if he could do it correctly like he was doing now. Particularly considering how he always stuck to procedures like glue.

Actually the... uniqueness of this approach might be why his Second Officer was behaving like that, what with it straying away from normal procedures.

The ship was now a dozen meters away from the quay, moving at a crawl towards the shore. On either end of the ship, Alejandro and Vadim were directing the line handlers to their positions.

Micha brought Amandine parallel to the quay, and just far enough from the end of the pier that they could make use of the stern ramp. The Second Officer put the rudders in position for a transverse thrust and started gunning the throttle in short burst. Combined with the bow thrusters, it slowly began to push the ship the rest of the way.

With a very soft thud, Amandine gently came to a rest against the berth’s rubber fenders. From his position next to Micha, Dilip observed the lines being tossed ashore and hauled to the bits, ensuring the ship would be held tightly in place.

The operation, Dilip was glad to see, only took the crew a few minutes before all lines were in place and secured. 

Not bad for a crew that was dealing with a loss of humanity. He gave Micha a soft tap on the shoulder and congratulated him on a job well done before making contact with the engine room via the intercom. He told them to switch over to the diesel generators again and to prep the stern ramp for opening. They weren’t going to open it yet, but he wanted it ready ASAP.

He checked his watch. 18.50. The sun was still high up in the sky.

On the poop deck, some crewmembers deployed the pilot ladder to allow the line handlers back on board. All were felicitated for a job well done; and Boris passed by the bridge to give back his gear (and the revolver, which he discreetly slipped to Micha when the rest of the boat crew wasn’t looking).

“Anything left to do, sir?” His Second Officer asked him.

“Did Boris secure the FRB?”

“Aye” Micha twirled a set of keys in his claws “Got the keys over there, as for the boat; it’s moored and hidden under a tarp on the other side of the car terminal.”

“Very well, take the keys and the... you-know-what back to the vault. Remember to unload it too.” The Indian dog checked his watch “Have the crew gathered in the cafeteria by 20.15, I need to make an announcement.”

“Understood Captain, do you wish to have dinner delivered to your quarters?”

“Negative” He shook his head. “I need to think for a bit. I will do the shutdown procedure for the instruments myself. Just go and enjoy your meal.” He said, waving his paw vaguely.

The younger griffon departed with an enthusiastic ‘thank you cap’ain!’, leaving the old captain to his thoughts.

The Captain walked over to the port bridge wing, enjoying the feel of a soft breeze on his fur. He leaned over the railing and levelled his gaze towards the other side of the harbour.

There was a lit window in one of the buildings on the navy base.
> Chapter 8: Welcome to Zeebrugge
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geert was sitting on his own at a table in the cafeteria, lazily poking at his food with a fork. Someone pulled at the chair on his left and set down.

“Looking kinda glum here De Vries, what’s on your mind?” Vadim asked, soon joined by Micha on the other side of the table.

“Dunno really…” The parrot shrugged “Voyage’s over and that means I got my promotion. It’s just… you got a look at port too?” He viciously stabbed a vegetable with his fork “I know it’s not the Netherlands but still… Leaves me little hope for what I might find back home you know?”

“How close are we from your home exactly?” Micha questioned him.

“I was born in Groningen, but I live in Vlissingen now, on the Scheldt estuary. That’s twenty to thirty nautical miles from here.”

“You know we can’t really tell that everybody disappeared. For all we know they moved inland.” Vadim tried.

“Sure” Geert rolled his eyes “And while they were at it they hauled all the merchant vessels and some of the navy vessels inland while they were at it” He scoffed “Makes perfect sense”

“Still better than settling for the fact that an entire population could vaporize overnight.” Micha countered.

Geert slammed a claw on the table and glared at the two Officers.

“For fuck sake can’t you two get it? Everybody but us is just fucking GONE!” He yelled “I used the Satcom to connect to the Internet earlier. You know how some sites register their traffic? Guess what then? I got a look, and all the users they’ve had recently were bots, AI and algorithms. Not a single verdomme human user.” He made a cutting motion with his arm “It’s just US now.”

He closed his eyes and held his head in his claws, before letting out a long sigh.

“Sorry, that was unbecoming of me. I’m a bit… antsy at the prospect of winding up alone on the shore now that my contract here’s ended.”

“That needed to come out at some point.” Vadim paused to take a bite of his meal “No trouble on my part.” He glanced at Micha “You?”

“It’s fine, I get it too.” He waved a claw dismissively “Have you brought it up with the Captain yet?”

“Nah” Geert shook his head “It’s only now when I saw the state of the harbor that I’ve come to realize how bad the situation really is.” He looked at them “But how can you be okay with that?”

“Self brewed coping mechanism.” Vadim answered flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” Geert cocked his head.

Vadim twisted a bit to open the breast pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a flask covered in an ugly looking tartan canvas.

“We’ve got a deal with Aleksei and Angelo in engineering. With some of the guys in engineering they’ve rigged an alembic to the cooling system of the main engine. The Chiefs are kind enough to look the other way provided they’re not too… thirsty.” Micha commented before motioning with his head towards Vadim “And our friend over there likes to think of himself as a master brewer since he ‘invented’ a particularly potent blend of booze.”

“The Belvedere I gave you yesterday? Might as well be considered water compared to the shit that comes out of the alembic.” Vadim boasted.

“And that keeps you from panicking?” Geert snorted “Yeah, right.”

Vadim waved the flask in front of the Dutchman.

“Won’t believe it ‘til you try it, want some?”

Geert didn’t bother giving an answer to that question and just swiped the flask from Vadim’s hand before taking a swig. The liquid burned its way down his throat and he had to hold back an awkward cough.

“Jezus Vadim, the fuck did you make that with? Antifreeze?”

“A spoonful, among other things.” The Ukrainian joked. “Still, feel better now?”

“If by that you mean if the third degree burns in my throat make me forget about my otherwise shitty situation, then yes, thank you for your Slav fuckery.” Geert rasped.

“Eh, it ain’t dumb as long as it works. Now give that back I need a swig myself.”

The parrot eagerly passed the flask back to its owner. He stroked his long neck as he watched the Ukrainian down the rest of the content in one go, the burning sensation now replaced by a dull throbbing in his throat. Micha turned to him with a questioning look.

“Still, given the chance, would you rather stay on board or strike out on your own?”

“Given what I’ve seen today? I’m not a solitary type, if I know I’m not going to find anyone ashore, I’d rather stay. Why the question? I thought that was kinda clear on my part.”

“It’s mostly because of Alejandro. He told me how they had a meeting with the Captain yesterday in the lounge. They want to ‘survey’ so to speak, those of the crew who might want to leave.”

“That bad uh?”

“Not from my point of view. I asked around for a bit during breakfast. Didn’t see any Officer that wanted to leave that’s for sure. And the deck guys, well, not really either. We might be on the right continent, but you are the only guy who is actually close to his home.” Micha took a sip from a can of soda before resuming. “Maybe if we were closer to their homes they’d take the chance, but we’re still way too far. The port being deserted doesn’t help either.”

“You think the Captain’s making a mountain of a molehill then?”

“I’m not pretending I’m right about this. People do want to go home, but I don’t think anybody would leave the group to venture into the unknown quite so soon.”

“But you think it’s going to pop up somewhere down the line?”

“That is correct.” Micha nodded.

“Would you leave the ship?”

“No” Micha answered “Not in those conditions at least. Poland’s too far from here, if I were to try, then that would be a one-shot, in a certain manner. What happens if you leave, go home and nobody’s there to greet you? Only reason I’d have to take the chance is if we’re close enough that I can make it back to the ship if I don’t find anybody. Wouldn’t want to wind up stranded, you know?”

“Makes sense” Geert nodded, before resuming his eating.

A minute later, they were joined at the table by the ship’s sole minotaur.

“Hey guys, I just had a talk with Roberto and you won’t believe what he told me.” Angelo said as he sat down.

“And that would be?” Vadim inquired.

“Well that mad lad of a cadet was straight up googgling furries from the bridge computer yesterday. Crazy init?”

Geert shrank down in his seat.

“Say, Angelo, have you read the new crew list? The one with the species on it?” Micha asked the engineer.

“Haven’t memorized it yet.”

“Hold on a sec’ then.” Micha shoved a claw down his pocket. “Here, take a look.” He passed him the list. “Now, last row, look at the specie of the cadet.”

The minotaur frowned at the sheet of paper.

“It says ‘parrot’ right there.” He said.

Micha grabbed the minotaur’s muzzle and pulled it in Geert’s direction. His eye ridges rose.

“Oh…”

“Oh indeed Angelo.”





A few moments later, the Captain strode in the cafeteria, clad in his dress uniform. Talks ground to a halt as he made his way to the center of the room. He swept the room with his eyes, ensuring that everyone was paying attention.

“Gentlemen, I have come to deliver you all a choice.” He began. “As many of you are probably aware by now, the port we are berthed in turned to be as deserted as the anchorage, and while I have suspicions of activity present in the vicinity” Some people raised their heads at that “It is clearly not to the extent that is considered usual for the port of Zeebrugge. There is a high likelihood of that state of affairs extending to the rest of the continent, if the clues we have gained from observing Internet traffic are to be believed.” He paused to evaluate the crowd’s reaction. All were still paying attention.

“But that is conclusion many of you have reached, whether you are willing to admit it or not. What, I believe, matters the most to you at the moment is the state of your families and those you left behind at the beginning of your work here. To assist with that issue, I have decided to allow everyone free use of this ship’s telecommunication equipment for those who may want to attempt reaching their families, be it radio, phone, or even satellite communications. I will even encourage it, as it may give us further clues regarding human activity.”

“Furthermore, I need to remind you all that you are not under any obligation to remain on this vessel. While we all currently have a contract with the company, it is quite clear that without any contact with them, I will be unable to deliver your due wages, for which I wish to extend you my excuses.” He gave the room a cursory look; they didn’t seem to react too badly to that announcement.

“I expect that some of you will want to leave the vessel to go see their families, particularly the European members of this crew who are within reach of their home countries. It is not within the scope of my powers as the Captain of this vessel to stop you, you are free to leave if you so desire. I only wish to ask you to meet me in my quarters this evening so we can discuss the terms of your departure. Due wages will be paid out of the vault’s cash supply for those who terminate their work on this ship. Any complaint regarding the way the compensations are handled may be taken to the Union representative.” He gestured towards Artyom who was sitting with Boris in a corner of the room.

“I will conclude this little speech with an appeal to everyone present. I understand everyone’s worry about their families and sympathize with it; I myself have a wife and kids, grown up as they are, back home in Mumbai. I still believe it as being too hazardous to depart from this crew on your own across Europe to attempt to find people that may not even be there. We are stronger together and we will need everyone we can to face this crisis. So… please, consider your decision for a bit before coming to my office.”

The dog pulled at his tie for a bit, looking at the crew assembled around him. He gave a soft nod in Artyom’s direction.

“Thank you for your attention. I will be in my quarters.”

Dilip walked off to leave the assembled crewmen to their thoughts. Once he passed the doors, the entire cafeteria erupted into whispers. Some started to make their way towards Artyom, who was starting to seriously question his own choice of being unionized.

On the other end of the room, Geert stood up and strode towards the door. Now would be the best moment to address the Captain before he got swarmed by inquisitive sailors.





Geert walked up the stairs to deck B, the one where the Captain’s quarters were situated. He would have changed into his dress uniform if he could, but unlike the Captain’s, his still needed to be adapted to his new form. Considering how much he trusted his sewing abilities and the cost of said uniform (even though he bought it second-hand), he wasn’t particularly interested in trying.

He had gone back to his cabin (a rating’s room, a tad smaller than the type given to officers without the desk, and with a bathroom shared with the cabin next to it) to fetch some documents, including a copy of his work contract.

The parrot gave his coveralls one last inspection. Going to the Captain’s quarters with a dirty or damaged uniform would be… less than ideal. He smoothed out some wrinkles with the back of his claws and ensured his crest of feathers wasn’t too messy.

Recently he had developed a keen awareness for his appearance, always being particularly conscious of how he looked, in particular when it came to his feathers.

He couldn’t put his talon on which was responsible, the change in gender or the change in specie. Perhaps both.

Geert shook his head. Now was not the time to get lost in thought. He knocked on the door to the Captain’s quarters.

Dilip was quick to open the door and let the now former cadet inside, gently motioning him towards a desk with a soft greeting.

Geert appraised his surroundings. He was in the ‘office’ part of the quarters, this being the first room visitors would find themselves in upon entering. Opposite to him was a door leading to the Captain’s cabin proper.

It was a rather large room, visibly designed with two distinct parts in mind. One half of the room, the one that was adjacent to the exterior of the ship, was used as the Captain’s office with a desk, some office equipment like a printer, a server rack and some filing cabinets. The desk itself was a large piece of furniture made out of lavishly carved cherry wood with a slab of crème-colored marble on the top. The desk was laden with piles upon piles of documents, with the only real personal touch being a framed photo of what Geert expected to be the Captain’s family. Around the desk were three chairs, two small wooden chairs for visitors, and a heavy looking leather office chair for the Captain. Directly behind the desk was a porthole which let some natural light in the room.

The other half of the room was a sort of meeting room, with two couches on either side of the room surrounding a coffee table. Above the table, someone had attached a projector to the roof, which pointed to a white board on the wall. The coffee table also had a transparent side, which showed the Captain’s collection of high-value liquors.

Generally speaking, the room had an appearance similar to the rest of the accommodation with the lower part of the walls being covered in wood. The most notable difference being that the color was dark blue instead of burgundy. As for the decorations, Geert took note of some plastic fichus trees in the corners of the room and various framed pictures hanging on the walls.

The Captain ushered the Dutchman to take a seat at the desk and offered him a glass of liquor, which he politely declined.

Dilip sat down and took a moment to make some room on his desk, pushing the documents out of the way before facing his subordinate.

“Sorry about the mess on the desk, I didn’t expect anybody to turn up here so quick. Now,” He pulled out a folder from the pile he had pushed aside “I got your documents here, cadet contract, completed review of your performances and a recommendation, the usual fare. It’s been a pleasure to have you on this crew…”

Geert politely raised a claw to halt his superior.

“With all due respect sir, it’s actually the opposite. I wish to extend the duration of my work on board of your vessel.”

Dilip cocked his head, looking just a tiny bit confused. 

“Are you sure certain of your choice? While I do appreciate you choosing to stick with us, I also know you are within an hour by car from your home. You are literally on your doorstep.”

“I am aware of that fact, yes. But… upon seeing the state of the harbor, I cannot reason that I would wish to see what awaits me at home. I find the prospect of continuing to work here to be safer than being on my own.”

“I am glad to hear that De Vries, under normal circumstances I wouldn’t expect someone with credentials like yours to stay on board.” He pulled out Geert’s CV from the pile before tapping it with a digit for emphasis. “Licensing in polar navigation, licensing in direct positioning system, certifications for the carriage of volatile compounds and chemicals. I’m leaving some out, but you’re clearly made for another kind of ship if it comes to work beyond that of a cadet.”

“Does that mean you do not accept my request?” Geert leaned forward in his seat, seemingly worried.

“Certainly not, I’m just ensuring you are made aware of the… specificities, so to speak, that our current situation may entail. You’re currently very close to your home, and this is a chance you may not get twice. The likelihood of us leaving the North Sea area in the future is very real, as I do not know where this crisis may lead us. Work will also be very different for you now that you have enough time at sea to validate your certifications. If you are to stay on this ship, I will expect the same work from you as I do from the rest of the officers. Understood?”

“Yes Captain.”

“Good, I will ask Roberto to make you a new contract tomorrow. Just… don’t expect much in the way of wages. If you already have your Third Officer ranks, you may apply them to your uniforms. You may also go see Farkas and ask him for a cabin more befitting of your station. All officer cabins are taken, but let him know I now allow the use of the VIP cabins. Should be similar enough, and it’s on the right deck. I will personally tell Alejandro so that he assigns you some duties.”

The Indian dog’s ears swiveled on the top of his head, pointing towards the door.

“Sounds like the next guy is already here. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Geert shook his head and stood up. He shook the Captain’s paw and made his way to the door. Before he could open it, Dilip gave him his thanks for staying.

“You know, I was worried too many people would start leaving… but if you of all people want to stay, even this close to your home, then that’s a good sign.”

Geert replied with a nod and left. In the hallway, he saw Nikola, the gargoyle from engineering. He recalled the Bulgarian had a rather large family back home, which would explain why he was visiting the Captain now.

But prying into people’s lives was none of his business, so he just went on with his life. 

The ratings kept watch this evening so that left him a lot of free time. Geert went down to his cabin to get changed. Now would be the right time to hit the gym and blow off some steam.






The sun went down and up again, and Amandine’s crew soon found themselves gathered next to the stern ramp the following morning.

Off to the side, Alejandro was giving the ramp controls on last inspection before their opening, with the assistance of one white furred dog deck rating.

Many of the assembled people took note that the youngest of them, a gargoyle called Ioan, was now heavily laden with bags. The 20-year-old gargoyle was having a heated talk with some of his friends from the crew, but it was pretty clear what his intent was. Some were starting to exchange curious whispers about it, but somebody had yet to approach the gargoyle’s group.

At long last, the Captain arrived with a clipboard under his arm and a satchel slung around his shoulder. He still was dressed in his shirt and cargo shorts, but he seemed to have spared some time to brush his fur. He was followed by Micha, who was carrying a large canvas bag across his back.

“Gentlemen, may I have your attention?” Dilip said.

All conversations ceased at once upon hearing their Captain speak up.

“Good, I hope everybody had a restful night, even those who had watch duties. Today marks our first day in port, and I intend to make the best use possible of our time here. But first, it is now time for us to say goodbye to one of our crewmembers.” He looked around the crowd for a moment. “Ioan Mircea, can you please come forward.”

The young gargoyle adjusted the straps on his bags and stepped forward to meet Dilip.

“Ioan, it has been a pleasure to have you on this crew and I hope you don’t regret working here either. I wish you the best of luck finding your family, where are you going again?”

“To Constanta sir, on the shores of the Black Sea.”

“It’s a long road ahead of you, be on the lookout for dangers. We don’t know what’s out there. I won’t ask how you’re going to get a vehicle and fuel, but remember: most fuel stations have a manual override; it’s just a matter of finding it. I trust you have bid farewell to everyone?”

The young Romanian was obviously rather stressed, but managed to compose himself and give the Captain a sharp nod as an answer.

“Perfect.” Dilip continued; then he shrugged off his satchel and handed it to the departing crewmember “In this satchel you will find all of your due wages, in Euros, bills of twenty only. I also added a satellite phone with some spare batteries as a parting gift. It’s got some contacts in its memory, with Amandine among others.”

Ioan accepted it with a quiet ‘thank you’, attaching the satchel to his large travel bag. He stared at the Captain for a few awkward seconds, before presenting his open clawed hand to his now former superior.

Dilip gave him a strong handshake, a pained smile gracing his muzzle.

“Good luck and fair seas Captain.”

“And fair roads to you, friend.” He turned his head to the side. “Alejandro!” He barked. “Time to open the ramp!”

The blue parrot replied by giving Dilip the thumbs up and activated the controls of the ship’s massive stern ramp. The gigantic contraption swung outwards slowly, its descent carefully controlled by the Officer manning the commands. Two powerful winches unwounded their coils under Alejandro’s careful scrutiny, before settling the ramp on the quay with a dull thud.

“Està abierto” The Spaniard commented as he shut down the controls, no need to keep them on if all that could lead to is accidentally raise the ramp.

The ramp opened up to a large trailer yard that extended for a large distance behind Amandine. One end of the yard was occupied by parked lorries and towing vehicles left there between two loading operations, the rest of the place being used up by rows upon rows of trailers of various types. Some rows were even outfitted with electrical outlets to recharge refrigerated trailers.

Off in the distance, there were two buildings poking out of the sea of trailers. One was the customs office, which led to the exit, and another was the terminal’s offices. Ioan was already making his way towards those, because he knew it was there he would find the keys needed to open the cars awaiting exportation that could be found in an adjacent parking lot.

To the assembled sailors, the sight that awaited them in front of the ramp was rather eerie. While the usual seagulls could be heard in the distance, the harbor was still almost silent, and utterly desert of activity.

That terminal in particular was supposed to be the busiest of the entire port, but the bustling activity that was to be expected in this place was just… absent. Gone was the noise of hundreds of trucks awaiting transport across the channel, the bickering between officials negotiating on ship loads, the ever present customs patrols… Now it was just less than thirty crewmen staring out the back end of their ship with their mouths agape.

Ioan stopped at the end of the ramp and gave them all one last look over his shoulder. Some waved at him one last time, before he turned his head forward and strode on towards his goal. Within minutes, his orange-clothed silhouette had disappeared around a turn in the maze-like yard.

Dilip gave a polite cough to get their attention. They focused their attention back to him.

“Let’s hope our young colleague does find his family eventually. But we must not forget ourselves either, for there is much we have to do.” Dilip looked around the crowd and motioned for Artyom to come forward.

“I have made a list of tasks that need to be taken care of around the port, for the boatswain to distribute as he sees fit.” He handed his clipboard to the approaching Russian dragon.

“This list includes surveying the area for potential activity, as well as salvaging equipment around the area for our own use. That includes vehicles, fuel, supplies and equipment. Certain tasks will require specialized personnel to take care of them. I have added specific notes for those, and I also have already picked some of you for specific tasks. Notably…”

Dilip gestured towards De Vries who was standing at the back of the crowd. The tall parrot had already added the new ranks on his uniform.

“I have decided that the party sent to look for activity will be led by our newest officer. That is correct gentlemen, our cadet has been promoted. He met with me yesterday and manifested the intent of staying as part of our crew. Will everyone please give a round of applause to Fourth Officer De Vries, may he become an integral part of this vessel.”

While obviously surprised at the news, the crewmembers were visibly happy to discover that the cadet that had had a very good impression with them would get to stay. Dilip had to gesture to them to cease clapping after a moment to get on with his speech. At least Geert seemed to preen under the attention, not that it wasn’t deserved.

“Now, considering he speaks the local tongue, I saw fit to assign De Vries to the survey party. Other parties sent around include an engineering party that will have to go ensure that the chemicals terminal is in a stable state and doesn’t run a risk of leaking or worse, exploding. I also need a salvaging party that may go around the trailer yards and container yards. Exploring the city may be a good idea too if we can get something from the shops and warehouses. Due to his knowledge of our logistical status, Chief Steward Farkas will lead that party.” Dilip paused a few seconds to catch his breath and let in sink in. Nobody seemed to have any question so far.

“At last, I need a party to go retrieve a fuel barge from the depot and resupply us in diesel and heavy fuel oil. This party will need to be mixed between engineering and deck crewmembers for obvious reasons. Remember to be careful with that, as using the barge may involve getting across a couple locks.”

Whether he was talking about floodgates or padlocks, nobody knew.

“I will remind you that the ship will need to be kept under watch. Ensure a sufficient amount of personnel remains on board to manage security and keep an eye on the generators. That is all, any question?”

A hippogriff raised his claw at the front of the crowd, and the Captain motioned for him to ask away.

“Sir, are we allowed to use security equipment from the vault?”

“Non-lethal weaponry will be handed out for use, pepper spray and telescopic batons. The tasers are to stay on the ship however.”

“What about the other weaponry sir?”

Dilip raised his eye ridge in surprise.

“Cat’s out of the bag already?”

“Boris spilled it yesterday.” The guy admitted, glancing at the griffon in question “In his defense that actually involved more alcohol than usual.”

The Captain leveled a hard stare at Boris, who had the wisdom to at least look sheepish about his slip of the tongue. He had expected the info to leak eventually, but not that fast. Still, the Russian had been within his rights to reveal it, and Dilip himself had allowed them to consume alcohol that night. He sighed, one mistake that was all too quick to bite him in the ass.

Didn’t stop him from subtly asking Artyom to load the guy with extra duties though.

“Very well, we do have a revolver on board. I allowed it to be issued yesterday to the boat team in case of an incident. Now that we have had the occasion to get a better appraisal of the situation, I have judged that there is nothing that warrants its use as of now.” He looked towards the Hippogriff that had asked the question, remembering he was called Yuri, a Ukrainian. “The keys to rapidly access the weapon will be given to those keeping watch on the ship however. Does that answer your question?”

The hippogriff acquiesced, and since nobody else had any question, that settled Dilip’s speech. He wished all the gathered people good luck in their search before retreating to his quarters.

A rather successful beginning for the day, considering how many crewmen he had managed to convince to stay.





A parrot, a dog, and a sphinx walked down the road.

A bad joke in some circles, a very real situation for Geert, he mused, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder to accommodate for the walkie-talkie strapped across his chest. Alejandro had let him choose two companions for his surveying team, and he had chosen Rahul the Chief Cook (who wanted to get away from his kitchen for once) and Mohammed, a Tunisian sphinx who had gone from being rather cheerful before the transformation, to being a lot more cynical.

Rahul and him had chosen to make use of the sphinx’s impressive strength to carry most of the heavier tools they had grabbed on the ship, including a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters, and spare batteries for the radio (duh, those things always run out).

Now, both the dog and the parrot were cracking jokes to coax the Tunisian out of his shell, with Geert glancing sporadically at his map to make sure they were headed in the right direction.

“Hey Mohammed, you know what’s great about Switzerland?”

“No clue” The sphinx replied.

“Dunno either, but the flag is a big plus I’d say.”

He couldn’t really say he had a particularly great repertoire when it came to bad jokes though, so he might have thrown himself in a vain battle.

On a brighter note, they were getting close to their destination: the marina part of the port. It was the first place he wanted to check out because it was at the crossroads of the town itself, the fishing port, a cruise terminal, and the navy base (which they had been told to inspect too).

“Look guys” Mohammed began “I appreciate you guys helping me, but I have my own reasons for being pissed off, and you both really are trying too hard. It’s getting on my nerves. Besides shouldn’t you be looking at the road?”

“Okay, stopping now.” The parrot raised his claws defensively. “And no, it’s not like we’re going anywhere real fast at walking pace. And I’m not going to accelerate any time soon since I’m barefoot unless you forgot.” He pointed at his own clawed feet for emphasis.

“And I too, am barefoot, birdbrain.”

“True but you got four of those now, I’m stuck with two and I don’t want to go any lower on that count because I stepped on broken glass.”

“Eh, I actually have an excuse for not having shoes, it’s not like I can make them with no hands. What’s yours?”

“Need leather and Kevlar, couldn’t find materials, so stuck on standby. By the way, how are the shoes Rahul?”

“Feels like wearing Prada.” The dog fired back, wryly. “How far to the marina?”

“500 meters, it’s on the other side of that drawbridge.” Geert said, indicating a bridge built over a lock separating the harbor from inland canals.

After passing the bridge, the three sailors came to a crossroad with the marina on their right. They could see the masts from the sailboats left there by their owners, as well as a couple small-sized fishing boats moored close to some closed down market stalls. Nothing out of place for a seafront.

Except the attack submarine berthed in front of them that is. One with a soviet flag draped over her bow.

“So, I would think the navy guys next door ran out of parking space at some point and stole a spot in the marina, but that wouldn’t explain the flag. Belgium is a NATO country, right?” Mohammed asked.

“Beats me.” Geert shrugged. “I’ve had these Belgians for neighbor my entire life and they still manage to pull crazy shit like that. Not the first thing in that country that wouldn’t make any sense.”

“That bad, uh?”

“Don’t get me started, it’s like they pull stuff like that on purpose just to fuck with people.”

Rahul just pulled out his phone and took a picture of the sub.

“Crazy Belgians or not, does it really matter? It’s not like it impacts us in any way.” The dog said.

“Yeah let’s keep going. Still weird though. You want to try out any place around here first?”

“Well, we can cross out the passenger terminal, we passed it and it was as desert as the Sahara” Mohammed commented. “You guys feel like breaking in a military installation?”

“Eh, at least even if we don’t find shit it ought to be entertaining.” Geert said. “Let’s do that.” He looked at his chart before pointing towards the North. “That way.”

“You two really think getting in is going to be that easy?” Rahul said incredulously.

“Please Rahul” Geert retorted with a roll of his eyes “It’s the Belgians we are talking about. If anything I would expect them to leave the door open.”

“You seem to hold a grudge against Belgium.”

“Football related, don’t pry.”

Before Rahul could build on that comment, Mohammed called out to them from next to the quays.

“Hey guys, you seeing this too?” He directed their attention towards some burn marks a hundred meters away from them, close to the market.

“I see it.” Rahul squinted “Looks like a lightning strike, but there wasn’t any storm recently, and it wouldn’t hit there either.”

“Let’s take a look.” Geert said.

Upon approaching the mark, all three sailors recoiled at the pungent scent permeating the area. The smell reminded them of rotting fruit mixed with fresh mud, above a lingering smell of copper and ozone.

They were surprised to discover that the mark they had assumed to be from some sort of blast, was actually a pattern of symbols burned into the concrete of the quays. Geert kneeled by the symbols to take a closer look, but was unable to recognize anything among them. They were organized in a circle of about two meters in radius, with another triangular pattern inside of it and… he counted thirteen lines exiting the circle with no apparent constant in their arrangement.

Geert waved Mohammed over to him, showing some symbols around the center of the mark.

“Eh, does that look like Arabic letters to you? I can’t recognize any of those symbols.”

The sphinx gave the symbols a hard look, but pulled back with a shake of his head, making his mane rustle.

“That’s not Arabic, that much I’m certain.” He waved a paw towards the outer edge of the circle “I see the resemblance, particularly towards that side, but it’s only the general shape. Symbols don’t match.” He frowned, before motioning with his head towards another succession of symbols. “Those on the other hand, I think it’s Hebrew. Or Hindu maybe? What do you think Cook?”

Rahul perked up at that from where he was looking on the other side of the mark.

“It’s called Devanagari for your information; but no, not that either.” He pulled out his phone. “Take a photo to show to the others later and keep going?”

“You do that; I will mark the position on my chart.” Geert told him.

Meanwhile, Mohammed was looking around the area, trying to see if anything around was tying with the mark. Unfortunately, he didn’t find anything in the vicinity; just some shrubbery that had been damaged by what he assumed was large dogs from the paw prints he saw in the dirt around it. He called off his search when Geert cried out after him; they were leaving for the navy base.

As it turned out, Geert’s negative perception of the local navy wasn’t entirely unfounded. They did leave the door open in the fence that separated their base from the rest of the port facilities.

Said base would hardly classify as large by many nations’ standards. It only had two medium draught docks, currently occupied by a couple old tugboats and some minehunters apparently awaiting repairs at the local repair station, a large boat lift made to pull small tonnage vessels out of the water. The rest of the base was occupied by fuel tanks, warehouses, and office buildings. One object of note was the search and rescue helicopter landed next to the docks. A Sea King, if Geert’s memory was right.

The Dutch parrot insisted on stopping at the guard post, justifying that it would be where they could probably find the most information on the rather small military installation. The small building still had its lightning on, indicating that the guards had been present at the moment of the catastrophe. Walking in through a back door left ajar, they saw that the TV was still on, hooked to a PS3 that was waiting for its players to resume their game of Fifa.

The group dispersed, each going to search the building in their own direction. Geert just made his way to the office part, intent on finding a personnel list.

Good thing he spoke the local language because all documents were in Flemish, the local flavor of Dutch. Sifting through the documents only took him a few minutes.

According to the data he found, there hardly was anyone on base at all except for the guards. Documents showed it wasn’t outfitted with barracks, so only some people working late in the night on projects had been present. Most of the guards had been at their post, but he noted that one had signaled going on patrol minutes before the catastrophe. He dutifully noted each occupied building on his chart.

Mohammed and Rahul came back to him before he could leave the building. At least the guards hadn’t been reckless enough to leave weapons lying around, though Mohammed did find a couple tear gas grenades and flashbangs. Rahul just gave him a drawing with the content of each building.

“Okay guys, I got a list with all the occupied buildings to check out. We’re not doing any actual salvage, but if we find anything particularly useful we mark it on the map and radio the salvage team, got it? Main focus is human activity.”

“I would argue about the ‘human’ part Officer, but roger that.” Mohammed commented “Where to now?”

“Repair station. Big building by the docks with the boat lift. Apparently they had a team working overtime on repairs, so I’d like to see if any of these guys are there. Try to be on the lookout for a lost guard too.”

Rahul gave him the thumb up and left the building, already headed for the building.

“Say De Vries, mind if I ask a question?” Mohammed politely asked his superior.

“Ask away.”

“How come you’re using a paper chart instead of just pulling out Google maps on your phone? Last I heard the servers were still up.”

“For now they are. I don’t expect them to last beyond a week if left untended, so I’d rather get used to paper charts.”

“You maxed out your data for the month.”

“Needed porn real quick last week. Don’t judge.”

“A worthy sacrifice.” The sphinx replied. “Uploaded on the crew stash I hope?”

“But of course my dear companion.” The parrot chuckled “Even tagged it properly.”

The trio made their way to their destination exchanging friendly banter as they went. It seemed like actually having something to do despite the lack of hands was having a positive effect on Mohammed’s mood.

They failed to notice that most of the lawns they passed around the base were completely trashed.

One building they passed had its door wide open and the lights in the entrance were still on. Geert halted the group with a sign of his claw and went to take a look. It was just an office by one of the warehouses, but he spotted some interesting details. Just by the door, he found a discarded pair of camo pants and combat boots. The pants were equipped with a utility belt and a pistol holster, which he was quick to retrieve and attach to his own waist.

Not that he knew how to use a pistol, but it wasn’t something you leave lying around regardless. He made sure the safety was on before slipping it back in the holster. Checking the belt revealed that he had a spare magazine to go with the one already on the pistol.

“You really think it’s a good idea to pack that thing?” Mohammed asked him.

“Not really, but it’s not something to be abandoned like that. Plus now we’ve got a clue on our missing guard’s whereabouts.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The pistol. It’s bound to be his. Though why he would shrug off his pants and leave his weapon, I don’t know.”

They also found a flashlight in the building, but not the guard. All doors were locked inside, so it didn’t seem like the guy was hiding there. Not that he had any reason to hide from a bunch of merchant mariners.

Exploring further in the base didn’t reveal any other open building until they reached the repair station. There, the relative quiet of the place was broken up by sounds of barking. Geert glanced at his companions before rushing towards the noise.

What they found on the side of the large hangar housing the boat lift was a thoroughly trashed lawn, with traces of blood in the mud. The hangar wall by the lawn had a broken window, from which the barking was coming from.

They carefully approached the window, while being very cautious of the glass shards littering the ground. The room inside was a tool shed for the workers of the repair station, with oil stains all over and tools haphazardly stowed on cheap shelves. But what gathered their attention was completely unrelated to the room’s purpose.

At the end of a blood trail coming from the window were two beings, both in a very poor state.

One was a guard dog, the classic Belgian Malinois, which was the source of the barking. It was wearing a set of K9 body armor, stained red by all the blood that was coming from a nasty gash in its neck. Upon seeing Geert and Rahul peeking through the window, the dog attempted to get up and growl at them, but its foreleg was so horribly mangled that it fell over with a pained whimper. A closer look revealed that the dog also suffered several cuts from the broken glass.

The other being in the room turned out to be much more of a surprise. It must have been the dog’s master due to the way the dog insisted on putting itself between it and the mariners.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a unicorn. Albeit a very small one, if comparison with the dog next to it was to be believed. Both creatures were about the same size, if you didn’t account for the unicorn’s large head. It had a sky blue coat, with a short olive green mane. The fur on the underside of its muzzle was a bit longer than the rest, giving it the impression of having a goatee. They also spotted an odd symbol on its rump (a look in that area revealed the being to be male), resembling a dismantled rifle. It was wearing clothes too, Geert noted. A camouflaged shirt that was frankly too big for its frame under a flak jacket, a dark blue beret ; and a single dog tag dangling from its neck.

At the moment, the unicorn was unconscious, with its back pushed against the wall furthest from them. He must have crawled backwards from the window.

Geert slowly vaulted over the window, taking great care in not injuring himself on the glass. He walked over to the dog and the unicorn, moving slowly so as not to scare the injured dog. He wanted to have a closer look at the unicorn. Rahul followed closely behind the Officer, with Mohammed in tow, the sphinx having quite a bit of difficulty getting over the edge of the window.

The guard dog once again made an attempt at stopping them, but its injuries were far too great to stop them from reaching its master. With a whispered order from Geert, Rahul went to deal with the dog.

Tell the talking dog to deal with an actual dog? Should he feel offended at that? Meh, no matter, the Indian pulled out a bottle of water from his backpack. Maybe the injured animal could use some water.

In the meantime, Geert was taking a look at the blue unicorn in the room. He was still unconscious, and the parrot was quick to identify the cause of that situation upon noticing the puddle of blood surrounding the victim. In addition to a large amount of cuts due to the glass (and from the way some wounds shined, there still was some glass imbedded in them), Geert observed a rather large gash on his neck, against which the unconscious unicorn had managed to press a rag to stem the blood loss.

“Looks like he lost consciousness due to blood loss.” Geert commented. “He’s still breathing though. We should probably radio the ship so we can evacuate him. How is the dog?”

“Not good, not good at all.” Rahul said. “I tried to make it drink some water but it doesn’t even have the strength for that. In all honesty I think we’re gonna lose it. How long do you think they were there?”

“Must have been a while, the blood stains are all coagulated and we didn’t see any ruckus today or yesterday evening.” Geert said, pressing a claw against the unicorn’s throat trying to find a pulse. “You see anything on your end Mohammed?”

“Not at all.” The sphinx replied. “It’s all blood and glass around here. Can’t get any clue on what could have hurt them like that. Besides the glass that is, they must have jumped through the window to escape it. The only thing I see around here is the trashed lawn and dog paw prints.”

“A pack of wild dogs then?”

“Around here? It’s barely been two days, way too early for them to start doing that.”

“So what? Wolves? It’s western Europe pal, you’re not gonna find any around here.” Rahul butted in.

“Well Sherlock, if you have any actual idea to put forward go and tell me, but why don’t we call the ship instead?” Mohammed answered. “Is that guy even alive?”

“Barely, but I got a faint pulse and some breathing. If we can get Vadim to sew him back together and pump some IV in him to correct the blood loss, then he’s got a chance.” Geert said before pointing towards the downed unicorn “Keep an eye on him; I’m going outside to get some reception.” He ordered before exiting through the broken window.

Rahul was still busy with the injured dog that had calmed down by then and was just holding its distance from him. The strangers weren’t harming its master, but that didn’t mean he liked them.

“Amandine, this is survey party, do you read me? Over.” Geert tried on his walkie-talkie.

“Survey party, this is Amandine.” The answer came after a minute, from Vadim apparently. “I read you four out of five, what is the situation? Over.”

“Amandine, we have discovered a local worker. The individual is unconscious and requires medical assistance. I request medevac at the location of the navy base. Over.”

“Survey party, I will be sending a vehicle to evacuate the casualty. Is the person human? Over.”

“Negative, the casualty appears to be a unicorn. Over.”

“Survey party, repeat after appears. Over.”

“I said the victim is a unicorn. A small horse with a horn on its head. Over.”

“Survey party, roger. Vehicle will be there in a couple minutes, do not attempt to move the casualty. Out.”

Much to the credit of the other teams deployed around the port, all had enough discipline not to clog the network with useless talk about them actually managing to find somebody. When Geert turned back to tell his companions a vehicle was coming to get them, he witnessed Rahul gently stroking the back of the dying guard dog whilst letting water slowly drip from his bottle down its throat.

Mohammed was keeping an eye on the unicorn, but didn’t seem to be particularly comfortable at the sight of all the blood, so Geert sent him out and told him to be on the lookout for the incoming vehicle.

“You think you can save that dog?” The parrot questioned Rahul.

“At this point? No, I’m just being merciful. Poor mutt is in a lot of pain and doesn’t have much time. I don’t even think we’ve got anything to help it.”

Geert approached the canine duo and kneeled by the guard dog, who barely reacted to his presence anyway. It gave a weak sniff when he showed it the palm of his clawed hand, but didn’t make a move to stop Geert from taking a look at the tag on its collar.

“Samson uh? Brave little fellow, making the ultimate sacrifice to save your master.” Geert gave it a sympathetic smile. “Don’t you worry, we’re going to save him and make sure he knows what you did.”

After doing a quick search around the building, Mohammed brought them a first-aid kit he found lying around. Geert used it to replace the rag used by the unicorn with some proper bandages. Moving him around didn’t seem to wake him up, but they got a look at his dog tag, which revealed the unicorn as a 46 year old called Bart De Mesmaeker.

No clue if the blood type was relevant anymore on the other hand. Not that they had any in store for a transfusion.

About half an hour later, Vadim arrived with a MAFI harbor tractor. The small sized truck was loaded with a gurney in the back (though the attachment didn’t look too stable, the griffon must have been in a hurry when he did that).

“Where’s the victim?” Vadim asked as soon as he stepped off his truck.

“Right there through that window. There’s an actual door around the building if you want.” Geert pointed out.

“Nah, no time for that. You got some notes on the guy?” His superior asked him as he made his way through the broken window.

“Yep, wrote down his parameters when I took them. Noted blood type, age, name, and the works too.” He said, handing the griffon his notepad.

“Good” Vadim ripped out the page with the notes and handed back the pad. He looked towards Rahul who was tending to the dog “What’s with the dog?”

“Ours or the guard dog?” Vadim glared at him for the joke. “Sorry. The dog belongs to the victim. It’s beyond saving though, so Rahul is… giving it its last graces, in a fashion. Got injured protecting its master apparently.”

“Damn, we really don’t deserve dogs.” Vadim shook his head before closing in on the casualty. He gave the bandage a critical look. “Your work?”

“Yes, disinfected it a bit too, and removed a piece of glass that was stuck in there.”

“Okay, now help me carry him to the gurney. He doesn’t look too big, should be easy. Remove his flak jacket if you. Don’t need that in the way.”

The unicorn was indeed rather light, but that didn’t mean carrying him was easy for Vadim due to his quadruped status. Still, they managed to secure him on the gurney. Behind them, Rahul left the building.

“The dog?” Geert asked.

“Gave its last breath a minute ago.” The cook lowered his head.

Geert decided not to dwell on the cook’s reaction and tightened the straps keeping the gurney attached to the back of the truck. Good thing the ship was rather close because he didn’t trust the arrangement at all.

“Hey Geert, where did you get that thing?” Vadim asked, pointing a talon towards the pistol on the parrot’s hip.

“It’s the guard’s. Found it in another building. Must have lost it like his pants when he changed into a unicorn and ran away.”

“Ran away from what?”

“From the prints on the ground we think it’s wild dogs.” Mohammed butted in. “Odd that they’d form packs so soon, but that’s our only idea.”

“Not wolves?” The Ukrainian asked.

“There are no wolves in Belgium.”

“If you say so” Vadim shrugged “Keep the gun and be on the lookout. Try to radio the other groups and warn them too. I doubt dogs would attack trucks and barges but we best be careful. I’m going back to the ship.” He waved a talon towards the unicorn in the back of his truck. “Got some stitching ahead of me.”

In the end, Rahul decided to get back to the ship with the truck since Vadim had a free seat, but Mohammed and Geert stayed behind to keep on exploring for a bit. After checking his watch, the parrot decided they still had an hour or two ahead of them before going back for lunch.

After the truck disappeared around a corner, the duo resumed their exploration, now reporting their findings to the other groups by radio.

They were now significantly more wary of what they might find.
> Chapter 9: First Contact
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rahul, Vadim and Geert wound up gathered in the Captain’s office late in the afternoon. They were seated around the conference table, with Dilip looking at some documents next to them. By then, Geert had given up his pistol and stowed it in the ship’s vault.

“So let me get this straight. Not a single trace of activity in the most active areas, except for some kind of demonic crop circle.” He waved a paw over a copy of Rahul’s picture of the symbol on his desk. “But when you go to a place that must have held ten people tops at the time of the transformation, you immediately find someone.”

“I can’t explain that sir.” Geert shrugged. “From the looks of it, it’s like everything just stopped at the same time we got transported forward in time.”

“Do you mean at night or in the morning when we reappeared?”

“At night sir. The guard we rescued was on a night patrol when it happened.”

“Ah yes, Corporal De Mesmaeker, correct?” Geert nodded. “How is he doing?”

“Still unconscious, but his vitals are stable. I patched up his wounds and gave him an IV to compensate for the loss of fluids. No idea when he might wake up however.” Vadim said.

“A positive nevertheless. I’m glad we could save him. Now, there’s something that worries me… have you identified the cause of his injuries? I heard from Mohammed when he got back that you suspected a wild dog attack.”

“That is indeed one of the possibilities sir, albeit not the only one or the most probable by a long shot. The state of the corporal and his dog point towards something bigger than a regular dog.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I examined his flak jacket, and while its protection is not compromised, it has sustained a lot more damage than a dog should be able to inflict. Furthermore, both the dog and its master bear wounds that are much deeper than expected.”

“Something bigger then, a wolf?”

“There are no wolves in Belgium sir.” Geert politely remarked.

“Any indication that might give us a clue, De Vries?” The Captain asked.

“As a matter of fact, Mohammed pointed out earlier how much of the vegetation and lawns in the area are heavily damaged. In each case, one of which is the site where we found the casualties, paw prints assumed to belong to a large canine have been found.”

“Excuse me, but should we not be concerned at the presence of a soviet submarine in the marina?” Rahul said.

“It’s a museum ship. I personally visited it once with some company representatives.” Dilip dismissed the other Indian’s argument with a wave of his paw. “Back to our ‘large dog’, is it the only clue?”

“Until De Mesmaeker wakes up and tells us, yes it is.”

“Do you think it could be an animal that was being shipped at the time of the catastrophe?”

“Unlikely since most transit either through Rotterdam or Antwerp. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I wouldn’t bet my wages on that. Animal transportation is a rare occurrence here, particularly when it comes to predators.”

Dilip reclined back in his chair, slowly stroking the side of his muzzle with a claw. He looked at a drawing on a chart depicting the activities of the other groups.

“You know, this turn of events puts us in a bad position. I’m thankful that no other team has reported any of the signs you witnessed around the marina and the base, but this issue has to be addressed. I don’t want anyone to wind up injured because they were not properly equipped to deal with that threat.”

“You don’t believe the less lethal equipment we have can deal with that.” Vadim guessed.

“Correct, I don’t. It might be effective against rioters and hippies stalling the ship, but when you see what that thing does to vegetation, I don’t think it works for Greenpeace. We need something better.”

“And that something wouldn’t by any chance be held within the confines of a military installation?” Vadim said.

Geert stared at the two men like they had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“You want to steal weapons from a navy armory? Do we really need to do that?”

“I’m afraid it is De Vries” Dilip stated. “I can’t send out my men around the port with no means of defending themselves from some as of yet unidentified foe. If I recall correctly, you picked up a weapon yourself at the base.”

“But I didn’t even know how to use it.” The parrot responded “And I don’t think many of us on this vessel do. We’re merchants, not navy.”

“I know that all too well, and I admit the consideration is not completely unjustified. That doesn’t change the fact we need a mean of defending ourselves, and the base can provide that.” He gave his subordinate a sympathetic look. “Believe me; I’m not starting to mistake this ship’s crew for the kind of mariners I work with when I’m with the navy cadets in India. I cannot and will not treat you the way I treat subordinates in the military. Does that answer satisfy you?”

“Yes sir.” Geert relented.

“And regarding your worries about how to use them. I think you will be surprised to know that a handful of crewmembers have a measure of military experience. Other than me, that is.”

“Really?” The parrot quirked his feathery eyebrows.

“Yes really.” The bronze furred dog tapped a stack of files on his desk. “I have skimmed through some data files to get a better look at that. It came with a few surprises. I counted three of them with a significant experience. The most impressive of which being that of Artyom, of all people.”

“Artyom is ex-military? You kidding?” Vadim asked incredulously.

“I’m very much serious Zinoviya.” Dilip said. “Our dear boatswain, as it turns out, has served for several years with the VDV before becoming a seafarer following an injury, if his file doesn’t lie.”

The griffon’s beak almost dropped to the floor at that announcement.

“What’s the VDV?” Geert asked, not really knowing how he was supposed to react.

“Russian paratroopers, also known as the blue berets.” Vadim whispered.

“Are you alright Vadim?” The Captain asked.

“Yeah, I am. Just… Fuck I’m lucky he’s rather chill considering how hard I’ve pranked him. I mean, you know these guys? They’re the type to rip your heart out with a spoon if you cross them. I mean… damn.”

“That good uh?” Geert mused.

“Yep. Good thing we have him along then.” Dilip concluded. “Now, back on track, the salvaging team has already gotten a fair amount of supplies for now, and the guys with the fuel are advancing at a decent pace. The chemical terminal is now a non-issue because it seems the controls had an automatic control switch, which we turned on. I’ve decided to call off all teams except yours and the fuel barge. We only have two guns for now, so that’s one per team.”

The dog paused to take a look at some papers in front of him, in particular the plan Rahul had found about the navy base.

“I fail to see notes regarding an armory on that plan.”

“Sir, I assume it is not a location they would want to advertise.” Rahul said.

“Then it’s pretty clear to me. Tomorrow you will go with Artyom and search for that armory. Hopefully by then our casualty will have woken to give us some indications.”

“What about me?” Vadim asked.

“You are and remain our sole medically gifted crewmember. You stay on Amandine.”

The Ukrainian griffon visibly deflated.

“Have we found any vehicle? To help with transporting the weapons, if we find them.”

“Yes De Vries, I don’t know if you have a truck license, but the salvage team has gotten half a dozen of them for which we could find enough spare parts.”

“Why the spare parts?”

“If we intend to keep them, we will have to fix them at some point, so I made sure they picked trucks from a garage with enough parts. We got four regular semi trucks and two eight-wheelers with crane and hook lift. Even got some flatbeds to go with those.”

“Alright Captain. That will be done tomorrow. Anything else that needs to be addressed today?”

“Not on my end. Roberto might need some assistance in his office; he’s been downloading ground charts and data via the satellite connection. I figure he might tell you what kind of documentation to look out for outside.” Dilip stood up. “Dismissed.”

All of the assembled crewmembers stood up then and left the office, leaving Dilip free to go back to his own room.





The following morning saw Geert, Artyom and Rahul piling up in their newly assigned truck. The cook took the wheel and started up the engine of the red painted Volvo truck while the other two members of the group were reviewing their objectives for their sortie.

“So it’s not only about finding the weapons?” The Indian asked the other two beside him in the cabin.

“Yeah, it’s unlikely they put their ammunition in the same place, so we look for that too.” Geert replied before pointing at the chart on his lap with a talon. “I also want to go take a look at the HQ building to get what they have for intelligence and nautical publications. And the motor pool too, surely they have some tools and parts we could use, plus the vehicles of course.”

“Intelligence?” Rahul asked.

“It’s just an assumption, but we believe they have a compilation of port reports that would contain data on the facilities that can be found and methods for approaches and berthing. We could combine that with our own and the company’s. That’s gonna make accessing ports a lot easier down the line.”

“Fair point. We got everything? Gun included?”

“Eeyup.” Artyom mumbled, tapping the holster on his hip for emphasis. Geert had willingly given up the gun in favor of having the veteran use it.

“Then let’s go.” Rahul concluded before waving his paw out of the window, indicating to Alejandro by the exit to lower the ramp.

A minute later, the crane truck was rolling down the ramp, followed by another containing the fuel barge team. Both trucks stayed together until the exit of the trailer yard before splitting up, the fuel barge team headed to the inner harbor where the fuel depot was situated.

Rahul steered his truck towards the marina, the trip being much shorter with a vehicle than on foot. He kept his speed low so that they could look around, but there didn’t seem to be much more activity than the day before.

The radius of damaged lawns around the marina had spread on the other hand, they noted. Geert radioed the ship once they arrived to tell them they were beginning their search.

“Rahul, you got a position for their motor pool? I want to try that first to see what we can find.” Geert said.

“Don’t have any, but from what we explored yesterday, it should be around there.” The dog said as he pointed at a part of the chart on the parrot’s lap.

“Looks like hangars from the satellite pictures. Let’s do that.” The young Officer said. “Think we can find something useful?”

“Surely, but if you expect tanks and shit you’re not gonna find any, kid.” Artyom commented. “It’s a navy base; they got no use for those. Diesel fuel on the other end… Should find a fuckton of it in their shore tanks.”

And they indeed didn’t find any armored vehicle. Their find was almost just as good on the bright side, because the hangar was filled with a well maintained fleet of Unimogs, all military-grade. These were lightweight 4x4 trucks with a modular rear section, all easily able to go cross-country. In a shed at the back of the hangar, they also found a couple containers worth of parts for the trucks, as well as a large amount of tools and accessories. They even got their hands on different rear sections for them other than the regular troop/cargo variant.

The trio loaded half a dozen of the trucks with as many tools and parts as they could find in the hangar. The keys to open them, they easily found in an office by the hangar, and they left them in each of the trucks they had selected for taking.

The ship was radioed and told of the position of the vehicle stash so that they would retrieve them later after they found weapons to equip every team.

If finding trucks was easy, it took them much longer to scour the base in search of its armory. The place was well hidden, but in the end they managed to find the underground bunker in which the weapons were stored, as well as the ammunition storage an hour later, but on the other side of the base.

Geert had to go retrieve keys from the guard post and try out several on the lock before the doors finally opened, yielding access to the most precious contents of the base, all safely stored in a bunker dug several meters deep in the concrete of the quays that made up the ground of the base.

The three orange clad mariners strode inside the dusty room that was the armory. It was rather featureless, having whitewashed cinder blocks for walls and polished concrete for flooring, but the lack of decoration was overshadowed by the visible racks of weapons located some ways past the entrance, just after the gunsmiths’ workstations and desks. There were also several crates holding related equipment by the door such as magazines, slings, and even one filled with bayonets.

Rahul gingerly walked over to one of the workstations onto which a heavy looking machinegun had been set, held upright by its bipod. The dog picked up the gun with a huff and gazed at it in wonder.

“Nice looking gun; must be powerful. I wonder though, it doesn’t seem that new. You’d think these guys would have something more modern.” He commented.

“They don’t need something more modern Rahul.” Artyom said, joining his colleague by the workstation. “It’s a FN MAG, made by the Belgian weapon manufacturer. Created in the fifties, but the thing is so well designed it’s still in use today all over the world. It’s supposed to be the base source of firepower in a squad, not the regular rifles.”

“Yeah from the size of that thing I get the reasoning. Must be a bitch to carry around.” Geert added.

“It is, but they usually put it on vehicles or on tripods. Still, I think a big guy like our resident minotaur Angelo could use it with little problem, and if we put some hardpoints on deck that will provide us some nice defensive fire. Come now; let’s see if we can find something more regular for the crew, like those rifles on the racks.”

Said racks attached to the walls were holding dozens of mean looking assault rifles, with most of them being of an older black painted model. There must have been at most half a dozen exemplars of the newer guns, each already equipped with a scope and foregrip. They were very different from the regular, being made of sand colored polymer instead of steel.

“Any idea what those are Artyom?” Geert asked.

“The new ones I heard of. Those are SCAR’s, the last model produced by the FN. A damn good rifle if comments are to be trusted.” The Russian veteran said, holding one of them in his claws and inspecting its workings. He put the gun back on the rack and picked one of the older ones. 

“Weird” He said, turning the gun around and inspecting it. He racked the slide a couple times and a grin appeared on his muzzle, looking a tiny bit scary with his exposed fangs. “That thing feels just like an AK platform, the mechanism is almost identical.” He aimed down the sights once and did a couple motions which Geert didn’t recognize. “I like that. I like that very much, those Belgians have some nice taste beyond the waffles and beer.” His tail was swishing behind him as he said that.

“So it’s good?” Rahul asked.

“For us? Ideal I must say.” He pointed a claw at the SCAR’s on the rack behind him. “Those new guns, they’re good and we will take some, like the MAG’s, but this…” He waved at the one he held in his claws. “This is some easy to use, easy to maintain shit. If it’s as reliable as an AK, I’d say it will be much better for us than a more… technical gun.”

“But they don’t have scopes…” Geert began.

“You don’t even know how to use a gun, much less how to set up a scope. For you lot, that will be iron sights and you will be happy with it.”

“Eh if you say so…” Geert shrugged. “Think we should check if they have anything else?”

“Of course.” Artyom said before venturing deeper in the bunker.

In the end, they found almost everything they would need for the ship. A crate they opened turned out to be containing several pistols like the one found by Geert the day before (they were called Browning Hi-Power apparently) as well as some modern pistols that could shoot armor piercing rounds, Five-Seven as they were called according to Artyom.

The latter kind of pistol was later joined by a sub machinegun using the same round. The P90, that one Geert recognized from the Stargate series, but they only found four of those in working order (and with the parts to spare) inside of the armory. Geert wanted to take one for himself, but Artyom told him to stick to simpler guns until he actually knew how to use it correctly.

He could have called out the boatswain on the way he addressed an Officer, but to be honest he preferred to trust the veteran on the use of guns, so he just let it slide.

They began to pile all these guns on a cart to move them up to the truck later on, taking care to also load all the related equipment needed for long-term use.

Upon moving a crate of magazines to the cart, Rahul discovered a much more modern polymer casing under the stack he was inspecting. Curiously, he flipped it open and revealed some oddly shaped weapons inside. He picked one up and looked at it carefully, ears twitching in wonder.

The object looked like a gun, but was outfitted with a canister for compressed air on the side, and a drum magazine that was too thin to hold actual bullets.

“Say Artyom, you wouldn’t know what those are, would you?”

The blue dragon walked over to the dog and looked at the gun in wonder. He squinted and picked another gun from the same crate, similar to the first one, but downsized and shaped like a pistol. With a practiced motion he pulled out its mag and inspected it carefully.

“Can’t say I do, but that’s not meant to shoot bullets, that much I’m certain. Do you see a manual in the crate? Or a tag?”

Rahul kneeled next to the crate and looked at the markings on it, before shaking his head.

“It’s written in Dutch and French. Geert?” He said, turning towards the parrot who was going through a filing cabinet.

Said parrot joined them after shoving several documents under his coveralls. He kneeled for just a second before standing up.

“It says ‘less-lethal launcher, FN 303, long and short, 6 each’. Never heard of those, but it’s probably a good idea to take them as well. You see another crate like that one? For parts I mean.”

“Yeah, there is another at the back of this stack of crates. Wanna take them?”

“Yes, that will come in handy, probably more than the guns. I’d much rather shoot to disable than to kill, wouldn’t you Artyom?” He said offhandedly towards the dragon.

“If you’re implying I’m some kind of bloodthirsty ex-military then you’re dead wrong.” The dragon answered with a scowl. “That part of me, I left behind in a military hospital.”

“Glad to hear that. Not that I can ensure we won’t happen, just reminding you… We’re merchants, not navy.”

“You needn’t remind me of that, lass.” He growled.

“What was that? Care to repeat that, eh?” The parrot cawed, immediately getting close to the dragon and staring him down.

“What I’m saying, Officer” The dragon stated through gritted fangs “Is that you should rather worry about an inexperienced sailor accidentally escalating things because he didn’t know any better than one of the veterans going trigger happy.”

Geert glared at Artyom for several seconds before turning away with a snort.

“Klootzak.” He muttered, not hearing Artyom mutter a quiet ‘pidor’ on his own end.

Despite the conflict between the two, the crates were loaded with the rest of the gear and eventually wound up on the truck half an hour later. Geert was making one last round of inspection around the armory to see if there was anything else they might have some use for, but they really had taken all they would need from the bunker. Even weapon repair manuals found their way on their truck, the only thing they could not get their hands on being optics and accessories that were not already fitted on the weapons.

One good thing is; they even found some mounts for the machineguns that were in the process of being repaired at the workshop.

“Is all the gear secured?” Geert asked Rahul who was tightening a strap on the truck’s flatbed.

“All good, now we can go get some ammo for these and we’re done.”

Of course something had to go and ruin their day. Their radio crackled with some alarmed chatter from Amandine. Geert raised the volume on the walkie-talkie and asked them to repeat.

“Amandine to weapon team. Be advised, we have spotted unidentified movement around your section of the harbor. Movement has been confirmed by the fuel barge team to be headed in your direction. Over.”

  Rahul raised his head in alarm, ears swiveling in the direction of the guard post.

“Uh oh, Officer, hope you’re not afraid of dogs.” He muttered, reaching for the can of tear gas on his hip.”

Geert took the time to reassure Amandine they were alright… for now, before answering the Indian.

“I’m not, but I’d be more comfortable if we had more lead to throw at them. Dogs you say? Think we can sneak around to the ammo storage?”

Rahul seemed to think for a bit before he nodded.

“I can hear them, big ones, but maybe we can.” He pointed to a gap between two warehouses. “Let’s try this way; you got the key to the storage?”

“That I do, Artyom, you ok there?” The dragon was standing on the top of the truck’s cab, pistol in hand and head turned in the direction of the guard post.

“I am, but we will need a diversion. The truck won’t do.”

Geert pulled out a stun grenade from his pocket.

“I got your diversion covered, flashbang ready to be thrown whenever you’re ready.”

Both the dragon and the dog motioned for him to wait.

“Not yet, wait until they’re around the block or you will just lead them straight to us.” Artyom followed the sound of the dogs that were now inside the base, though his and Rahul’s hearing must have been better than Geert’s because the parrot was unable to hear them.

Rahul pulled two rifles from a crate and slung one around his back before passing the other to Geert.

“Almost there, get ready, aim for the dock opposite to us.” Artyom said, before counting down on his claws.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Now!” Artyom yelled, and Geert pulled the pin before pitching the grenade as hard as he could towards his target.

To his credit, it landed very close to the target. Now who said playing baseball in Europe was dumb? The trio didn’t get to witness the landing or the detonation, because they were already bolting for the other side of the base.

The diversion earned them a precious few seconds, but the dogs that had injured the Corporal the day before were already on their trail, they could hear them around the block they had just passed.

Geert put on a burst of speed that impressed even himself, easily getting ahead of Rahul and Artyom. Key in claw, he practically slid down the slope leading down the bunker used to store ammunition and fumbled to get the key inside the slot.

Behind him, his two companions got into position to cover the access. One armed with a pistol, the other, looking much less confident, was brandishing his can of tear gas. A dreadfully old can of tear gas.

The parrot practically ripped the door open and they all made their way into the bunker at the same moment a brown silhouette crested the top of the ramp and glared down at them.

“The fuck is this thing?” Geert gaped.

Because the thing in question couldn’t possibly have been a dog. It was easily the size of a grey wolf and had the general shape of one, but the similarities stopped there. It had two holes in its head in place of eyes, and they gave off an eerie green light that seemed to look at them with malice. Its body was made out of an accumulation of wood, branches and rotten vegetation. The latter must have been the source of the smell it gave off because the scent of mold, mulch and rotten fruit permeated the air around it.

Nobody in the trio failed to notice the wickedly sharp claws the creature had around its paws. Or the way it growled at them.

“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” Artyom yelled, already leveling his pistol at it.

The creature just howled and was soon joined by two other. They then started to stalk towards the sailors.

Without turning his back to the creatures, Geert went inside the bunker, tapping on both Rahul and Artyom’s shoulders to get them to follow him.

He didn’t bother observing much around the inside of the bunker, immediately going for one of the shelved ammo crates, checking the tag on it. He needed some 5.56 rounds, ASAP.

At the entrance, Rahul barely had the time to close the door before the… wooden hounds pounced. One managed to wedge its head in the door and started to push, biting and clawing at the reinforced door. Artyom fired two shots through its skull which collapsed in a shower of wooden shards. Unfortunately, its place was quickly occupied by another.

Rahul, who was pushing with all his strength against the door, managed to take out his lighter. The Indian ignited it and pointed his tear gas canister at the gap in the door.

One press of the trigger later, the creature was on fire and backing away from the door. Weirdly enough there was no sign of the remains of the head of the first hound Artyom had shot.

“Are they gone?” Geert asked, now occupied with loading the magazine on his rifle with bullets from one of the crates.

“Not yet. They’re watching the door.” Artyom answered, looking through the bulletproof glass panel in the door. He saw the hound he had shot stand up, looking mostly unharmed. “The fuck?”

“What?”

“That thing I shot, you saw its head burst right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well it just picked itself up, saw its head reassemble itself out of the splinters.”

“What about the one on fire?” Rahul asked.

Artyom peered again through the glass. The blackened hound had lost a lot of parts and wasn’t regenerating.

“You might have an idea there, Cook. How much liquid do you have left in your canister?”

“Enough.” The dog answered without looking.

“Guys? I got good news and bad news.” Geert started. “Bad news is, can’t radio the ship from this bunker. Good thing is…” He pulled the charging handle on his rifle. “We’ve got plenty to fight back.” He tossed Rahul a couple clips of ammunition. “Load your mag; we can burn them while they’re down.”

“Aye aye Officer” The dog answered with a smile. “Time to play lumberjack with these shits.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have found some 9mm in there by any chance?” Artyom asked.

“Probably the small boxes on the back shelf.” Geert answered with a point of his talon. “Why? You shot twice at most.”

“Eh, no reason not to want to top off my mags.”

“Take your time, we ain’t going anywhere.” Rahul said, glancing at the window in the door. “And neither are they, for that matter. Wonder what we did to them.”

“No clue, but they don’t seem like they wanna take an interview ‘bout that.” Geert commented. “Wanna take a guess?”

“Dunno, we’re on their territory? Probably? The fuck are these anyway?”

“Looks like wolves, but made of wood, and reassemble themselves if you break them, like skeletons in Mario.” Geert shrugged. “Beats me, some kind of government project? That’s not really something I can picture Belgians doing, much less on a navy base.”

“Well I can’t say I know either.” Artyom said. “But we at least have an idea on how to kill them, and that’s enough for now. You ready?” He asked as he inserted a freshly reloaded mag in his pistol.

“Whenever you both are. Any advice on how to shoot these, Artyom?” Rahul stood up and racked the charging handle on his rifle.

“Check the safety, stick to single fire, aim before you shoot, watch out for ricochets. Most of all, don’t point it at friendlies. That good enough for now?”

“Will do.” He grasped the doorknob “Ready?”

Both his companions answered with a firm nod, readying their weapons. Rahul quickly pushed the door and rushed outside. The hounds immediately turned their attention back to the sailors and gave a furious howl, which was answered in kind by a yell from the trio.

Rahul shouldered his rifle and let loose on the first dog he saw at the top of the ramp. The thing tried to charge him, but Rahul’s fire had little chance to miss its mark over such a small distance. Its head exploded in a shower of splinters and its body collapsed under the perforating fire. Six shots in quick succession were enough to halt its charge at the group. Rahul’s ears ached after that loud burst of gunfire. Maybe enhanced hearing came with some disadvantages.

The three mariners slowly advanced up the ramp, the other two hounds having backed off at the first sound of gunfire. They trained each of their guns in different directions at the direction of Artyom.

Seconds later, both of the remaining hounds came charging from different directions at full speed, each kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

Geert went down on one knee and opened fire on the mass of lumber running at him. The first shot shattered one of its legs; the second grazed its flank but didn’t seem to hinder it much. The Dutchman swore and fired a third time, hitting it full center of mass, which caused the being to trip and land in a heap. After that, two more shots reduced the creature to splinters.

Next to him, Artyom easily dispatched the remaining wolf with two bullets from his pistol at a distance of more than twenty meters. Each shot landed squarely between its eyes.

“Rahul, quick, burn ‘em down before they can get up.” Geert ordered.

The Cook rushed over to both of the creatures’ remains and thoroughly sprayed them with flaming tear gas. The wood caught fire and he let his arms drop with a sigh of relief.

“Eh, good thing what we’ve got for tear gas is the cheapest on the market eh? Any better and it wouldn’t have caught fire.” He joked, turning to his companions.

Rahul saw Geert’s eyes widen before the parrot started to run towards him.

“Duck!” Geert yelled at him, and Rahul turned around to look at what got the parrot so worried.

Ah right, there were three hounds, not two. It had gotten just enough time to reassemble and was now in the process of pouncing at him.

Rahul froze at the sight, completely forgetting about the rifle slung across his back. His moment of fear was broken up by Geert shoving him out of the way with a push of his shoulder, unfortunately putting himself in the way.

Geert cried out and braced his rifle in front of him before the hound could get to him. It still bowled him over completely and he went rolling a couple meters to the side, landing on his head.

The wooden creature caught its footing and howled at the two mariners that had killed its brethren. Artyom responded in kind with a roar of rage before he opened his maw wide and spat out a gout of flame that set the hound ablaze. It roared in pain and started to trash on the ground, trying to put out the fire consuming its body before the Russian ended its struggle with a bullet between its eyes.

Rahul stared at Artyom like he had grown a second head. The dragon was staring intently at the burning carcass in front of him, tails swishing back and forth quickly.

“You alright there Artyom?” He asked.

“I am. Just surprised is all. Should have expected it, the flame I mean.”

“What? That’s about the only thing out of place I saw. Is there a problem?”

The blue dragon’s gaze flicked once to the dog before focusing back on the carcass.

“None that you should be concerned about. How is De Vries?”

Rahul looked at the immobile form a few meters to the side with a frown.

“Not good. Gimme a hand with him would you?”

Artyom nodded firmly before he started to walk in the direction of Geert.

“Yeah let’s do that.” The boatswain concluded. “Can you radio the ship? Tell them we dealt with the problem and to send us a team. I want to get these guns and ammo back to the ship ASAP.”

“You don’t sound like you’re doing well.” Rahul answered. 

“Just got a lot on my mind is all.” He waved the concern away. “Nothing to worry about.”

When they approached Geert’s body, they found the Officer to be mostly unharmed, but unconscious due to the impact he had received from a heavy mass of lumber throwing itself at him. A brief inspection revealed no bleeding wound or apparent fracture, but he would wake up with some seriously bruised ribs and maybe a dislocation or two.

Vadim on the ship was notified as soon as they appraised his status. The Ukrainian had a few choices words to address the duo about having to treat two people over as many days. Rahul didn’t understand Ukrainian, but from Artyom’s reaction and the tone, he wasn’t really congratulating them.

There was one Officer that didn’t like being stuck with medical duties, that much he had figured out. He gave Artyom a tired look before picking up Geert in his arms.

That one was going to be a bitch to explain to the Captain.
> Chapter 10: Shipborne Healthcare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geert felt like he was swimming in a pit of tar. His thoughts felt sluggish and his limbs refused to respond the way they were supposed to. He tried to take a breath, but air refused to enter his lungs regardless of how hard he tried.

  He suddenly woke up in his bed back home with a gasp. He looked around and was surprised to find himself in his bedroom back home in Vlissingen. He brought up a hand – a human hand – up to his face and felt around. No beak, no feathers, all normal. He allowed himself a smile and stood up.

  In the end that crazy story was just a bad dream. No apocalypse, no Russian dragon or wooden dogs or unicorns… Just life as usual.

  He stood up and put on a bath robe, smelling the scent of fresh eggs coming from the kitchen. His girlfriend was making breakfast for them. He crept up behind her and gave her a surprise hug, which the blonde accepted with a cute laugh. They kissed.

“Why hello there, how is it going sailor?” She greeted him.

“Couldn’t be better with you here love, oh how I missed you.” He answered, beaming.

“By the way, Jos said he was coming by noon.” She said.

“Uh? Who is Jos?” He asked, puzzled.

“Your boyfriend of course. How could you forget? You wouldn’t stop talking about him whenever you called.”

  Geert gaped at her as if she had sprouted a second head and backed away slowly. Time seemed to stop as his vision shattered like broken glass before he had time to ask her anything.

  And then he was back in his room, sitting on his bed. A featureless male silhouette entered the room and Geert smiled brightly at him before he crept backwards and beckoned him forward with an inviting gesture… But he hadn’t willed his body to move.

  Before he had time to react or assess the situation, the silhouette was all over him. His body refused to react to the orders he was giving it. The atmosphere felt dark and oppressing but his body wouldn’t stop smiling. He tried to push the silhouette away but to no avail, his body instead pressed itself against it in a lover’s embrace.

  He then felt something insert itself between his legs and a searing pain flashed through his nether regions. He managed to wrench his gaze free and take a look between his thighs.

  He was getting fucked alright. Gone was his male genitalia, now replaced by a wet slit currently being penetrated by the same apparatus Geert used to wield a mere days before. He tried again to free himself from the silhouette’s embrace, but it just kept pounding him senseless.

  An arm flashed in the corner of his vision and his focus was brought back to the silhouette’s face. He gave Geert a forceful kiss which his out-of-control body accepted with reckless abandon.  He smiled at the captive Dutchman before uttering a few words.

“Polly wants a cracker?”

  And in an instant, gone were the silhouette and the bedroom, now replaced by the steel bars of a cage.

  Geert looked around in surprise, he was back in the kitchen but it was… different. He was trapped in a small cage in a corner of the room, which felt a lot bigger than before. He looked at himself and discovered red feathers instead of his tanned skin.

“Polly wants a cracker?” The question repeated itself in a different voice, and Geert’s head whipped around to stare at his girlfriend, now enlarged to a gigantic size.

  He brought up a hand in alarm and let out a cry of surprise, only the hand was a multicolored wing and the cry was more of a squawk.

  He was a fucking parrot now, and his girlfriend was trying to feed him a cracker.

  The sheer surprise made Geert fall backward from his perch in the cage and down he went, his attention turning to the white of the ceiling. All around, everything blurred as he fell and fell for what felt like hours, leaving only him, the white of the ceiling, and the pull of gravity on his back.





Geert opened his eyes. A white ceiling greeted his vision, accompanied by a continuous beeping off to his side. His head throbbed, his body ached, and his limbs felt like they were being chewed by legions upon legions of red ants.

And the large beak in the middle of his vision told him more than a thousand words ever could. He still was a parrot.

“Godverdomme…” He swore tiredly before turning his head to the side.

He was lying under a white sheet on a gurney inside the infirmary. The beeping off to his side was coming from the heart monitor currently keeping an eye on the other patient in the room, a sky blue unicorn hooked to more tubing than Geert cared to count.

Not that he wasn’t plugged in too, he realized with distaste. Someone had stuck an IV in his arm, a monitor around the other and… Oh God no.

He had a catheter shoved between his legs, and judging by the yellow color of the tubing… He gagged.

He also had a sling holding his arm tightly in place as well as a splint around his leg. Uh, that hound may not have managed to draw blood but he sure had done a number on him, he mused. He distractedly scratched one of his ears with a talon, noting in passing that he also had a bandage around his head, that one holding a cool pad against a nasty goose egg on his forehead.

Also, he was only wearing a hospital gown… Not that it was particularly surprising, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

On the bright side, someone had left a bottle of water on a table beside him. Geert was all too glad to down it and rectify the unpleasant feeling of his parched throat. He didn’t have a clue as to how long he had been down, but from the feeling in his throat that wasn’t just a couple hours. A glance at the clock in the room told him it was eight in the evening, but what day?

Geert tried to move to the side of his gurney so that he could extend his uninjured arm and reach the room’s intercom set but he had to retract it when a lance of pain coursed through his side and made him grit his beak in pain.

Looks like he was stuck there waiting ‘til someone dropped by. He dropped back in his bed and exhaled loudly in annoyance, the sound of the air passing through his beak making a soft whistle.

It took half an hour before a certain grey griffon came in to inspect his patients. Geert leveled a critical eye in Vadim’s direction.

“Took you long enough.” He rasped.

Vadim startled and looked at him in surprise.

“Oh hi there… How long have you been awake?”

“Half an hour. How long was I out?”

“About… thirty six hours I think.” He answered after looking at the clock. “How do you feel?”

“Groggy, sore, and I could seriously use a refill of water.” Geert said, holding up his empty bottle.

“Yeah I’d expect you to be… You took one hell of a hit from that hound.”

“You tell me, ‘doc’, what do I have? And was the catheter really necessary?”

Vadim refilled his bottle from the tap before giving it back.

“Considering you filled two bags, I’d say it is. Seriously, you ain’t the kind of guy I’d ever consider as having any risk of dehydration. And it’s not like I put it there because I get off on shoving tubing up people’s genitals thank you very much.” He paused to look at the monitor by the unicorn’s bed. “That being said you both had me looking up procedures for that. Do you know how hard it is to translate procedures meant for humans to… let’s call it aliens. Do you?”

“Can’t really tell.”

“It’s fucking hard.” Vadim growled out. “And I hate being stuck as the medical guy in the first place. Seriously, why do Maritime Academies keep letting people skip the medical courses? I mean, really?”

“You’re rambling.” Geert pointed out.

“Eh come on, I got a lot on my mind.” Vadim said, sitting on his haunches by Geert’s bed. “You know, there are some interesting things about your new anatomy. You’d think it would be avian down there and you do have the cloaca, except it seems to be only connected to the reproductive system. It’s kind of a mix of mammalian and avian features.”

Geert gave his superior a weird look, but the griffon kept going without paying attention.

“It’s fascinating to be honest. I bet you’re now an egg laying species, but the digestive system looks mammalian, which was convenient for the catheter and explains why you can urinate at all, birds don’t do that. I guess you could say you’re kind of a reverse platypus.”

The parrot’s answer was just a stare.

“Eh sorry.” The griffon sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “You just woke up and I’m throwing all that stuff at you.”

“Maybe you could begin again from the start and tell me what I have.”

“Yeah, sure. Pretty simple, Rahul brought you in with a concussion, a dislocated hip and shoulder and some bruised ribs. I set those back in place, but you should avoid straining them for… a day or two… I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m not a doctor pal.” Vadim raised his claws in defense. “All I got as a basis is my old folio from medical courses and all. It’s kinda vague. That being said, I did learn something about you when I reset your hip.”

“And what would that be?”

“Did you know you can bend your legs both ways? As in, backwards and forwards? I’ve seen you parrots walk, human style, so I don’t know if you figured it out yet.”

Geert raised his eyebrows.

“I did not. Never came to my mind to try and bend my knee the opposite way, thought that was common sense. Thanks I guess.”

“Eh it’s nothing.” Vadim shrugged.

There were a couple seconds of awkward silence where Vadim looked at Geert in expectation, his orange nomex clad tail swishing back and forth behind him.

“Alright, what did I miss?” Geert asked.

“A lot that’s what you missed.” Vadim said with a grin. “When you guys got rid of those ‘wood hounds’ or whatever they’re called, you opened the way for some serious supply gathering. We got our fuel, so all tanks are full. Gives us something like three months of autonomy. Then there are all the military trucks we’ve added to the vehicle fleet; the guns but that you already know.” He stopped and gave a gentle tap of the talon on the side of his beak. “Artyom recruited Sri and Nikola to give us weapon training with those by the way. Training is still being planned but should begin in a day or two.”

“So we’re armed now?”

“Hell yeah we are, and pretty heavily thanks to you. The Captain has been partial about handing them out however. Gotta be sure we don’t accidentally shoot someone you know? After the trucks and guns, we’ve also loaded a couple containers worth of food, parts and the works. Electronics too, the whole nine yard of TV’s, processors and computer components. Carlos has been working all day on improving the server grid and all; we even got some radio equipment for each truck… and a fuckton of satellite phones.”

“A fuckton?”

“An entire twenty foot container. Loaded with regular sat phones and some weird kind of modified smartphones equipped with a satellite antenna. Damn useful those things, ‘cause the wireless phone connection went down yesterday.”

“It went down? As in, completely?”

“Yeah, antennas stopped working around midnight. Not really practical when you pair that with the ever decreasing number of working servers on the internet. But now we got the stuff to compensate. Who needs antennas when you got satellites, eh?”

“And the charts? Did we get them from the internet?”

“Only the ground charts. Navigation charts…” Vadim stopped to give him a bright smile, which was a bit unsettling coming from someone with the face of a falcon. “We just robbed the Admiralty building for all its intel.”

“All of it?”

“Even the chart printer. Now we can literally go anywhere in the world and have the charts for it. Neat right?”

“Damn right. Is that all?”

“Not even close.” Vadim said. “Still got two things to say. One is: we’re working in the lower holds to install a workshop and vehicle repair bay. Had to go and get some new ventilation units from a warehouse to make sure we don’t suffocate if we ever want to use it but it’s shaping up rather nice. We also installed some fuel tanks just for vehicle fuel so we don’t mix up our varieties of diesel.”

“All in the course of one day?” Geert asked incredulously.

“I didn’t say it was finished, I said it was shaping up. It might take weeks to finish that. Still, the second thing is the Captain’s new standing order. He calls it the ‘It’s all there in the manual procedure’.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Geert asked.

“Basically, because we’re gonna be out of our area of expertise most of the time, we can take supplies and all, but for every item we take, we gotta make sure we grab both spare parts and all the manuals for them.”

“Eh I get it. He thinks that if we’re gonna be stuck like that we have to make everything last, right?”

“That and we can’t really afford to fuck up when using foreign machinery. Not when the ‘doctor’ can’t fix much more than basic wounds.”

They kept talking for a while before Vadim was forced to excuse himself and leave, having duties to attend to. To Geert’s request, he gave him some painkillers by plugging a fresh bottle in his IV and moved his bed closer to the intercom phone. Vadim promised the parrot he would come back later to remove the catheter when he was done before hurrying away.

The Dutchman glanced at the still unconscious unicorn in the room. Recovery was going to be boring as hell…





Vadim went down several stairways before reaching the level of the stern ramp. He left the stairway to be met with a ramp that was bustling with activity.

Two of their trucks were backing in, each carrying a load of equipment including steel plates and their new ventilator fans. Micha was guiding them deeper inside to the position they had chosen to set up their planned workshop as well as the vehicle repair bay.

The Third Officer found himself zigzagging between a handful of shipmates bringing tools to the construction site before he found his target: Alejandro, the Chief Officer. The parrot was currently busy talking with their Chief Engineer, Schmitt, both of them looking at a laptop set up on a desk on a side of the car deck. They acknowledged his presence with a nod before returning to their discussion.

“So…” Schmitt continued “As I said, we need to raise the tweendeck fifty centimeters to fit enough extractor fans for the workshop. If we raise it more than that we lose the possibility to use it for container and car storage. Trucks are already a lost cause for that part, but the main decks leave us with enough capacity to house at least two hundred TEU’s or cars on that deck alone.”

“Yeah, agreed on that point. We lose the ability to adjust the height on the tweendeck though. Not really a problem as long as we can roll in the containers on MAFI’s. Do we have enough room to let their tractors pass?”

Schmitt squinted at the laptop before nodding.

“Yes, only 20 centimeters to spare, but they will pass. You think we can pierce the deck to pass the ventilation conduits from the workshop?”

“Only if you add a watertight seal around the hole. Mark it down, use a weld to attach the conduit, and then mold a rubber seal around the hole to block out water egress.”

“That’s all I see on the plan for now. When do you want the refueling station to be completed? The one for the trucks I mean.”

“Stick to securing the diesel tanks on the bottom deck. We will see if we can pass some fuel lines through when the workshop is done. In the meantime, it can wait.” Alejandro reviewed the plan on the laptop. “That’s done faster than I’d have wished but safety wise it seems to pass inspections.”

Schmitt clasped his shoulder and gave him a tired smile.

“Don’t worry about it too much, you told me you had some dry-dock experience, refitting ships and all, you’ve done that before. Plus we I looked it through on the computer, structural integrity and stability are sound. Hell, we even gain something like twenty-five centimeters on the metacentric height.”

“I know. But this time it’s my own ship I’m modifying, not just a client passing through.”

“Doesn’t change much, and we reviewed the safety procedures three times already. Materials are in place, you just got to give the green light.”

Alejandro gave the laptop one last look before nodding and turning to his colleague.

“You’re right. Can’t improve much on it anyway. Take the laptop and print the schematics. I don’t want to start the works today, so delay the beginning until tomorrow morning.”

Schmitt gave Alejandro the thumbs up and then left with the computer. The Chief Officer turned to Vadim who had been observing the conversation.

“How was it in the infirmary?”

“Geert’s awake, the other guy, not so much.”

“Still an improvement. How long do you think he will need before getting back to work?” Alejandro asked.

“Not too sure about that. I told him he’d have to stay off of his leg for about two days.” He said hesitantly.

“A bit long considering he basically is our interpreter in the area…”

“Can’t do anything to help with that. Regardless, you wanted to talk to me?”

“Uh uh, you’re on watch now, right?”

“Yes, doing my rounds around the ship and keeping an eye out from the bridge from time to time.” He answered. “Why the question?”

“I’m trying to work out some planning. Regardless, since you kept saying you wanted to go out and take part in the salvaging, I got you an ‘expedition’ for tomorrow.”

The griffon sat on his haunches and crossed his forelimbs. With a nod he told the Chief Officer to go on.

“The Captain has been quite hesitant about letting you leave, but I managed to convince him to make an exception.”

“Really?” Vadim said with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, really. I got a more extensive list of the tasks for your expedition, but basically I want you to take a three man team to retrieve medical supplies from the clinic on the navy base. Rahul got it marked down on a map when he explored the area so you can’t miss it.”

“Only the clinic?”

“That’s the first destination I added so I could justify sending you. Do you know the company Dräger?”

“They make gas masks and breathing equipment, correct?” Vadim hesitated.

“Among other things, but yes. They have a warehouse close to the inner harbor, and it’s in the vicinity of another depot belonging to an industrial clothing manufacturer. You catch my drift?”

“Yep, first the medical supplies, then the breathing apparatus and finally work clothing.”

“I added some specifications to your list, so if you can find the thing Dräger uses to customize gas masks and all that would be great. I don’t know if it’s a mold or a 3D printer, but just take it. Try to get a lot of gas detectors too.”

“Will do.” The griffon smiled; finally he was getting out of the ship. “That all you had to tell?”

“Yep. You got a lot to do yourself?”

“Nah, just got to get the catheter off of De Vries then it’s back to watchkeeping. Goodnight.” He said, walking off.

Around them, the stream of vehicles unloading wares for the upcoming workshop was winding down. Not that it mattered to Vadim, who was all too glad to finally get to go ashore.





The following morning saw Vadim sipping coffee from a thermos by the stern ramp. Alejandro was at his side and giving him a last minute briefing on his mission for the day, with the Third Officer quietly reviewing the map onto which he had marked his destinations.

“If you don’t mind me asking amigo, who’s coming along for your little expedition?” Alejandro asked after he finished his briefing.

“When the Captain heard of the details he told me to take Artyom along. Third guy in our group is Boris.”

“Two Russians uh? You must be the only Ukrainian I know that doesn’t have a problem with them.”

“Don’t be mistaken, I am pissed off about Crimea.” Vadim remarked. “It’s the Captain that gathered us all in a room once and told us if we caused any problem about it he would blast us with a fire hose. All of us at once, that is.”

“And?”

“Eh, once you get past the politics they can be pretty cool guys.” He gave the Chief Officer a pointed look. “You just have to remember never to mention Sebastopol.”

“Uh, I will try to remember that.” Alejandro said before finishing his coffee.

Minutes later, both Boris and Artyom arrived loaded with guns and flak jackets. It looked like the ballistic protection made for a good utility rig if you loosened it enough to account for the wings on their back, though he doubted it would be comfortable.

Boris passed Vadim one of the older rifles as well as a fully loaded jacket which was already equipped with a pistol holster. He noted that Artyom was carrying one of the SCAR’s instead, as well as one of the newer pistol models.

“Here you go Officer, the jacket is already fitted. You got three mags for your rifle, one of the less lethal pistols with two mags; some stun grenades and a bayonet. That good for you?”

“It should be, are the radios already in the truck?” Vadim asked as he put on the jacket.

“Loaded them this morning, three walkie-talkies, one long range radio for the truck, and our sat phones. The phones already have a GPS and we can load them with the truck’s battery.”

Just as he said that, Artyom rolled by them in a Unimog and waved for them to get on board. Vadim wished Alejandro a good day and just like that they were off.

Vadim almost racked the slide on his rifle before being stopped by Artyom who told him to avoid chambering a bullet when they were in a vehicle. He told him they were still hammering down the finer details for weapon procedures, but that they had already decided to forbid having chambered weapons when on board of the ship or in vehicles.

The salvaging effort of the crew in the vicinity of Amandine was easy to notice. Most of the trailers in the yard had been left open to the elements, and some gaps indicated the former place of those they had selected for loading. Vadim was ready to bet that if he were to check out the container terminal, most of them would have already been pried open.

They passed a couple heavy duty forklifts by the entrance. Some shipmates had left them here since it was more practical to carry a container on them for the three kilometer distance between the ship and the terminal rather than wasting time loading containers on a trailer.

Zeebrugge was looking a bit dilapidated after the passage of the crew, but they had done their best to avoid causing undue damage to the houses. Rahul and Nguyen had raided some restaurants in the area the day before to ‘improve’ the kitchen’s equipment, and some of their shipmates had done their groceries in the shops around the marina, but most houses had been left intact.

What’s the point of raiding a house to get electronics when you can get them brand new from the harbor after all? The same went for clothing, to a lesser extent because most on the crew didn’t want to bother refurbishing human clothing to fit them. Coveralls were enough work as is.

Didn’t stop them from refilling their snack and liquor supply in town; Vadim had long stopped counting the amount of Belgian Beer loaded on board. Plus they had brought him his share and then some.

Funnily enough the worst problem they had had after the wood hound incident was only guard dogs (no they didn’t shoot them). Either the trio they killed was the whole pack or the surviving members had fled the area.

They stopped at the guard post of the navy base to retrieve the keys to the buildings. The Captain had told the crew to leave them there in case other ‘survivors’ passed by later and wanted to get supplies. They didn’t need all the equipment the base could provide.

Artyom steered the truck at a slow pace towards a white painted building with large windows. Vadim eyed it critically, already locating the emergency wing and taking note of an odd port set in the wall next to it. It reminded him of a submarine hatch.

They parked the truck next to an old olive green ambulance that had seen better days.

“Much as I respect these guys for preferring rugged equipment to modern tech, some of their cars have to be older than the fall of the Soviet Union.” Artyom commented as he eyed the ambulance with distaste.

“Not gonna lie, that doesn’t make me very confident about the content of the building.” Vadim said.

He retrieved his rifle from the truck’s cabin and slung it across his back before walking over to the doors and trying out several sets of keys. Behind him, his companions took position to keep an eye on the area.

“Say Boris…” Vadim began while testing keys. “Have you figured out a way to shoot reliably yet? I mean, I don’t know how to go about it when I already need four limbs to walk around.”

“Pistol when moving I think.” He answered. “Otherwise I can’t picture a way to shoot on the move. With a handgun you only need one hand, err claw I mean. Otherwise you can just shoot from a prone position, it’s more accurate anyway.”

“Uh huh.” Vadim acknowledged. “I’d think you could shoot from a sitting position, but I’m not sure about the recoil.”

“What if you brace yourself with your tail?” Boris asked, looking back.

“’cause you got that amount of control on your tail? Mine’s just swaying back and forth without input.”

“I don’t, but I can at least direct it in the direction I wish to. Probably I can figure it out eventually…”

“Good luck with that.” Vadim said sarcastically. “Anyway, it’s open.” 

The lobby that greeted them was rather… spartan to put it mildly. The base commander mustn’t have dedicated much in the way of funding to decorating the clinic considering how it was shaping up to be.

If the desk in the entrance showed signs of modern tech and a desire for efficiency, the walls spoke another language, featuring a beige paint that must have been there since the building’s construction, and that had to be a long time.

“Wow, someone really hates interior decoration.” Boris joked. “Watcha want us to do uh, Officer?”

“For now? Let’s just locate their supply storage and have a look around.”

Unfortunately for Vadim, the offices didn’t hold any document he could use because they were all written in Dutch and he doubted Geert would have the medical know-how to translate them. 

He did find a British medical encyclopedia though. Someone serving there must have studied in Britain before the cataclysm, not that it mattered to him: he just loaded the five tome publication on a cart before continuing his exploration of the building.

Boris came back to him saying he had found the blood bag storage, so he dragged his cart in the direction of the wing indicated by his subordinate. The other griffon led him to a large room separated from another by a thick glass window.

Eh, now they had found where the entire budget went: a hyperbaric treatment wing. That would make sense if that navy wanted to take care of their divers, he guessed.

Vadim took a look at the refrigerator housing the bags Boris had pointed out. How could he make sure it would be compatible with them? Unlikely to be possible, but worth trying. He started to look through shelves around the room before finding his goal: a blood group test kit. He took two.

“Boris, friend, do you like science?” He asked, opening the kit.

The goshawk griffon by his side stared at him wide eyed. The nature of the question dawned on him and he backed off quickly.

“Come on, you can’t seriously believe our blood would be compatible with human blood?”

“We can’t be certain of either possibility, so it’s worth trying. Worst case scenario, I prick you for nothing. This won’t hurt much, I promise.”

“You’ve been making a lot of those promises recently.” The other griffon scowled. Nevertheless, he held up a forelimb to Vadim.

So both griffons underwent a blood type test, Vadim participating in a show of good faith to his colleague. Much to their surprise, they actually got a result from the test. A negative for both of them. That had Vadim scratching his beak in thought.

“And what do you make of that?” Boris asked him.”Beside the fact that I used to be B negative.”

“Nothing quite yet, and I was O positive. I will have to take some more testing equipment on board for that and try a couple things more, but this tells me enough to want to take those blood bags. What’s the expiration date anyway?”

Boris looked at the fridge.

“Five weeks approximately. I feel like we’re gonna toss them overboard either way.”

“Better have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Leave the fridge plugged for now, we will come back on the return trip to pick it up.”

From that room, Vadim settled for picking up a box of testing kits and transfusion equipment. After a short hesitation, he also added all the testing equipment he could find. He may not be a scientist, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying if it could help him keep his shipmates alive.

In the hyperbaric care center, they found an oxygen concentrator and a large supply of compressed bottles, which they were all too keen to add to the growing pile of equipment on the carts they were pushing.

The two griffons then brought their bounty back to the lobby; only to discover that Artyom had beat them both to the emergency wing. The dragon was smoking a cigarette by the truck, now loaded with several crates of medical supplies, and a safe of moderate size.

“What’s with the safe?” Boris asked.

“Found their controlled drug stash. Got the key for it too.” He said, dangling a set of keys from his claw for emphasis.

“Did you find a fridge filled with medication too?” Vadim said.

“That I did.” The dragon took a drag from his cigarette. “Didn’t load it. Figured you’d want to wait.”

“Correct.” Vadim glanced at the truck, it was already half full. “I think we will already make a trip back to the ship with all that so we can already bring the refrigerated stuff. Spares us from having to come back.”

“We’re only half full though…” Boris muttered.

“The infirmary has room for one more bed. Go grab a gurney, or better, an actual medical bed and some holders for the IV’s, I will get the blood. Artyom?”

“Got it” The dragon said, crushing his cigarette underfoot. “Get the fridge, be there in a minute.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were unloading the supplies at the ship. Vadim hurried to the infirmary to plug in the two fridges before leaving just as quickly as he had come. Geert did try to strike a conversation but there was no way the Ukrainian was getting tricked into staying on board. Just as soon as the last crate went from the truck to the deck, he had Artyom drive it off the ramp and towards to the inner harbor.





Later that evening, Geert was still bedridden in the infirmary. People had come to visit him that day, but it had been rather dull for him to stay stuck in bed like he was. Oh sure, there had been some activity in the morning when they brought in the new medical equipment, but even that was rather short lived. Most on the crew didn’t have any idea how to stow the medical gear besides making certain the fridges were plugged in so they left that work to Vadim who was invariably going to be pissed off about it. Geert could already picture the griffon ranting.

Thankfully, Alejandro had stopped by early in the afternoon to give him a laptop so that he could keep himself busy. The rest of his time had thus been spent looking around on the internet for working servers and retrieve as much data as possible.

Needless to say, the last days had seen the satellite antennas of Amandine being strained to the very limit of their bandwidth, though the data flow was slowly winding down as more and more servers shut down from neglect. It had been almost a week since the cataclysm occurred, and they still had to find traces of activity beyond an injured guard on the first day.

Geert looked to his side. An unconscious injured guard. Vadim had mentioned something about a change in his blood pressure this morning but Geert was too groggy at the time to understand what he actually meant. The unicorn remained hooked to an IV and under constant monitoring and oxygen supply.

Returning to his work on the laptop, he began downloading a dozen paid manuals from maritime websites using the ship’s account. They were slowly losing hope about the situation resolving itself shortly, so he might as well use the money while they still could. It wasn’t even a bad use of their credit since he could easily justify their use for, he checked… A guide to installing new and innovative firefighting solutions. Yeah, that he could justify.

The manuals soon joined the growing collection hosted on the ship’s server banks. They had long passed the 10 terabyte mark from the constant downloading, a fact that Roberto, the ship’s secretary, didn’t miss announcing loudly in the cafeteria according to the rumors he got from outside the infirmary.

The parrot turned his head when he heard a groan to his side. He looked at the unicorn in wonder, could he be waking up already?

The blue unicorn, currently lying on his back, let out a small cough before his eyes fluttered open. He let out a small groan and closed his eyes immediately because of the bright light in the room. He reached for his face with a hoof but stopped upon seeing the appendage.

Looks like someone hasn’t had the time to get acquainted with their new form just yet, Geert thought. The unicorn let out an annoyed snort before turning his attention to the rest of the room.

“So you’re awake?” Geert asked. A rhetorical question of course, but he wanted to catch his attention.

The unicorn’s turned in his direction, eyes wide.

“You’ve been unconscious for a while, how are you feeling?” Geert asked.

That only earned him a confused look. Great, he probably didn’t speak English. Time to try Dutch then.

“Do you speak Dutch?” He tried again, this time getting a nod as an answer. “Can you talk?”

The unicorn shook his head and pointed a hoof at his throat before letting out a raspy breath. Should he make a joke about the guy sounding hoarse? Nah, he didn’t understand English anyway. With some effort, Geert grabbed a crutch by his bed and hoisted himself on his uninjured leg. He hid a wince and made his way to the sink. The unicorn male probably needed some water. All this motion also made him very self-conscious about only being clad in a hospital gown.

Geert tried to help the guard drink a cup of water, since it mustn’t have been very practical with hooves for hands, but he insisted on drinking it by himself. To his credit, he managed to balance the cup between two hooves and get some liquid down his throat without spilling too much water on his own fur.

The parrot sat down on his bed. Standing up had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. The bedridden unicorn was now reduced to staring at the empty plastic cup he was balancing on two hooves.

“Are you feeling alright?” Geert tried again.

He was feeling that the guard was trying to ignore him, but by the way the large ears on top of his head twitched, he had clearly heard him.

“We found you unconscious three days ago.” Damn, correct as it might have been, it still didn’t feel like it had been that long. “We brought you to our ship and one of our officers did his best to patch you up.”

The unicorn finally deigned to respond to Geert’s attempts at a conversation.

“You, human?” He rasped.

“Yes, about one week ago we were anchored near the sandbanks. We don’t know what caused this yet, but it sent us a couple hours forward in time and turned us into... I would say mythological creatures but there’s so much variety to it it’s frankly ridiculous.” Geert guessed that he meant to ask if he used to be human.

“Variety?” The unicorn asked.

“Kind of, we have griffons, dragons, a minotaur and then some. I don’t even know if there’s an actual name for what I turned into. You’re the first unicorn we find. The first person beside our own crew for that matter. Zeebrugge was completely deserted when we entered the port.”

  The unicorn gazed back at his lap for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before pointing to his cup and asking for a refill. Geert hoped he wouldn’t ask too many of those because he was beginning to believe Vadim’s assumption that he would need a few days to recover fully.

“My dog?” The guard asked when Geert handed him his refilled cup.

“He didn’t make it. Too much blood loss.” Geert shook his head. “If it makes you feel better we killed the… things that killed him and injured you, which is how I got hurt by the way. Our cook buried him next to the boatlift.”

“I’ve been working with Samson at my side for the past five years…” The unicorn muttered somberly after finishing his cup. He shook his head. “I’m sorry; when I woke up like this…” He waved a hoof at himself for emphasis. “I first thought it was just a dream but…”

“It’s fine I understand. We still have problems coping with the situation on this ship. Most of us don’t want to admit it and try to get on with our work, but you can see it in their eyes.” Geert comforted him. “Just checking in case we read your dog tags wrong, but you are Bart De Mesmaeker, correct?”

“Correct.” He nodded. “I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name…” He said.

“Geert De Vries, fourth officer on this ship, the Amandine.” The parrot presented himself, offering his uninjured arm for the unicorn to shake.

Bart hesitated for a brief second before extending a foreleg. Geert just improvised and shook the offered hoof firmly.

“Fourth officer? So you’re not military?”

“No, the Amandine is a merchant vessel, roll-on/roll-off to be exact. I know we weren’t supposed to break in the base but…”

“It’s fine.” Bart interrupted him. “I know I should be mad about that… But I can’t really complain since I would have died otherwise. We’re still in Zeebrugge right?”

“Yes, we’ve been spending the last few days gathering supplies and modifying the ship. I don’t think you will be too happy about it but we took some guns and ammo from the base.”

“Do you guys even have any use for them?”

“Well, we did use them to kill the wood hounds that injured you. Your own pistol took down one.”

  Bart let himself fall down against his bed, a scowl on his face.

“How certain are you that everyone is gone?” He asked.

“Pretty certain. Short range we keep looking and only found you. Long range we keep trying to listen on all waves for radio chatter or activity on the web but… Nothing; and internet servers are going down as we speak.”

“Ain’t that fucking fantastic.” Bart muttered. “It’s the apocalypse and I’m already injured and turned into a pastel unicorn… As if the situation wasn’t bad enough in the first place.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Geert asked.

“What, want to hear a sob story?” Bart almost snarled, which would have been rather comical given his current form. “Well here you go: daughter gets killed by a drunkard in a car when going to school, wife divorces me because I’m supposedly responsible even though I was on the other side of the country, then I get demoted to fucking corporal after twenty five years of service and shoved aside to some god-forsaken base nobody gives two shits about because I happened to get caught drunk after my daughter’s burial. AND THEN THIS?!” He yelled the last part. “I mean, for fuck sake, I’ve been to Yugoslavia and Afghanistan, and it wasn’t half as bad as that shit. Karma my ass.”

“Damn, and here I thought my situation was bad.”

“Oh really? And how can you even call it bad? You just turned into something that’s still relatively close to human.”

“Lost my dick in the process tho’” Geert said.

“What, you mean you’re not a girl?” Bart asked, getting a nod from Geert.“Yeah I don’t envy you.”

“You bet…” Geert snorted. “On a more serious note, can you speak English? ‘cause that’s kind of the lingua franca on board.”

Bart shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Never bothered to learn a foreign language. I know bits and pieces of French, a word or two in English but that’s about it.”

“That’s not going to make this easy… at all.” Geert sighed.

“Sorry about that.” Bart shrugged. “I’ve managed to live most of my life without having to learn any foreign language. It never really was necessary.”

“Still, in all likelihood the Captain will want to talk to you. He’s been gathering all the info he can on the cataclysm recently, and I’d be surprised if he didn’t want to hear your own tale.”

“Can you tell me about him?”

“Sure, got plenty of time on my hands anyway. Here’s how it goes…”

   And then Geert launched himself into a lengthy explanation on Captain Prateek and the workings of M/V Amandine.
> Chapter 11: A Late Night Call
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of the 30th saw most of the crew gathered on the main deck for some training in the use of their recently acquired weaponry. Artyom was supervising it, and had gathered the shipmates with the most military experience among the crew to assist him.

Which is how he found himself with a hippogriff and a gargoyle at his side. The hippogriff, Sri, used to be part of his country’s navy whereas the gargoyle, Nikola, had worked for a couple years as an army mechanic.

He had been rather surprised when both of them announced they already had experience with some of the weapon systems they had found at the base. Sri had told him that the Indonesian navy he had worked with in the past apparently used Belgian weapons extensively. Under licensing, of course, but the similarities were there.

They had arranged each of the weapons on a table in front of them to demonstrate their use, with some more in a crate behind them for when they decided to move on to practical manipulations. Fortunately for Artyom, Sri had been kind enough to tell them about the intricacies when they were preparing how to give their lesson. They did experience some difficulties with the more modern weapons, but they wanted to keep them for later anyway since they doubted the crew would be able to use them effectively, with an exception being made for the less-lethal weapons out of necessity.

Artyom quickly checked his list. The Captain had ordered the crew to be divided in two shifts for the lesson. A quick head count told him all were present and ready. With a nod towards his two colleagues, he began his little speech.

“Alright listen up people.” He began, making his way around the table. “We’re now aware that whatever cataclysm happened a week ago apparently also came with its lot of nasty creatures. Case in point, those wood hounds thingies which resulted in the infirmary currently being occupied by two people.”

“It goes without saying that we need a mean of defending ourselves. Thankfully, personal experience has led me to discovering the unsurprising fact that yes; guns do work against walking lumber. Fire too, but that’s beside the point for now. What does matter, is that I make sure that you are able to use those…” He waved at the guns on the table. “To defend yourselves and your shipmates. To that effect, Captain Prateek has authorized me to teach you how to properly use guns.”

“But before we proceed with manipulations, I have to lay the groundwork. We have decided of some… rules and principles that will make sure you using these guns doesn’t endanger your shipmates because you accidentally go and shoot someone. Understood?” 

He got a murmur of assent from the crowd around him so he decided to continue.

“Good, we will begin with these, and I will ask again at the end of the three hours we allocated for this lesson, and then once again tonight in the cafeteria. The Chief Officer is already looking into making a regular scheduled training for this, so expect some bi-weekly training if discussion don’ t change too much. Sri and Nikola will deal with the practical manipulations while I deal with the theory, so to speak.”

Artyom turned around and grabbed one of the older assault rifles they had decided to give the crew. It was called a FNC according to Sri. He checked that the weapon wasn’t loaded and then faced the crew.

“This, is a FNC. It stands for Fabrique Nationale, Carbine and will be the main weapon we train you to use. It’s as standard a weapon as it gets before going into Kalashnikov territory. When using it, we have decided to establish five rules which you will remember at all times. Fail to do so, and I will personally make sure you never touch a gun again and to give you the beating of a lifetime. I will also add that those rules are also valid for the use of our less-lethal weapons, including the tasers.”

“Rule one. Always treat a weapon as if it were loaded. It doesn’t matter if you know it is not chambered and there is no magazine on it, most firearm accidents occurred with weapons that were assumed to be unloaded. Furthermore, it has been decided with the Captain that we will not walk around with ammunition in the chamber. We will only chamber a round in presence of a threat. Questions?” 

There were none so he continued.

“Rule two. Never point your weapon at something you are not willing to shoot. That means you don’t go waving your gun at people for fun, and that you always make sure the barrel isn’t aimed at someone because you were not paying attention.” Artyom said, walking around the crewmembers assembled in half a circle around the table.

“Take note, that as I walk around right now, the tip of the barrel is never pointed towards any of you. You will have to make certain you don’t do so, particularly when you have a weapon on your back in a sling or when someone passes by you. If you follow this one rule, chances are that even in case of accidental discharge, nobody will be hurt.”

“Rule three. Your finger, or claw, or talon, whatever you call it nowadays, must remain off the trigger until your target is in your sights and you are ready to shoot. This is to ensure that in case of fall or surprise, you do not accidentally press the trigger.”

“Rule four. Be conscious of your target and its environment, as well as yours. These guns are powerful, and the bullets can go through a lot of surfaces. They will stay deadly even after ricocheting. Understand these implications, and you will understand that there is a very real risk of the bullet going through your target to damage dangerous materials on the other side, or the chance of a missed shot ricocheting and injuring an ally.”

“You must also remember that some of the ammunition we use is tracers. They can be a fire hazard, and can sometimes set vegetation on fire, let alone explosive gas clouds. Rule four also implies that you know the risks of shooting a weapon in an enclosed space, and I’m talking about the sound of the discharge.”

Saying that, the dragon tapped the set of ear defenders around his neck for emphasis.

“Using hearing protection is heavily advised, though I understand it is not always possible to spare the time to put them on when you detect a threat.” Artyom stopped to think for a moment.

“For rule number four, also take into account what is around you. That can be a shipmate who may need to pass in front or close to you. Moving around, you must also pay attention and avoid losing your footing with a loaded weapon. Sri and Nikola will explain later about how to get a correct firing position which will make sure to decrease the risk of having your firing disrupted.”

Artyom paused again and surveyed the crowd to make sure everyone was following. He had notes to give them about it but that could wait for later. Not giving them anything for now would ensure they paid attention, if the prospect of not shooting their comrades wasn’t enough of an incentive.

“At last, rule number five. Never leave a weapon alone. Unless they are stored in the armory, which will be the ship’s vault until we build one, you must always have your weapon by your side. I don’t even want to hear about it being safe if it’s left in a vehicle, those guns gotta stay glued to you. The only exception allowed will be if it’s in the hands of someone else, and even then I want you all to be able to tell who and where that person is. Copy?”

Everyone nodded in answer, so Artyom made his way to a weapon crate by the table. He opened it to reveal some more rifles, as well as a few pistols.

“Excellent then. Everyone line up to get a rifle, I want the quadrupeds to go with Sri, bipeds with Nikola. We will do the pistols later.”  Artyom put his rifle back on the table and grabbed a machinegun instead. He looked through the crowd and waved at the ship’s sole minotaur, Angelo.

“Angelo, big guy, you’re not getting a rifle. Wouldn’t fit with those fingers of yours anyway.”

The minotaur stopped and looked at the boatswain curiously. Artyom presented him the machinegun.

“It’s not gonna be easy since the gun’s a lot more complicated than a mere assault rifle, but I want you to take that.”

Angelo easily hefted the enormous gun in his arms. With the sheer size of the minotaur, it looked like he was just holding a regular weapon instead of 12 kilos worth of firepower.

“Yeah I can get behind that decision bosun.” Angelo said with a smile. “Feels rather light.” He added.

“Only to you big guy, trust me. Now get over here, it’s lesson time and you will need it.”





Dilip looked down through his cabin’s window at the crewmen training. They were now practicing their manipulations with inert rounds.

He dearly hoped Artyom would be able to whip the crew into shape so that they could avoid a repeat of the wood hound incident. Vadim had had to adjust his estimation on how long it would take for both of their casualties to recover.

The unicorn being stuck with stitches for a week or two didn’t bother him overly much, though he would be interested to meet the guy when Vadim told him he was ready for visitation. No, what annoyed him to no end was that his youngest officer, and most importantly his only officer that could speak the local tongue, would be walking around on crutches for up to two months thanks to that dislocated hip.

The dog Captain served himself a cup of tea. A nice dose of Darjeeling always did wonders to soothe his nerves. He turned away from the window and focused back on the files on his desk.

He quickly skipped through most of the files that were just the usual fare of the maintenance schedules and timetables. Those were already good and didn’t need much reviewing. A quick stamp, a signature, and then they were already going through the scanner before he had time to bother about them too much.

What actually mattered at the moment were the proposals he had to go through regarding modifications to the ship. His Chief Engineer hadn’t spared him with the volume, he thought, glancing at the stack of documents. He took a sip of his tea before starting.

A proposal to extend the fixed firefighting systems to the added areas was quickly approved, as well as the installation of a carbon dioxide compressor in the dedicated storage so that they could refill the fixed bottles and the fire extinguishers. Dilip put a high priority on protecting the new vehicle fuel tanks, and their ammunition storage, which he ordered to be put close to the bow on the main deck.

No need to put the explosives at the heart of the vessel if they could help it. Dangerous goods were supposed to be carried on deck and not in the holds. He did order a system to fill the storage with foam in case of fire though.

He selected a new area to install the future armory, making sure to keep it close to the new workshop to facilitate maintenance work on the weapons. It was a good thing they had retrieved an ultrasonic bath for weapon cleaning, he thought, he never particularly liked having to waste hours upon hours cleaning them.

Thinking about some ships he had seen doing fluvial navigation, he put a note for the crew to try to find a rhib equipped with sounding equipment. If they were truly alone, then soundings would become increasingly unreliable as time went on. A boat sounding the waters ahead of them might help with that… somewhat.

His work was interrupted by his phone ringing. An internal call.

“Good morning Captain, Third Officer Zinoviya from the infirmary. You wanted to visit Corporal De Mesmaeker as soon as possible I recall?”

“Yes Vadim. Is he ready?”

“He is sir. Though there may be some difficulties in the process. The Corporal doesn’t speak English.”

“That’s a bit of a problem indeed. Any solution?”

“Already got one. De Vries does the translation.”

“Good work. I’m coming down in a minute, just finishing some paperwork.” Dilip concluded before hanging up.

As he scanned his completed documents, Dilip’s gaze drifted over another stack of files. It was in that one that he had gathered all the available data on the cataclysm, and his assumptions on it.

Hopefully this De Mesmaeker would be able to shed some light on the problem…





Back in the infirmary, things were rather quiet. Vadim had just finished examining Bart’s state and had finally bothered to remove his catheter (Geert on the bed next to them winced in sympathy).

“Vadim says your wound is already showing signs of healing. Provided there is no infection, you should be able to put some weight on your forelimbs within a week, and removing the stitches within two weeks.” Geert translated the griffon’s explanation to the Belgian patient.

The parrot was still keeping himself busy with his laptop, but finding working websites was becoming a challenge in itself. With an annoyed snort at his last search result, he glanced at Vadim.

“What are you doing with all that blood?”

The griffon was hunched over a set of blood vials and an encyclopedia in a corner of the infirmary. Vadim was busily jotting down notes in a booklet as he leafed through the massive book.

“I’m trying to figure out the blood types that go with our new species. Still only doing the griffons for now… And even then I’m not too sure about the results.”

“Care to explain? It’s not like I have too much to do and having someone to explain it to might clear up your thoughts.”

“Here’s the thing. I made all the griffons on board take a test and stored the samples. All came back with the same type: A negative. What I want to know is if the test detects all the variables I want or what it detects.”

“Why don’t you just mix it with human A negative blood and see if it coagulates?”

“I don’t want to waste either the stored blood or the samples if I can help it. Would be a shame to do that if the encyclopedia just tells me I’m wrong without requiring any test.”

“Then again the encyclopedia doesn’t know shit about aliens.”

“Aliens?” Vadim smiled.

“You got a better word for it? I could also say gopnik with a beak problem.”

Before Vadim had the time to think up an answer, Dilip walked in the room and both officers immediately straightened up.

“Greetings gentlemen.” The Captain said. “How are our patients doing?”

“Good sir.” Vadim answered. “Nothing alarming for both of them.”

“And the recovery time?”

“I estimate De Vries to be mobile and on crutches within days, but if the encyclopedia is accurate.” He tapped his book with a talon for emphasis. “Then he should be stuck on crutches for a while. Up to two months.”

The Captain looked towards the bedridden unicorn in the room, who looked at him curiously.

“And what of De Mesmaeker?”

“Mobile within a week, and I estimate two weeks until removal of his stitches.”

Dilip nodded and turned to address Geert.

“Can you tell Corporal De Mesmaker I wish to ask him a few questions? It’s about the cataclysm.”

Geert translated the request and Bart perked up.  He pushed back in his bed to straighten up a bit and made a motion with his hoof indicating for the Captain to ask away. Dilip took a seat by the bed and leaned forward.

“I need you to try to remember what happened immediately before and after you woke up as a unicorn. What time it was, when you woke up, and if you noticed anything beside your change of form. That sort of thing.”

It took a minute after Geert translated for Bart to collect his thoughts.

“I was on patrol at the time. I think it was around 02.30, maybe 02.45. That’s the time I usually choose to do my first round around the base. I was inside at the time, just checking that all offices were closed. Nothing unusual with that, and I had taken Samson along because he was getting antsy staying inside all night.” The unicorn shivered at the thought of his deceased dog. “Then my walkie-talkie started crackling. Usually it happens when the reception isn’t too good so I tried to leave the building. I thought the guys at the guard post were trying to call me; they were a bit pissed off because I wanted to do my patrol alone. Had a lot on my mind at the time you see. Next thing I know there’s this flash in sky. I caught some copper-ish smell and then it was full blackout.”

“02.30? Are you sure it’s not 01.30?” Geert asked.

“Negative.” The unicorn shook his head. “I always go on patrol at the same time. Why? Did it happen at another time for you?”

“Captain, were we on Belgian or English time on the 23rd?” Geert asked his superior.

“Belgian, why?”

“He says it occurred at 02.30 in Zeebrugge. A full hour after us.”

“Keep asking. Try to get him to tell you when he woke up if he knows.” Dilip paused. “If he knows, did he get a sort of ‘wave’ feeling from the event? That it progressed in a direction?”

One translation later, and the Captain had more questions than he started with. Bart’s tale was that the wave came from the North-West, contrarily to its western origin when it affected Amandine.

That eliminated the possibility of it having progressed parallel to meridians.

Another thing was that the time when he woke up was different. Bart wasn’t sure about the exact time, and it was even more inaccurate because his memory was skewed due to being unconscious for a while after being attacked, but he did tell them that he woke up in the evening. Bart also told them more about what followed, his dog finding him and recognizing him (probably due to his smell).

He reported detecting some kind of lightning bolt striking down near the base later in the night, when he was still figuring out how to move around. He told them he was still in the office building at the time, but that he had to discard his pants to move around unhindered.

“And when were you attacked?”

“Minutes after the lightning bolts. I heard the howling before I saw them just as I was getting out of the building. I forgot my holster in the commotion but I… panicked somehow and ran away. Which is odd, since I could barely walk before but it felt like my fight or flight reflex was skewed. The rest… They cornered me close to the warehouse and I threw myself through a window. Got some mild cuts but the coup de grace came from one of those… What do you call them?”

“For now? Wood hounds.”

“Yeah, one of them jumped through the window and pounced on me. It ran away when Samson bit it though. That dog had titanium teeth you know, lost his regular teeth in a car accident. Didn’t stop the hound from harming though. I couldn’t walk away with all my injuries, so I just bled there until you found me. How long do you think I was there?”

“Can’t tell I’m afraid. Maybe we could if we had access to the CCTV cameras…”

Bart shook his head and told Geert he couldn’t grant that request. Only Officers had access to the archived videos. He only had live feed access.

Dilip thanked him nonetheless for his contribution to the investigation before deciding to return to his quarters. He wanted to add this data to his files as soon as possible, and still had quite a load of documentation to wade through in addition to that.

“You think your Captain would object to me joining your crew?” Bart asked.

“Depends.” Geert shrugged. “From my own experience with him, if you can justify your presence on board by being useful, then it’s unlikely he would refuse. Why the question? You want to stick with us?”

“It’s not like there’s a lot of things keeping me there. Family? Gone. House? Wife got it in the divorce.” He glared at the ceiling. “It’s the apocalypse and there’s nobody left. In any case, I’d rather stick with people I can’t even talk to than wind up alone and go crazy from loneliness.”

“Eh, as long as you’re fine with that. I can bring it up later with other crewmembers if you want. Don’t you have gear that you’d want to retrieve or something? I bet we can work something out.”

“Well, I live far from here, so I usually stay at the barracks deeper inland on another base. But there’s my car on the parking lot where I keep my personal belongings and some spare clothes.”

Geert quickly asked Vadim if they could send a salvage team to get Bart’s belongings. The unicorn provided the number on his license plate and his car’s description. It was on the base’s parking lot so getting it would pose little trouble.

“Say, I had the keys on my uniform when I transformed. Did you put it somewhere?” Bart asked.

“The shirt was a bust with all the blood on it, but someone brought in the pants. We packed them and the shirt’s contents in a bag. It’s under your bed.”

  Vadim was kind enough to get the keys from the bag at Geert’s request, though he was a bit annoyed at being forced to stop his ‘experimentation’. He left to give them to one of the salvage teams.

Now alone in the infirmary with Bart, Geert quickly began to get annoyed at the lack of work. He was straight out of websites to explore. The metaphorical light bulb lit up in his mind.

“Hey, you need something to pass the time?” He asked Bart.

“I wouldn’t mind it. Why?” The unicorn didn’t even have a laptop to pass the time, so the answer was rather expected.

“Just thinking you could use some improvised English lessons.”

“Ah fuck it, better than nothing. Where do you wanna start?”





Dilip was making his way up to his quarters when a shipmate stopped him by the cafeteria. Nikola, he recognized, the gargoyle was called.

“Sir, there’s something you need to see.” He said. “It’s Farkas…”

The Captain gave his subordinate a critical look. The gargoyle looked more surprised than actually alarmed, so it shouldn’t be too serious.

“Is it his injuries?” Dilip asked.

“No sir, it has to do with the lack of hands. You won’t believe it ‘til you see it.” Nikola answered, already opening the door to the cafeteria.

There was a gathering in the center of the room. Dilip caught some snippets of conversation about ‘sorcery’ and ‘witchcraft’ coming from a couple of the gathered crewmembers.

And right in the center of the crowd, the Captain could spot the unmistakably large silhouette of a sphinx facing in the opposite direction. His Chief Steward even, if the blue mane was any indication. Dilip recalled that Farkas had been particularly distraught since he lost both his gender and his hands, but the way he held his head seemed to indicate something had eventually managed to make a dent in his sour mood.

The dog easily pushed pushed his way through the crowd, everyone making way at the sight of their Captain.

“What’s going on here?” Dilip asked in an authoritative tone.

Farkas turned around, and the Greek turned female sphinx gave the Captain a bright smile.

“Good morning Captain. Nothing hazardous I assure you.” Farkas began. “I have just discovered the solution to my little ‘hand problem’.”

“Beyond using your mouth you mean?” Dilip asked, arms crossed.

“Yes sir, though the solution only came to me after experiencing after… an expressive release of frustration, to say it politely.”

The Captain just raised an eyebrow. Farkas resumed his explanation after a short pause.

“To explain it shortly… It appears sphinxes are able to move objects around without making contact with them.”

“Excuse me? Are you trying to tell me you can use telekinesis?”

Not that he never appreciated jokes, but he really had better stuff to do than entertain pranks from crewmembers, regardless of their position in the pecking order. Bizarrely, Farkas nodded firmly at Dilip’s incredulous question.

“That’s the word sir. Been practicing it for the past hour.”

Before Dilip had the time to dismiss what Farkas was saying, the front pocket of the sphinx’s coveralls was surrounded in a blue glow and opened by itself. A pencil rose up in the air out of the pocket and floated in front of Dilip’s muzzle.

The Captain, being an experienced sailor, had a reaction which would be considered very typical in the profession.

“What the shit Farkas, you’ve got ten seconds to explain that fucking witchcraft to me before I shove a kilo of salt down your throat to purge whatever spirits you got up your arse.”

The pencil floated back to Farkas’ pocket and the glow disappeared. Dilip noted that Farkas’ fur deflated a bit when he dropped the levitation. He had barely noticed how much attention the Chief Steward had to devote to the task.

“It’s an assumption, but I assume sphinxes developed that ability to make up for their lack of hands to manipulate tools. I still need to focus quite a lot to do it and the finer control is… inaccurate, but I estimate I can improve it with some training. From what I feel, it’s done by something in the vertebral column. Feels like flexing an invisible muscle.”

Dilip crossed his arms and looked down at the sphinx in thought. Time travel, wooden creatures, unicorns and fire breathing dragons… and now straight up magic. This End of the World was starting to go down in an extremely weird fashion.

But he’d be a fool not to make use of something like that when it presented itself on a silver platter. This was the chance he had been waiting for to get the sphinxes on the crew back to work.

“You think you can teach the other sphinxes how to do that?”

“With a few spare hours sir, probably.”

Dilip nodded and ordered the Chief Steward to do just that. He excused himself from the cafeteria and resumed his trip back to his quarters.

Sure it was good to have a solution for the sphinxes’ problems but that had just made his investigation of the Event even more complicated.





Later that evening after diner, Vadim found himself inside his cabin, finally enjoying some free time. He had decided to temporarily halt his pseudo-research with the blood late in the afternoon when he started to get frustrated at the lack of progress.

Better stop trying before he threw a vial against the wall in frustration. He still had plenty of time before the blood bags expired.

Vadim checked the time. Eight o’clock, work done for the day (the Captain had expressly told the crew work on the modifications was to be halted during the night), and no watch to be done since the ratings had that covered for the night.

All in all, as good a chance as he could hope for to catch up on his reading, Vadim thought with a smile. He grabbed a random book and bottle of liquor before installing himself comfortably at his desk. A report on the battle of Kursk , accompanied with a serving of… He checked the bottle. Pàlinka, exotic, but not too much. He served himself a small glass and began his reading.

Minutes later he stopped to open the zipper on the back of his coveralls to let his wings hang free. He had noticed the appendages were particularly prone to cramping when he leaned on them too much. The two large grey wings hung limply on either side of his chair, and his tail was passed through a hole in the back of his chair for comfort.

He had tried to gain some control over his new appendages, but since the Captain’s order on not attempting to take flight (for obvious safety reasons, he didn’t blame Dilip on that), he was rather limited in opportunities to try them out. He did make some attempts at moving them around, but his best efforts only resulted in the foreign and very sensitive limbs twitching aimlessly.

At least when it came to his tail he did manage to keep it out of doorways. That he had been very quick to learn, particularly when you remembered how bulky weathertight doors and hatches can be.

Vadim downed his glass in one go. Pàlinka had the benefit of being supposed to be served at room temperature and he took an immediate liking to the fruity liquid when he first visited Hungary something like three years ago.  With a pleased sigh, he let the burning flavor of apricot make its way down his throat. God knows he needed a release after all the weird shit that had occurred that week.

He almost couldn’t believe it had already been a week since he woke up as a griffon. He glared down at the prominent beak on his face.

There were so many things he had had to relearn since then. Even going to the freaking toilet had been a learning experience, and that’s not even mentioning how he had to develop an entirely new technique to consume liquids.

Yeah beaks aren’t particularly good for that unless you got some practice. Micha had been very helpful with that. The Second Officer had been quite quick on the uptake when it came to the changes, but he had always known the Pole like that. The guy turned gal had a knack for figuring things out in short order, and always made sure to use his wit whenever possible.

Pity that didn’t extend to medical knowledge. The other griffon had been willing to provide a sample but had almost recoiled in horror at the prospect of looking into their biology.

His historical reading was brought to a halt when someone knocked on his door. Now who would be brave enough to separate him from finding out about the strategic implication of the loss of Axis armored divisions?

“Vadim? You in there?” Came Micha’s voice.

Speak of the Devil…

“It’s open.” He answered, already closing his book.

The other griffon walked in the room. He was clad in the usual orange nomex coveralls used on the ship, with safety shoes and the gloves the quadrupeds on the crew had taken to wearing at all times (for the sake of hygiene). Contrarily to Vadim, who was a grey falcon/cougar mix, Micha had been turned into a bald eagle/wildcat type griffon. The only thing out of the ordinary with his appearance (beyond the fact that he was a female griffon, but that was already established) was the highlighted green feathers around his eyes, which stood out starkly against the rest of the white plumage.

Vadim had a hard time believing they were natural, but he had been inclined to believe Micha’s claim that they indeed were.

Micha quickly closed the door with a kick of his hind leg, not looking the least bit worried  but not too enthusiastic either.

“So…” Vadim started, turning his chair around. “To what do I owe your presence? Has anything happened?”

“Not at all don’t worry.” Micha shook his head, though Vadim did take note of how the Pole was trying to keep the pitch in his voice down. It seemed he wasn’t so stoic about his change. “Call this a personal visit.” He said, switching to Polish.

“Got something on your mind uh?” Vadim gestured for Micha to take a seat on his bed. “First off, want a glass?” He asked, pointing to his bottle of liquor.

“Yes please, feels like I need something to sort out those emotions.” Micha said, taking a seat on Vadim’s bed.

Vadim took a moment to serve his comrade and himself a new glass. The other griffon gingerly accepted the small glass.

“How do you deal with it?” Micha asked.

“I don’t.” Vadim admitted. “All the implications of this whole catastrophe… So far I’ve avoided thinking about it too much.” He furtively threw a glance at the framed photo on his desk. “God knows I had plans… Not that it really matters anymore. We weren’t really given a choice, were we?”

“You really think that course of action will do?”

“Fuck no, it won’t.” Vadim said, downing his second glass and already going for another. “I know one day or another I will have to face it. I just… can’t get around to approaching the question for now. You?”

“Listen Vadim, I know I’ve been quite critical in the past about your work ethics…”

“No shit.”Vadim interrupted.

  Micha cast him a piercing gaze, and Vadim had the presence of mind to look the slightest bit apologetic.

“Despite how… abrasive you may be. I still consider you a friend.”

“So do I. But I thought that fact was pretty much established. What are you getting at?”

“You still have hope don’t you?” Micha said, letting his gaze drift in the direction of Vadim’s framed photo.

“And what of it? You want me to just give up? To completely forget about the ones I wanted to build a life with?” Vadim glared at the bald eagle griffon. “You don’t think we will ever see our families again.”

“I have a wife you know. An expecting wife I should add.” Micha said. “And along with her an old father to take care of. But I couldn’t afford to finance them if I stayed ashore.” He downed his glass. “Don’t come at me with a feeling of loss about a hypothetical family that had yet to be made. I got to live with the thought that my wife had to live through the apocalypse without her husband by her side and that stings a lot. But I didn’t come to hold some kind of misery pissing contest… Pointless since I find myself lacking in the dick department to fulfill the criteria.” He added with a wry grin on his beak.

“And why did you come?” Vadim asked, passing Micha the bottle of Pàlinka.

The other griffon moved to refill his own glass, but stopped mid-motion and instead took a sip from the bottle.

“I’m one of those who think it’s better to bear a plight in a duo rather than carrying the burden on your lonesome.” He passed the bottle back to Vadim. “You and I both know we can’t go to the ratings to dump our misery on them, and Alejandro was never a family guy to begin with. Still feel like you got nothing you want to let loose?”

Vadim glared for a couple seconds at Micha. He then shook his head with a sad smile before taking a swig from the bottle.

“You’re an asshole. A good, smart friend, but still… Kind of an asshole to go to your friends with things like that.”

“I do what’s needed.” Micha stated. “And I know you do too. I know what’s said tonight won’t ever leave the room.”

  Vadim took another swig from the bottle. The strong liquor was starting to have an effect. Another shot or two and he would be just right where he wanted.

“Fine. You win. But I get to start.”

“Let loose buddy.”

  And he did. That night, Vadim opened up his heart and, through the fog of alcohol, let go of the bigger part of his sorrow at the loss of his family, of his home, of his own body. It all came to him as if he had opened a floodgate, and he didn’t stop the tears from coming. He knew Micha wouldn’t hold it against him, because he was also at his friend’s side when the white feathered griffon revealed his own sorrow. Micha had great expectations for his life, all stolen, like the unborn kid he had left behind with his wife on the quays of Gdansk.  The male turned female even revealed his worries about the loss of his gender to his colleague, which the other griffon did his best to appease.

Both officers finished the bottle of liquor that night, and if anybody asked them about what was said in Vadim’s cabin, both would later tell they didn’t remember anything because of the alcohol.





Later that night, in the Captain’s quarters, Dilip was still working his way through paperwork. The quantity wasn’t nearly as egregious as what he would see if the port authorities hadn’t been wiped out by an apocalypse so bizarre no religion in the world had managed to come up with the idea.

It just took him some time to wade through it because of how unusual it was. Regular paperwork he was used to was almost muscle memory. Modifications plans and salvage priority queues on the other hand, those he had to check out several times before signing.

The bipedal dog was putting the finishing touches on a standing order indicating to prioritize diesel engine vehicles for the sake of not having too much fuel diversity when he got a call on the intercom from the bridge. Odd, but not uncommon, he thought as he unhooked the handset.

“Good evening Captain, this is Able-Bodied seaman Stanislav on the bridge.” Dilip recalled he was one of the Ukrainians on the crew, he had turned into a hippogriff if he recalled correctly. “I have just received a call from an unknown source on the SATCOM; phone number indicates the caller isn’t a ship or a coast station. It’s a videoconferencing request.”

Now that was odd. All lines go dead for a week and now he gets a call from an unknown source.

“Patch him through to my quarters, but try to look in our database if we have a number on the station the call is going through or if it’s an independent antenna.”

“Right away sir. Switching call to your work station… Now.” Stanislav said before hanging up.

In front of him, Dilip’s computer screen was overtaken by a black screen. The live feed needed a few seconds before coming through, so the Captain took the time to connect the microphone and quickly check the webcam. All good.

The screen slowly resolved itself to present Dilip with… An actual human, what the hell? On his screen was an Indonesian looking man, about forty-years old with graying but well styled hair. The man had a goatee and wore executive glasses and a dark business suit. Dilip tried to make out what was behind the man, but he could only see a dark nondescript office and the man’s leather office chair.

The Captain eyed the man with a wary eye before leaning back in his chair. Better let him begin and explain himself.

“Good evening Captain Prateek. I suppose you are quite surprised at what your screen is showing you, correct?” The man began with a small grin on his face.

“That would be an understatement.” Dilip said slowly. “Before we begin, I don’t think it would be courteous of me to start throwing questions around without even knowing the name of my interlocutor.”

“Excuse the rudeness Captain” The man said in a falsely apologetic manner. “You may call me Agent Eko. I am a representative of the organizations known as the Human Preservation Initiative, HPI for short. You may be curious as to how we found out abou…”

“You found us logged in to the maritime satellite network, traced the number back to the ship and did your bit of research. It’s not rocket science if you have the means to do it, data on Amandine can be found on plenty of websites.” Dilip cut the man. “And I’m wearing my uniform, so it’s easy to see that I’m the Captain. Please don’t insult my intelligence just for the sake of gloating; the transformation doesn’t hinder my mental faculties.” He continued with a scowl.

“Pardon me then, and let’s cut to the core of the issue.” Eko said, not sounding the least bit offended by the outburst. “My organization is a secret endeavor founded some fifty years ago after the signature of an agreement by the UN Security Council. We are devoted to the cause of making humanity survive this catastrophe. For a long time our task was to develop the technologies that would allow humanity to make it through. Last week, the time finally came for us to see if we were ready.”

“I can see that worked out alright. Shame humanity didn’t get to profit from it.” Dilip said wrily, deciding not to pick up on the fifty years part… yet.

“’Alright’ is a relative term Captain.” Eko said. “This catastrophe has been followed by the arrival of a unknown radiation that is deadly to the human nervous system. The only reason I am alive and unaffected right now is thanks to prototype shielding technology relying on a generator that’s a tenth of the size of your own vessel. Should it fail, I would die a gruesome death within seconds. I do not consider myself as being in any better situation than you, thanks to being confined to a bunker deep under the ground. If our expectations are correct, never again will I have the opportunity of feeling a breeze on my skin or even the touch of natural light. ” Eko started drawing a pattern with his fingers on his desk as he said that last phrase. Dilip contemplated taunting the agent, but caught himself before doing that. Better extract as much intel as he could from the guy.

“I don’t suppose you could shed some light on the matter of this whole catastrophe…” Dilip said.

“Only to a certain extent. Much as I like to think otherwise, I am but a cog in the machine. I am afraid an explanation is not the reason behind my call tonight; for there are far more pressing concerns that need to be addressed. I can however tell you the reason behind this whole thing is more unbelievable than you could ever think, and that even with the best efforts of several world powers, the human population, by which I mean, those that have remained human thanks to shielding, has fallen down to the triple digits.”

“And what is more pressing than the apocalypse?”

“Another apocalypse; not caused by an external cause, but by our own lust for nuclear power. You see, our organization owns three large scale underground facilities. I may not disclose the exact location of two of them; just tell you they are in East Asia and North America. Our third one however, is believed to be lost with all hands. Each facility was equipped with a different prototype of shielding to increase our chances of survival, since we had no idea which shielding system would turn out to be the right one. Asia’s prototype held, but resulted in severe casualties and mutations on the personnel, which severely limits their acting capability for now.”

“Mutations? They transformed, didn’t they?”

“I may not say. What concerns us is that each facility was part of a network that gave us a backdoor access to all nuclear reactors so we could shut them down and monitor them remotely. Unfortunately, our facilities do not share these accesses for reasons decided by the Security Council prior to the catastrophe, meaning we can’t access the network of the fallen facility. This gets worse.”

“How worse? You just admitted that an entire continent of nuclear plants can pull a Fukushima on us anytime from now.”

“We have had a problem with the Belgian reactors. They were scheduled to be decommissioned this year, but the country’s main electricity provider decided to extend their lifetime recently due to not having a replacement for their energy output.”

“You don’t have a backdoor access on those.”

“We don’t.” Eko nodded. “But the situation can be salvaged. We may not be able to intervene from our bunkers… But you can.”

“I think someone gave you the wrong intel there. You seem to believe me and my shipmates are in any way trained to manipulate nuclear reactors.”

“We are aware of what you can exactly do. IMO certifications ensure us of that, but I am afraid you will be forced to step out of your comfort zone. Do you know how many nuclear reactors there are in France alone?”

“Something like, 10 maybe?” Dilip guessed.

“There are 58 of them Captain Prateek. We are talking about 61 Gigawatts of power under risk of meltdown, and that’s just below half of Europe’s nuclear power.” The fur may have hidden the dog paling at the revelation, but the way his ears drooped were enough of a tell. “You are the only operational ship in the world at the moment, and the only person we have been able to reach in such a manner. We can’t even ask someone else, and we know marine engineers are the best we can hope for. Be ensured that my superiors aren’t much happier about this turn of event than you are, but we can’t run the risk of the next returning person we manage to reach being a handless hairdresser.”

Dilip suddenly let out a barking laugh. He kept laughing for a couple seconds, Eko giving the Captain a bewildered look, before the dog managed to stop.

“I’m sorry, I just never thought someone would pull the ‘only you can save the world’ jig on me.”

“Captain this is a serious matter…”

“I know, I know. I believe you; nuclear plants need to be dealt with. Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind before. But I doubt we can even do it.”

“We can help with that. We have nuclear engineers in our organization. Should you accept this task, I will e-mail you contact details so that we can arrange telephonic guidance.”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I? I can refuse, but what is it worth if it’s only to plunge the world in nuclear fallout. Consider it accepted, but I will need more details.”

“Excellent decision Captain. You may want to grab something to take notes…”

“Been recording this all along, sunshine. That old seadog here wasn’t born yesterday.” Dilip said with a smug smile. That was a nice pun by his standards (which his Chief Officer would accuse of being pretty low when he saw the replay of the conversation).

Eko didn’t even waver at the claim, instead taking a sheet of paper in his hands.

“Very well. There are three objectives that need to be taken care of. First one is the nuclear power plant of Doel, near Antwerp. That one should be easy to reach for you since it’s along the river Scheldt and close to a container terminal.”

  Dilip was pretty sure he had seen that plant at least a dozen times in his career. Wouldn’t be hard to find indeed.

“Next one is the only other Belgian nuclear power plant beside Doel. Tihange it is called; situated close to the town of Huy along the river Meuse. You will need to break in the control room, from where our specialists will be able to guide you. Those two are the power plants that need to be shut down.”

“And the last objective?”

“I was coming to it. It’s in close proximity to another nuclear station, but the station is NOT the objective. The location of our third large scale installation is, or rather, was in a Cold War era bunker buried under a hill next to the station. Your crew will have to break in -on their own I’m afraid since satellite connection won’t reach underground- and get to the control room to reactivate transmissions with my own facility so that we may regain control over the European reactors.”

“Forgetting to tell the actual location now?” Dilip pointed out.

“Pardon me; it’s on the French-Belgian border, still along the river Meuse. The town is called Chooz. You’re looking for the old reactor bunker; the installation is right beneath it.”

Dilip crossed his arms in thought. Breaking the news to the crew would be hard, and figuring out a way to do it all…

“Captain?” Eko asked, not sure the Captain was listening.

“I’m sorry. Just thinking about the… practical side of this, is all. What were you saying?”

“Just giving you a warning. For one we do not know what went on in our European installation, and for second, our latest risk assessment gives you about one week before the reactors go in the red.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes Captain…” Eko paused. “And good luck.”

“The wish is appreciated but we won’t need luck, only sheer competence. And Eko?”

“Yes?”

“Explanations will be owed after this, you do realize?”

“On my honor Captain.”  The agent concluded before hanging up.

Dilip sighed. Tonight was going to be one hell of a night.
> Chapter 12: Roadtrip Down South
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You want us to do WHAT?” Schmitt yelled in a shrill voice.

Dilip shook his head; he was standing in front of the projector screen in his office. It was starting to get late and he really wanted to get some sleep, but he had to give his department heads the bad news.

This is how he found himself giving a PowerPoint briefing to Farkas, Alejandro, Schmitt and Artyom. The last one may not have been as expressive as the rest, but the smoke wafting from the dragon’s nostrils pointed to his less than ideal mood.

“I want you to assemble a team lead by one of our engineering officers, make your way to a nuclear power station, and follow instructions to shut it down.” The Captain repeated calmly.

“This is plain crazy! We’re not suited for that task.” Schmitt contested.

“I know we aren’t, and it’s even clearer for you out of all of us. Regardless…” The Captain waved a paw in the direction of the window. “We’ve all seen it. Everybody… Pardon, almost everybody is gone. But that doesn’t mean the reactors are gone, and they are a matter that must be addressed, and quickly. There may be other survivors out there, but they will never get their chance if someone doesn’t put shut those reactors down. That HPI organization… I don’t trust them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a point.”

“And here we go with that so-called HPI Captain… You know how shady they sound?” Alejandro interjected.

“I do, nothing good ever comes from the UN’s Security Council, and if it’s considered a classified secret by their standards… I expect the worst. Which is why the team I want to send investigating their installation will be armed, preferably heavily.”

Schmitt stood up and approached the projector. He pointed a claw at a cross indicating Tihange on the projected map.

“The installation thing with handing over the controls to the HPI, that much I can get behind, easy enough. What matters to me is… None of my guys has any training with these things. We don’t have any leeway. One step to the wrong side and…” He made a cutting motion with his claws “We plunge Europe into a nuclear catastrophe the likes of which hasn’t been seen since ’86, and we forever ruin any hope of humanity recovering from this apocalypse. No pressure.”

“For what’s left of humanity…” Farkas said somberly. The Greek was still nursing the wounds from his fall earlier that week, though they were healing rather quickly.

Dilip crossed his arms.

“I may have a theory on that. After I interrogated our dear unicorn survivor, it appeared the fellow reappeared at a different time than us. It’s a wild conjecture but it may be possible that other survivors would reappear at a later date.”

“Implying?” Alejandro asked.

“It’s just a theory for now…” Dilip shrugged. “But more people could come back after the cataclysm. For me to verify that would require us to find more survivors, but that’s my first assumption. And if it’s true, that means people would start reappearing in a nuclear wasteland and die in droves. We don’t want that now, do we?”

“How much time do we have?” Schmitt asked.

“One week they said. You’re willing to do it now?”

“As you said, we don’t have much of a choice. I don’t want to be the guy that’s responsible for making the apocalypse worse than it already was because I couldn’t get around doing something that’s slightly out of my area of expertise. The slightly is sarcastic if you hadn’t guessed.”

“Look at it that way Schmitt; it’s just a really big steam turbine.” Alejandro tried.

“I wish it were that simple, but thanks for the attempt.” The Chief Engineer set his focus back on the Captain. “So, how do you propose we go about it?”

“We’ve got one plant in the Northern half of the country, and two objectives in the Southern half, those we can’t reach with Amandine.” Dilip began, waving a paw at the map. “My proposal was to assemble a ground team, with an engineer as its leader, to go secure the objectives down South. How big the team should be, I don’t know yet, but it would have to be small enough not to cripple our ability to move Amandine to a new dock. Because…” He pointed at another area on the map. “There is a container terminal, about two kilometers South of Doel in Antwerp. I want to move Amandine to that berth, and from there we can send a team to the power plant.”

“Meaning we will have to subtract even more people to make up a boat team and handle the lines ashore.” Artyom said.

“I may be able to help with that.” Farkas butted in.

All the assembled guys in the room turned to the female sphinx, who levitated a pen out of his pocket when they looked at him.

“We’ve got three sphinxes on board, I included, and I believe we can make use of that telekinesis we just discovered. I’ve spent all afternoon training the two others, and got them to grasp the concept and start moving small objects around. At this rate, give me a day and we will be able to wrap the lines around the designated bollards from the deck.”

“That… might actually work.” Artyom conceded. “So that’s the mooring settled. Now who would we send off with that ground team?”

“I would like to lead that team…” Schmitt began.

“No deal. We need you on board to oversee engine operations.” Dilip stopped him.

“But the Tihange plant is in a French-speaking area, I can speak French, and I’m fairly certain neither Angelo nor Aleksei can. They’ve been here for a while; they know how to work the engine.”

“Why does it even matter if it’s a French-speaking area?” Alejandro asked.

“It’s not to have a chat with locals obviously.” Dilip said.

“No, but the controls and instructions in the plant will be written in French.” Schmitt defended his point.

“If you need a French speaker on that team, then we can add Roberto, the secretary. I know for a fact that he speaks Italian, French and English. He can translate for them. It’s not like he’s doing anything that makes him requirement for mooring and navigation.” Dilip said.

“Fine. Then the team can be lead by Angelo, if he even fits in a truck.”

“He does, but he won’t drive that’s for sure, too big. That’s two guys, who do we send with them?” Farkas said.

“The unimogs can fit three people in the cabin, but three won’t be enough. I say we settle with four, so they can take two trucks loaded with tools and gear.” Artyom proposed.

“Deck department crewmembers won’t do since they’re needed for the mooring. How many can you spare in engineering Schmitt?” Dilip asked.

“I’m short a guy, since Thanasis is a sphinx and will be helping with the mooring. That makes it one guy I can spare. Nikola ought to do the trick.”

“The gargoyle? Fine by me, he’s got years of experience in engineering, and his experience in the army makes him the team's guard. Farkas, you think you can spare a cook for the cause?” Dilip said.

“Rahul would do the trick…” The sphinx shrugged.

“Bad idea, he and Roberto hate each other’s guts.” Artyom pointed out.

“Then let’s send Nguyen. He’s a cat too, might get to bond with Roberto.” Farkas said.

“A bit naïve since Rahul is his best friend, but better. So, we’re set?” Schmitt asked.

“We’re done. Tomorrow morning, Angelo will lead the team to Tihange with Roberto as translator, Nikola on engineering assistance and guard duty, and Nguyen as the second driver.” Dilip concluded. “Does anyone wish to contest this decision?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Excellent. You may go break the news to your respective departments. I expect departure of the ground team tomorrow no later than 09.00. Dismissed.”

The department heads slowly trickled out of the office and Dilip let out a sigh of relief as the door finally closed. The crew would not like it but the hot potato was out of his hands.





The next morning, two of their unimogs parked in front of the stern ramp under the Captain’s vigilant eye. By his side, Farkas was reading off the content of the equipment list to one member of the team. The rest were still busy securing the supplies in the back of each truck.

One good thing with the trucks was that their cargo bay was made for troop transport as well as lightweight cargo. The flatbed could be extended up to create benches, and it had a tall steel frame with a tarpaulin wrapped around it protecting the cargo bay, which left plenty of space for up to three tons of cargo per truck. They had briefly considered taking tents in case their task took longer than expected (they had found a large supply of field tents in an aid container earlier that week), but the flatbed protected by tarpaulin was already enough to shelter them if they really needed it.

“Ammo boxes?” Farkas asked.

“Two of 5.56, 1000 rounds each, one per truck, plus one of 7.62 for the machinegun, and half a box of 9mm, all loaded and secured.” Nikola answered. The gargoyle was already dressed for travel, a combination of a woodland flak jacket and the usual orange coveralls worn by the crew.

“Mobile pump?”

“Ready to siphon any fuel station we find and the battery is full.”

“Rations?”

“One week worth of French combat rations, veggie variant included for the minotaur’s sake.”

Farkas switched his gaze from his levitating list to the gargoyle.

“The guns?”

“No worries, Roberto is getting them from the vault as we speak. One MAG for Angelo, a SCAR for me, and the rest gets the regular rifles. Then it’s half pistol, half less-lethal. We’d have taken some Geiger counters, but the ship only has dosimeters for when we work on the radar.”

The list folded itself and flew back in Farkas’ pocket.

“And you took them?”

“Three of them, half the ship’s stock. Left the rest for you when you go for the Doel power plant. We also have one mobile satellite antenna to hook to a laptop, but that’s Roberto’s business. Got the regular sat phones, walkie-talkie and two of those military-grade long range radios for the trucks. Got all frequencies covered.”

“Fine then.” Farkas smiled. “You’re all set. Anything you want to add, Captain?” The sphinx added, turning to the dog at his side.

“Negative. You’ve all had your briefings, you know the procedures. Remember to be careful out there. Those circles Geert and Rahul found in the marina? Avoid them like the plague. We think they’re the source of those wood hounds.”

Nikola scratched his antler at that remark.

“Really? You mean like some demonic circle thingy?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Part of me wants to call you out on that, sir, but I’m a gargoyle talking to a sphinx that’s moving stuff around with his mind, and you are a giant talking bipedal dog.” He shrugged. “Demonic summoning almost sound like a side-dish to all that. I will keep it in mind, Captain.”

“Don’t take any risks. We will be offshore moving Amandine to Antwerp, so if anything happens to your group, you won’t be getting any assistance for a while. I want an update via SATCOM every six hours, copy?”

“Wilco sir, I will tell Angelo about it.”

“Good, consider yourself dismissed.” Dilip concluded.

The gargoyle politely nodded at the Captain before walking off towards the trucks. He mounted on the driver side of the lead vehicle, one painted bright white with the letters ‘UN’ written on its side and on the tarpaulin protecting the cargo bay. On the other side of the vehicle, Dilip saw the large silhouette of Angelo mount up as well, the truck’s suspension sagging for a few seconds under the bulk of the minotaur before recovering. A plume of smoke left the exhaust as Nikola started up the engine.

Behind the lead truck, Nguyen and Roberto embarked in their own vehicle, that one being of the exact same model, but painted olive green instead of white. Contrarily to most of the crew, the cats’ general appearance hadn’t changed that much. Their coveralls had only needed some rework to fit their tails, but that was pretty much it. Sure, they got taller, but they didn’t have to completely redo the sewing around their necks or modify the hips too much, unlike cases like Angelo. The minotaur had gained so much bulk with the transformation that he practically had to make himself a new set of coveralls, and it showed when you got a closer look at it. Furthermore, Angelo had gotten way too large to fit in the regular issue of flak jacket they had procured, which resulted once again in the minotaur having to practice his sewing. Granted, the jacket had been easier to modify than an entire set of coveralls, but Dilip still had to hand it to the minotaur, he could be remarkably quick to work when faced with the threat of wandering the ship naked.

Soon enough, both trucks were driving down the stern ramp and disappearing around a corner of the trailer yard. Dilip tracked them with his ears for a few more seconds before turning to Farkas at his side.

“That’s one thing done for today. Better hope that turns out okay.”

“I consider myself an optimist… but I wouldn’t be too confident about that.” The sphinx commented.

“Eh, at least they’re armed to deal with what’s ahead. Literally I mean.” Dilip glanced at his watch. “Think we still got time for some extra breakfast?”

“No extras today I’m afraid sir, kitchen’s understaffed.”

Dilip’s eyes widened.

“Shit that’s right, I just sent off half the kitchen staff on that mission.”

“As your chief steward sir, I have to warn you the kitchen will be reduced to one hot meal per day until staffing issues are resolved.” Farkas said with a small smile on his lips.

Not that he would be caught saying it, but the sphinx relished the sight of the Captain’s ears drooping when he heard that remark. He had to hold back a chuckle. Captain Prateek may not reveal much about himself but when you knew how to push his buttons you could get some pretty hilarious results.

Case in point with the sad puppy by his side who would not get his extra morning omelet.





The road to Tihange mostly sent the two truck convoy through highways. They had to take some smaller roads before reaching a junction with a highway at the start, but the infrastructure in this part of Europe was extensive, so it didn’t take them too long. There were plenty of roads, and the landscape around them was largely made up of industrial terrain and suburbs, with the odd small pasture stuck between two towns, more because no one had bothered to build there yet than because of an actual agricultural interest. They were in one of the busiest parts of the country, and it showed.

Which made it all the more glaring that the area was completely deserted. Save for one lone dog they passed upon leaving the harbor; they had yet to see a single sign of life. The roads were devoid of any vehicle. The place, which was usually known for being pretty bad as far as traffic flow was concerned, had had its problem solved overnight. The only cars left were those that were parked.

After passing the old town of Bruges, they took a highway headed south-east. Going further away from the coast, the amount of buildings started to thin, but it was still a far cry from an actual countryside. The trucks crossed several bridges going over canals, more signs of the country’s prolific industrial development.

Angelo took a look at the display on the GPS screen. In about fifteen minutes they would pass the capital city of Brussels. The minotaur readjusted the machine gun in his lap before addressing Nikola. He had to be careful not to scratch the roof with his horns when he turned his head.

“You think we should stop for fuel before getting to the power station?”

“Nah it’s fine.” Nikola said checking the fuel gauge. “We got about 600km to go on one tank. Might want to stop when we get back from Chooz, but not yet.”

They lapsed back into silence for a few minutes before Angelo felt compelled to speak up.

“You seem rather calm considering what we’re about to do.”

The gargoyle shook his head, which made his ginger colored mane rustle softly.

“I’d rather be doing it than twiddling my thumbs. At least I feel like I’m in control of what’s happening. Honestly if they had asked someone else I would have volunteered in their place.”

“That’s a philosophy I can get behind… though I can’t say I share your confidence.”

“They did give us a number to call. We got specialists to back us up, what more could you ask?”

“Oh I dunno, maybe to have the specialists actually do it.”

“They have their reasons not to…”

“And those reasons are flimsy at best. A special kind of radiation my ass, they want us to be their errand boys and the Captain is gonna let them have their way.” Angelo countered.

“Look, if you started to work in the merchant navy and expected anything else other than running errands, I got bad news for you.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” He almost shook his head but stopped himself before skewering the roof; instead he let out a very bovine snort. “I saw the video; these guys are comfily riding out the End of the World from the safety of their bunker while we peasants have to fix everything. You call that fair?”

“Life ain’t fair.” Nikola said in a bitter tone. “I know that. Don’t go saying I wouldn’t have wanted to be in that bunker of theirs, but it’s too late anyway. I say, let’s make do with what we got, and find something to enjoy on the ride down to Hell. That good for you?”

“Amen to that.” Angelo laughed. “Anyway, how are you coping with the changes? You got turned into something pretty original I must say.”

“Good I guess?” The gargoyle said, rolling his shoulders. “The wings get pretty uncomfortable under the coveralls and the flak jacket doesn’t help, but the fur is rather comfy. I got a bit smaller, but it’s something I can work with. Feels like I’m as tall as I used to be when I was fifteen.”

“And the antlers?”

“Barely notice them to be honest; I get more bothered by the changes to my face.” Nikola clicked his tongue. “Muzzle is barely noticeable, but it’s there, and I stopped counting how often I cut my tongue on those fangs.”

“Could be worse. In fact all things considered you and I got off pretty well compared to some.” Angelo snorted. “Except for me being forced to go vegetarian. That’s just bullshit man.”

“Bullshit? Now that’s something coming from someone that’s half bull.” Nikola smiled. “Say, don’t you have some music on your phone? I could use some tune to make the drive pass quicker. Can’t say I’m particularly fond of roadtrips.”

“Sure.” Angelo pulled out his own Smartphone, not the satellite one they used to communicate with the ship. “Any preference?”

“Dunno.” Nikola shrugged. “Got some hard rock?”

With a soft nod, the minotaur put on one of his playlists and the drive continued to the rhythm of the music. Soon, they passed the capital city. The large urban sprawl of the European capital was hard to miss, but the bustling city was now but a shell of its former glory. 

Without a population to give it its beat, the city was nothing but an empty husk. Gone were the various nationalities that had gathered in this place to make it the symbol of the European Union. Now, all the streets were deserted, and the numerous embassies devoid of their former diplomatic intrigues.

Not that Angelo would complain about it. Being Greek, he had plenty of built up resentment against the Union that had forced his fellow countrymen into poverty with their sanctions. Still, knowing that all those efforts made to counter the debt amounted to nothing thanks to the cataclysm… that was rather depressing.

Sure, he was an expat and hadn’t really been affected by the crisis, but his family had, even with all the financial aid he sent them.

And even that aid, having to tighten his budget, move to a smaller apartment, and all that jazz… All of that, done for nothing. Years of efforts, vanishing overnight without reason and leaving him with a pair of hooves and a body that would make Conan the barbarian look like a nerd.

Not that he complained about the muscle, but between not having an apocalypse and being beefy, he would rather choose the option that didn’t destroy civilization.

The convoy soon left Brussels behind and headed even deeper inland. The GPS made them leave the highways and take smaller roads. They were getting to the Southern part of the country, somewhat less developed than the North, and also less populated. Warehouses and factories traded place with villages, fields and small copses of trees.

The terrain was also a lot less smooth now. Gone were the flatlands of the Flanders fields, they were headed for the hilly and densely wooded terrain of the Ardennes.

Angelo took another look at the GPS. After three hours of drive, they were on the last stretch. One turn South and they would be heading down in the basin of the river Meuse, where the power plant was situated.

“Hey Niko, can you stop the truck a moment? I really need to take a leak.”

The Bulgarian gargoyle didn’t object but certainly made it clear that the stop displeased him by rolling his eyes. He grabbed the walkie-talkie on the dashboard and contacted the rear truck.

“Convoy One to convoy Two, we are make a small halt for the sake of our engineer who needs to empty his sewage tank, do you copy? Over.”

“Two to One, roger, stop wherever you want and we’ll follow. Out.” The answer came seconds later.

The convoy stopped next to a small building by the side of the road. The place, deserted much like the rest of the country, must have been a gas station at some point because there were traces of a fuel installation and an old shop, closed long before the cataclysm took its owner. Some old caravans were parked next to the building, a sign stuck on them presenting them as ready to be bought by buyers that would never come.

There were fields on either side of the road, but they stopped after a hundred meters or two, trading place with thick pine forest.

Stepping off the truck with his gun slung over his shoulder, the minotaur breathed in some fresh air, appreciating the smell of the countryside for a change.

Not that he would ever admit it, but driving around made him more nauseous than the worst of storms, for all the sense that it made.

He made his way to the building and tried to find the toilets of the old gas station, if there were any. Turns out they were behind the building, he noted, following the distinctive sign.

Two minutes later, Angelo exited the building. Old or not, these toilets still smelled of spilled beer and old piss, which was all the more offensive to his now sensitive nostrils. The engineer tugged at the zipper on his coveralls before adjusting the straps on his flak jacket. There was a waft of ozone accompanying the foul odor of the toilets.

Angelo’s eyes lazily shifted over to one corner of the yard that was behind the building. And then adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream.

Of fucking course he had to find one of these.

Right in the corner of the yard, some ten meters away from him, was one of the dreaded circles they had been warned about that very morning. The thing was solidly burned into the pavement of the yard, right next to an old campfire.

Now wait a second…

Competent as he was as an engineer, Angelo didn’t quite grasp the concept of risk assessment the same way the guys of the deck department did. He took his machinegun in his large hands and carefully crept up to the circle with a curious frown on his face. He had an itching feeling in the back of his mind, as if there was an instinct in the back of his head warning him of impending danger.

Barrel loosely trained in the direction of the circle, Angelo closely observed the scene.

There were in fact three of these circles, but only one of them corresponded to the description given to them earlier. The circle design with the thirteen outward lines and triangle in the center was there, but the other two circles were very different.

For one, the symbols were different, and a bit clearer to read. Granted it still was complete gibberish to him, but they were different from the other type of circle. They weren’t as aggressively burned into the ground… almost as if someone had engraved them with a laser instead of using a cutting torch.

For second, the size and shape were different. The circle was larger by a whole meter, and only had a spiraling pattern inside of it.

The odd thing was, there were two of those, both very close to the campfire. The other circle, the one with the triangle in the center, was further away, almost five meters away from the campfire.

Checking around quickly, Angelo snapped a picture of the scene and tagged the position on his phone’s GPS. He began to turn around with the intent of returning to the trucks when he spotted something even more out of place.

There was dried blood by the campfire, a lot of it.

The minotaur walked closer, taking quick looks around to make sure the area was safe. Sure enough, there was a large red mark on the pavement, definitely dried blood. Most of the blood had been spilled around the fire, but there was a trail of it going in the direction of one of the ‘spiral’ patterned circles.

After another quick picture with his phone, the minotaur quickly made himself scarce. His mind was urgently pressuring him to vacate the area. He walked back to the convoy at a brisk pace with the unsettling feeling heavy on his back.

“What took you so long?” Nikola asked as he was leaning out of his truck’s window smoking a cigarette.

“Demonic circles. Time to leave and we’d better be quick.”

The gargoyle didn’t ask questions and waved at Nguyen behind them to get the other truck started again. Within seconds, they were motoring away from the old gas station. Angelo wasn’t too sure about it, but he could have sworn he saw the treetops in the adjacent forest rustle as they left.

“You said circles?”

“Three of them, two of a different kind than we’ve seen in Zeebrugge. Took photos, and jotted down the location on my phone.”

“How different are we talking?” Nikola asked, careful to keep his eyes on the road.

“Different enough that it looked like there was a confrontation. I saw blood.”

“Any other clue?”

“Other than a campfire in the corner of a paved backyard, not really. But I got that feeling…”

“Impending doom or some shit? Yeah, same thing for me, almost had me worried about you.” Nikola admitted.

Angelo scratched at his muzzle pensively.

“You know Niko, I think that… something was still in the area. Just a hunch though.”

“You’re probably right.” Nikola glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure the cats in the other truck were following. “Back when I was in the army some people used to say you could feel you were about to be ambushed.”

“You believe that?”

“Not really. But if it were true I bet it would have felt like that. We aren’t here to fight critters or what else anyway, so I’d rather not risk it. We don’t gain anything from picking fights with whatever creature came out of those circles.”

“Agreed.” Angelo said, leaning back in his seat.

Still, the Captain would have to be informed of this detail. Apparently there was more than a single individual involved with these demonic circles.





The convoy finally reached the valley of the Meuse half an hour later after passing through some woods. By then, the terrain had changed even more drastically. They were now well inside the Ardennes, and more hills beyond the horizon showed the verdant area extended even further South.

But the local landscape was not what mattered at the moment, for in front of them were the three massive cooling towers of the power plant, on the other side of the river. All three of the massive buildings were still belching titanic amounts of steam, and the members of the convoy could already spot the reactor housings at the foot of the towers.

Further upstream of the power station was the Belgian town of Huy… or rather what was left of it. Rising above the town was a column of black smoke, caused by the multiple fires that were spread across the city which they could spot even across the fairly large distance that separated them from the city center.

The city must have been burning for a while because a handful of city blocks had already burned out after the passage of the fires. Thankfully, it didn’t appear that the fires were progressing in their direction or that of the power plant, so a quick look on the map was enough for them to find a way around the desolated city.

No word was exchanged among them as the convoy passed through some desolated suburbs. Angelo kept glancing around for a clue as to what may have caused that but he kept coming up short.

Probably just an accident after a fire was left abandoned by its tender that suddenly disappeared. With the drought that had been hitting Europe that year, that could have been the triggering effect for… that.

The only time Angelo had ever seen anything that bad was back in 2007 when wildfires had ravaged the countryside in Greece… but even then it hadn’t been a town of that size. He hoped there weren’t any survivors like them inside of the city when it caught fire.

“A sight for sore eyes, eh?” Niko said.

“You don’t say. The area has been populated since the time of the Roman Empire, now it’s just a ghost town. I wouldn’t want to see my own country in such a state.”

“Neither would I. Which way is it now?”

“Third on the left for the entrance of the power plant facilities.” Angelo answered, turning his eyes away from the city.

Thankfully, the power station was separated from the main city by a fair distance. The local authorities had decided to build it further downstream, next to the village of Tihange that had become a suburb to the city proper. 

Angelo hadn’t ever visited a nuclear plant in his life, but he supposed the fact that the facilities were secured by a double layer of fencing and barbed wire was normal. The convoy came up to the entrance checkpoint and the sight of a closed gate.

“Well there it is.” Nikola stated, halting the truck. “Now you wouldn’t happen to have something to get us inside? I don’t really want to have to cut all that steel open with a torch.”

The minotaur allowed a smile to grace his features. Time to show off a bit.

“Won’t need a torch. Have you been to the ship’s gym since the cataclysm?”

The gargoyle quirked an eyebrow at his superior.

“You can’t seriously believe you can rip it open?”

“I totally do. Tried some lifting yesterday. Managed to do forty reps.”

“Yeah, at 150kg maybe. You ain’t trained for shit.”

Angelo opened the door and stepped off the truck.

“More like 400kg; and I know my technique sucks balls. Watch this.”

The checkpoint securing the entrance was build around a large concrete guard post. First there was one steel gate made out of thick bars, then a wall that forced vehicles to make a turn before being confronted by a second barrier and another gate, thus protecting the compound from attacks by ramming trucks.  Each of the barriers, as well as the thick concrete walls and fences surrounding the guard post were topped by razor wire, which was probably electrified too if the soft clicking they were emitting was any indication.

The perks of making an installation Greenpeace proof, Angelo guessed. Too bad it wasn’t made to withstand minotaurs.

Angelo took a look at the first barrier. It was supposed to roll to the side to open, and was secured by two thick locks on one end. He grabbed the gate with both hands and took a wide stance, hooves braced firmly on the ground.

The minotaur exhaled softly, before suddenly heaving with all of his considerable might. Angelo might not have been aware of it, but the formerly geeky Greek engineer was still rather puny by minotaur standards.

Not that it had any influence on the matter at hand, because the metal around the locks started to warp as he pulled. With a sharp twang, the metal bar that connected with the locks broke apart, and Angelo’s strength caused the rest of the gate to be propelled in the opposite direction, breaking the electric motors that were supposed to move the gate.

“Color me impressed, never thought I would see you of all people ripping apart a steel gate like that. You gonna do that with the other?” Niko said, coming up behind him.

“Fuck no mate.” Angelo said, shaking his head. “You get inside that guard post and open the door. Try to find the facility’s master key too if you can, though I suppose I can kick some doors open. Imma call that HPI to tell them to get ready.”

Angelo went back to the lead truck to get a sat phone while Nikola was busy getting them access to the plant.

Behind the lead truck, the two cats had dismounted their vehicle and were keeping a close eye on their surroundings, rifles held in a loose grip.

Dialing the number given to them by Agent Eko was a simple affair, Angelo even spared the time to connect the phone to a headset to make his life easier. Convenient as they are, satellite connections tend to have some mild latency issues, so he might as well make the best of it.

“This is Agent Eko on the line, who am I talking to?” The line finally sprang to life after almost a minute.

“Greetings, this is Second Engineer Angelo Molnàr from M/V Amandine.” The minotaur said through the headset. “My team has reached the nuclear plant in Tihange as planned and we are awaiting instructions.”

“Excellent mister Molnàr. Have you gained access to the control room yet?” The agent really did sound pleased at the news, Angelo had expected the guy to be more restrained from the Captain’s description.

“That’s a negative. We were hoping you’d have the schematics to guide us there.”

“I’m afraid we don’t. Our data only extends to the workings of the plant; you will have to find the control room yourself.”

“I suppose we can manage to do that. One more thing, we have brought the equipment for a teleconference via satellite so that we can get some visual assistance. Are your nuclear specialists able to do that?” Angelo said, looking in Roberto’s direction.

“I can get a telecom specialist on the case, but it will take longer than just an audio call.”

“Good, that means we can make use of the time to find the controls. Do you mind if I pass the call to my communications guy?”

“Pass him the phone, then he can discuss the modalities with our agents.”

  On the other side of the guard post, the locks on the second gate released with a loud clang before it slid out of the way. A minute later, Nikola left the guard post twirling a set of keys in his fingers.

Angelo passed the headset to Roberto, the cat accepting the phone without question. Turns out his ears were sharp enough to pick up the conversation he’d held with the HPI agent. The minotaur didn’t bother listening in to what the cat was saying across the line. He had a role on this team, and Roberto had another, no need to get things mixed up.

They parked the trucks close to a very large building that looked different from the reactor housings, and was made up of more glass than the rest. With a bit of chance, that was their objective.

From what Angelo could see, there were different types of building in the compound: the reactor housings, three of them, each close to a cooling tower. Then there were some thick bunkers recessed in the ground, probably the place where they stored reserve and spent rods for the reactors.

There were also some tall buildings that were connected to a large number of power lines, so they were most likely the location of the turbines and transformers. These buildings were also linked to some very large diesel generators, large enough to make the Amandine’s engine look tiny. The emergency generators then, put in place in case they had to stop the production on the reactors.

Each of those buildings was connected to several large diameter pipes, feeding from some pools next to the river, and each of the pools was connected to what looked like a filtering station. The minotaur engineer was already trying to piece together what he was seeing and drawing some schematics of the plant in his mind.

So the plant was constructed with the filtering station monitoring what was being pumped from and into the river, and cycled the water through the pools before feeding it to the power station proper. Check. That was the water feed circuit, and maybe it had some part in the general cooling too.

The piping going from the turbine to the reactors seemed to be reinforced with lead and recessed into the concrete onto which the compound was bound, and some similar piping ran to the cooling towers. That circuit must be driving the turbines, and there had to be a heat exchanger inside the reactor housing since Angelo couldn’t picture the water from that circuit being in direct contact with the fuel rods.

So that made two water circuits not in contact with the nuclear materials per reactor, plus the pressurized one inside each of the reactors. Nine in total to manage at once. Not. Difficult. At. All.

Roberto came up behind him, the Italian cat having hung up on his conversation with the HPI.

“Their comms agent told me they would need about half an hour to get the equipment ready for the conference. I will do my best to get the stuff ready, think you can find the control room?”

“You sure it’s in that building?”

“The sign over there says: Contrôle et commande de la production. Do you really need me to translate that?”

“Just checking is all.” Angelo said. “What will you be doing?”

“I got three drums of cable with connectors for approximately 150 meters. I think I will get to the roof and put the antenna there, so we should have enough cable to reach the control room.”

“And the power?”

“HPI guys told me that even after we shut down the station it still will be warm enough to keep going for a while, so I’m just gonna plug in on a power outlet.” Roberto shrugged. “I packed a generator just in case but turns out it won’t be necessary.”

“Good, tell Nguyen to guard the trucks, I will be looking for the control room with Niko.”

The inside of the building looked more modern than it had any right to considering that nuclear plant in particular was supposed to be decommissioned soon. Maybe those Belgians hadn’t been too honest about their intentions regarding the phasing out of nuclear power... In the lobby, Nikola and Angelo activated their dosimeters and stopped by a supply shed to grab a Geiger counter.

The counters told them the exposure rate at the moment was at five microSievert per day, which was within safe limits according to a chart they had found in the lobby. No reason to start panicking at the moment.

Finding the control room wasn’t so difficult in the end, and the keys Nikola had obtained from the guard post opened the heavily reinforced doors easily (though the gargoyle had to ask Angelo for assistance since the doors were so heavy he could barely move them). 

The inside of the room was particularly impressive for the two engine room workers. If the engine controls of Amandine were relatively large and were considered impressive by many people, the controls of the power plant were in a league of their own.

In front of them, the room divided itself into three different semicircles, one for each reactor of the power plant. Each of those semicircles housed a large amount of control panels for the reactors, and any single of those semicircles were twice as big as the entire control panel banks of Amandine.

There was a set of computer workstations on a raised dais in the centre of the room overseeing the three semicircles, and another set of computers arranged just next to the dais. The central computers were probably there for general oversight, and the other set of computers for the secondary systems.

The back wall of the room was lined with numerous shelves holding folders and manuals regarding how to operate the controls.

It was a shame they were worthless to Angelo since they were written in French. Roberto wouldn’t have time to translate them anyway. He turned to Nikola at his side.

“Get to the roof and bring Roberto here. I will need him to translate those controls for me. Make sure he puts the antenna in place, ‘cause we’re gonna need those HPI specialists.”

The gargoyle quickly nodded before leaving at a small jog in the direction of a staircase. Angelo turned around and made his way to the central consoles, already trying to figure out how it worked.

Pulling out a seat, the minotaur dropped his machinegun on a table next to the computers. Might as well get settled, this was going to take a while.





Outside the building, Nguyen was making some rounds to check the surroundings. The cat had his rifle slung around one shoulder, and a walkie-talkie around the other. He had made his way back to the guard post to close the gate after parking his truck to ensure they would not be surprised by any wooden wildlife sneaking in the compound.

Walking around, the Vietnamese cook wasn’t particularly worried about anything threatening them inside the plant. Sure, radiation was a risk, but there were plenty of dosimeters and Geiger counters around in addition to those they had taken from Amandine, so as long as he paid attention to the instruments he should be fine.

The cat had cracked open one of their combat rations earlier in the truck. As it turns out, there was a good reason the rations they had retrieved from a Belgian military installation were French: they just were that good.

In all seriousness, these rations were almost ridiculous. Nguyen had heard stories about how nasty MRE’s can be and how the food is impossibly bland, but it was far from being the case with those: there were appetizers, an entrée, two canned meals ready for reheating (one can even read ostrich in cranberry sauce), and even more!

There it was gents, his own cooking had been beaten by a mere MRE, how humbling…

The cat spotted a short wall overlooking both the entrance and the control building. As good a spot as he was gonna get to enjoy his meal. Nguyen popped a caramel (part of the MRE’s contents) in his mouth and got himself seated on top of the wall, with the ration’s portable grill at his side.

Within minutes, Nguyen was reheating the can of ostrich meat. If he was going to be outshined by military food, at least he could console himself with the fact it was French and that he would get to enjoy it. There was a tang of preservatives in the food, but it was good. Behind him, the cat’s tail slowly swung back and forth in pleasure.

He opened his flak jacket and the top of his coveralls to release some of the heat he was building up. The transformation had come with a thick coat of brown fur with white stripes for him, and while it protected him nicely from the wind when out at sea… it also retained a bit too much heat for his taste. Even though he wasn’t wearing anything under his coveralls, the heat felt stifling, and it was only May in a temperate country.

Nguyen looked up towards the roof of the control building to see Roberto finish assembling the satellite antenna. He idly wondered if the Italian cat was experiencing the same issues with his fur, though that was less likely considering his coat was visibly thinner. Nikola then walked up next to Roberto, exchanging some words with the other cat before Roberto headed down the stairs, leaving only the gargoyle on the roof. Nguyen’s radio sprang to life.

“Eh Nguyen, Niko here, do you hear me? Over.”

“I hear you loud and clear. What’s the matter? Over.” He answered on his talkie-walkie between two mouthfuls of ostrich.

“I got a link with the control room from here on the roof, so I don’t need to stay with them when they’re doing the shutdown. Have you checked the area yet? Over.”

“Affirmative, but it was only a quick check around the guard post and control building. Just to make sure the gate was closed. Over.”

“Good. I will be keeping an eye on the area from the roof, but Angelo might call me down if he needs something done, make sure they don’t get any nasty surprise. Over.”

“No worries pal; I will do another patrol after I finish my meal. Nguyen out.” He concluded before setting down the radio.

He may or may not have taken more time than necessary to finish his lunch, but it wasn’t like they were in immediate danger: the fires in the town were progressing in the opposite direction of the power plant, and the gate was secure.

Nguyen tossed the empty food can in a trashcan by the side of the control building before putting the boxed MRE back in his truck. He was tempted to just leave his trash lying around since no one would be bothered by it anyway, but chose not to out of self-respect. He had been turned into a cat, not a pig.

After wiping some sauce off of his whiskers, the Vietnamese cat started walking around the compound with his rifle slung around his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot Nikola sitting cross legged on the roof with his rifle in his lap. The gargoyle’s weapon was better suited to his elevated firing position, what with the scope it had come equipped with.

Nguyen started humming a tune as he walked. He had no idea where he had heard it, either in an advertisement or maybe from back home in Vietnam, not that he cared. 

There was something to be told about wandering freely like that around a nuclear power plant. The cooling towers, for one, really were impressive to look at. When looking at them from afar you couldn’t really get an accurate idea of just how freaking big they actually were. The cat had to crane his neck and lean backward just to get a look at the top of the towers.

At the bottom of the towers was a basin filled with boiling water. There were walkways going above the pool, but using them would have been ill-advised considering the sheer amount of steam rising out of the water. Nguyen didn’t feel like being steam-cooked, so he kept going.

Upon passing a tool shed next to the diesel generators, the cat heard a soft buzzing that made his large ears twitch. There was some light coming from inside the generators’ housing, which was odd since they were supposed to be inactive.

Nguyen entered the building to check it out, careful to keep an eye on the radiation in the area with his instruments.

The building was fairly simple, being made out of corrugated steel with some lining on the inside to dampen the noise of the generator. There were hardly any windows inside except for the glass door Nguyen had entered through. In the middle of the building’s only room was a four story tall generator surrounded by several walkways that allowed mechanics to work on different parts of the system without having to call in an elevator. The roof of the building was covered in pipes and cables going from and to the generator.

Since the system was controlled from the control room, there were no command consoles inside the building, only some instruments and an emergency stop button.

The buzzing that had attracted Nguyen inside stopped the moment he passed the door, but the light was still there. It was some pale bluish light, similar to xenon headlights, that reflected off the shiny metal that made up the walls.

Which was odd. None of the neon lights on the roof were on.

He slowly made his way around the generator, his rifle now in hand, but not cocked. Wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot up a nuclear plant.

“Troi oi…” Nguyen muttered in dismay upon rounding the corner.

There was one of those demonic circles burned into the ground right in front of him. The same kind as the one in Zeebrugge, and the other found earlier that day by Angelo.

Before he had time to take a closer look at the thing, several warning bells went off in his mind. His instincts suddenly told him to duck, warning him of a danger behind him.

Nguyen’s reaction wasn’t a second too late, as a lightning bolt sailed over his head just as he moved, scorching the ground with a loud ‘Zap’. He turned around and looked up at the source of the lightning.

Up in the air above him was a swarm of moth-like insects. Each of the insects was covered in fluffy sky blue hair, with large translucent membrane wings, a pair of large pinkish eyes and bolt shaped antennae. 

The swarm actually was the source of the bluish light he had noticed, which was a byproduct of the electric arcs going from one of the insects to another, turning the whole swarm into a bright ball of lightning.

And if the bolt of lightning from earlier was any indication, these things were fiercely territorial.

The swarm started to buzz angrily, spreading out further than before. Nguyen kept his eyes riveted on them, walking backwards in the direction of the door.

Shooting them would have been futile, so the next best option was to lock them inside and ensure they didn’t get out.

The cat’s mind rang out once again to warn him of an impending attack, this time telling him to go right. The hunch was correct, because the swarm fired another bolt at him, missing by a hairsbreadth as he rolled to the side.

The swarm flew right at him before he had time to regain his footing, forcing him to throw himself backwards to dodge the incoming cloud of very angry insects. Nguyen sprang to his feet the moment the insects were past him, already turning around to face the threat.

The swarm was making a run for the door.

“Oh no you don’t you little fuckers!” He yelled, cocking his rifle.

The cat aimed at the swarm and fired a single shot in their direction, aiming just enough not to hit anything critical in the building. The shot, fired inside a building, made his ears ring painfully.

The bullet shattered against the wall in front of the swarm, halting their advance and forcing them to focus their attention back on the Vietnamese. They started to spread out again, the lightning around the swarm increasing in intensity.

Good, the little fuckers were biting the bait. As long as they were focused on him they weren’t making a run for the exit, and he could keep them contained.

Now to get between them and the door…

Nguyen fired another shot at the swarm (much to the displeasure of his ears) before pulling out a stun grenade from a pouch on his flak jacket. After putting on his ear defenders, he moved to throw it, hoping to stop the insects long enough for him to run for the door. Unfortunately, the swarm had no intentions of staying passive and flew back in his direction, buzzing angrily.

His mind didn’t give him any warning before the swarm fired a third bolt at him. The electric arc hit him square in the chest just as he was throwing the grenade, leaving a scorch mark on his flak jacket.

The cat barely held back a cry of pain as his muscles seized up, sending him falling to the ground. He barely managed to brace an arm in front of him before landing face first against the hard concrete.

With his fangs grit in pain from the tremors that were still coursing through his body, he managed to wrench his gaze away from the concrete floor and looked up to the buzzing swarm of insects.

Turns out his grenade had flown true, because the little demons were hovering just above it, still buzzing angrily. They started to spread out again, preparing the finishing bolt…

And then the stun grenade exploded.

Nguyen cursed himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to throw a stun grenade in the same room he was in, because even through his closed eyes and the ear defenders, he was still sent reeling from the explosion. Fortunately for him, the swarm was worse off, having been unprotected and practically on top of the grenade when it exploded.

All of the insects were down trashing on the ground, made completely unaware of their surroundings by the explosion. Some were still flying aimlessly in the air, hitting objects and walls at random.

Nguyen didn’t stick around to let them recover. He pushed through the pain of the bolt, the haze due to having a stun grenade explode a dozen meters in front of him and the painful ringing in his ears. Standing up was excruciatingly painful, but he managed it and stumbled in the direction of the door. His rifle was hanging by the sling on his chest, momentarily forgotten.

Passing by the door, he slammed a paw against the fire alarm button. If the system was similar to what they had on Amandine, then it would close off all ventilation in that part of the building, hopefully.

Still stumbling like a drunkard, Nguyen slammed the door shut behind him before finally allowing himself to fall over. The fire alarm was ringing loudly, his muscles were twitching, his chest was aching and probably burnt in some way, but he had made it out without letting the bugs escape.

A small victory but he would take it, for now…
> Chapter 13: High Pressure
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Angelo was standing by a window of the control room building, satellite phone in hand. Behind him, inside the room proper, Roberto was finishing his setup of the laptop. With a flick of his finger, he unlocked the phone and sent a message to report their progress to the ship.

Not a minute later, he got a message from the Captain on his phone.

Report received. 

Proceed with call to HPI and shutdown of plant. Increase frequency of reports to every two hours.

Warning: any further request from the HPI has to go through me before being accepted. Do not let yourself be pressured into an agreement.

Amandine scheduled to leave ZB by 13.30LT once all materials are secure for sea and charts are cleared for passage to Antwerp. ETA to Antwerp: 21.10LT.

Stay safe,

Cpt. Prateek

At least he had the merit of being clear, though he wondered what those HPI guys could possibly ask them beyond just shutting down the plants. Most likely that wouldn’t be a problem, but if the Captain felt it necessary to be told, then he might as well acknowledge it.

The minotaur quickly sent an ACK on his phone as a reply to the Captain before making his way back inside the control room.

Roberto was now done hooking up his gear, and had placed the laptop next to the central console in the middle of the room.

“How is the system coming along?” Angelo asked.

“Almost ready. If I want to make the connection possible I have to get this computer’s signal up in the air and back to Amandine with a program I put together. It’s shoddy work, but eh, good enough for what we ask it to do…”

“Why does the signal need to go back to Amandine? Can’t you contact the HPI directly like we did by phone?” The minotaur asked curiously.

“No can do” Roberto shook his head while typing on the computer. “The reason you’re able to call by phone is because they have a number of their own, but this laptop isn’t meant for satellite connections. If we had the time to come up with something better, then maybe the HPI comms guys and I could decide on a program to use for the video call. But since we’re short on time I will just send the signal back to Amandine, log on to the ship’s server from a distance, and have the video call be treated as if they were calling Amandine via satellite, though that gives us some very bad latency.” 

“Wait you mean we can connect to the ship’s server from a distance?”

“You can’t, but this laptop here can. I’m not going to leave the ship open to cyber attacks, so I fitted both the ship’s server and the laptop with a time code generator, in addition to the usual user ID needed to log on. It doesn’t affect the Wi-Fi though, only connection attempts via satellite.” Roberto finished typing, and Amandine’s computer’s UI came on screen. “There we go, now just log on, and it will work just like a user terminal on board, if you don’t mind the lag.”

Angelo’s eyebrows rose up.

“And with skills like that you’re supposed to just be a secretary?”

“The company gave me some IT training before I joined the crew. Granted, I mostly do paperwork, but the servers are my responsibility, and we’ve got plenty of electronic documentation to manage.” Roberto waved towards the laptop. “I took the liberty of giving the HPI your user call number, if you don’t mind. That way they won’t have to re-route the call to us from the bridge.”

“Aye, that will do.” Angelo shrugged before logging in on the computer. “When did you tell them to call?”

Roberto checked his watch.

“Still got a quarter of an hour before they call. Anything else that needs to be done?”

“Yeah” Angelo pointed to the control panels around them. “If you could start working on translating the labels on the controls, that would be great. There should be some post-it notes lying around.”

  The Italian complied and set to sticking translation notes around the control room while Angelo was looking at some schematics, still trying to familiarize himself with the system.

Five minutes later, the duo was interrupted by the ringing of the fire alarm going off. Angelo’s head jerked up from the drawings he was checking out, his sight turning to a control panel for the secondary systems that was now blinking red.

“Roberto what’s going on?”

The cat rushed over from where he was working on his translations to the blinking control panel. An alert message had popped up on the main screen in front of him.

“It’s from the diesel generators. System readings are fine, but someone just pulled the fire alarm. Do I need to cancel it?” He asked, one paw hovering over the keyboard.

“Wait.” Angelo stopped him. “First let me check on the others.” He said, taking hold of his walkie-talkie and walking out. The walls of the control room were too thick to let radio waves through, but if he got close to the windows outside, he could actually talk to Nikola.

“Niko, this is Angelo from the control room. The fuck’s going on outside? Over.”

The reply took a minute to come and Angelo almost wondered if his radio wasn’t transmitting.

“Angelo, this is Niko. I just saw Nguyen leave the generator building after the alarm and collapse. Can’t tell from here but he doesn’t look too good. Over.”

“No shit I don’t look good.” Nguyen’s voice came, though it was clear the cat was having some difficulties. “I just got fucking tasered by a swarm of bugs and then I stunned myself with my own grenade. Pardon me if I don’t exactly look ready  for a photo shoot. Over.”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure I can see you smoking from here. What happened? Bugs don’t have tasers. Over.” Niko said.

“That swarm of lightning-bolt-firing mites I just trapped inside the generator building begs to differ. Need I say I found them next to a demonic circle? Over.”

“Alright, I’m not gonna contest the bugs out of hell or whatever you choose to call them. Was it you that pulled the fire alarm? Over.” Angelo asked.

“Affirmative. Needed to close the vents to keep the bugs inside. Are they closed? Over.”

A quick check with Roberto inside the control room later, Angelo was reassuring the cat that the vents were indeed shut tight. They even managed to turn off the alarm without opening them, much to the comfort of their sensitive hearing.

“Niko, would you mind getting down to take a look at the cook? Over.”

“Already on my way. You focus on that reactor. Out.”

Angelo turned back from the window and made his way back in the control room. They had five minutes before the call, so they’d better make the best out of it.

Now to hope the situation didn’t get out of hand with those electric bugs…





The Greek minotaur stood in front of the computer screen as it came to life, revealing a table of three people dressed in black coveralls. They were sitting facing the camera in a conference room, surrounded by folders and stacks of paper. Behind them, some plans and drawings were hanging on the wall.

The apparent leader of the trio was a black man sitting in the middle. Like his colleagues, he was wearing black coveralls with the letters HPI embroidered on the collar and a South African flag on his shoulder. The man was about fifty years old, and time had not been kind to him: despite having a tall figure, the man was gaunt, bald, and wearing glasses. Despite that, the African still held himself with the proud stance of a man who was very confident in his skills. A tag on the man’s chest read ‘Lockwood’.

Angelo nodded at the three HPI operatives.

“Greetings. I am Second Engineer Molnàr from M/V Amandine.” He then waved an arm in Roberto’s direction. “And this is Roberto Costa, the ship’s secretary, who will be translating the Human-Machine interface for us. I do not believe we have been acquainted yet?”

“We haven’t.” Lockwood answered curtly. “I am Agent Lockwood, Chief of Nuclear Operations for the American branch and these are my assistants for today.”

The man pointed at a short white man on his left. The young red haired man was short, but obviously made up for it by being very fit. He looked tired, and the stubble around his goatee indicated the guy hadn’t had much time to himself in the last days. He had an American flag on his shoulder.

“This is Agent Burke, who specializes in high pressure systems and manipulation of liquefied solids in extreme conditions.”

Then he turned to a pale American (as indicated by the flag on her shoulder) woman on his right. Much like Burke, she was looking frazzled. Strands of her blonde hair were sticking out of the bun they were tied in. Unlike Burke however, she wasn’t fit. Quite the opposite in fact: her thick neck strained the collar of her coveralls.

“And this is Agent Kipling. She is one of our nuclear engineers and has been familiarizing herself with the system we will be working with today.”

Off to the side, Angelo spotted Roberto pressing the record button on the computer. The Italian gave him a wink before slipping away to translate more of the controls.

“Are you familiar with nuclear installations mister Molnàr?” Lockwood asked.

“Negative.” The minotaur said, shaking his head. “I do have certifications for the use of steam turbines and I am familiar with marine electric generation systems, but that’s about it. The extent of my knowledge on nuclear reactors only goes as far as the triple circuit principle… You know, core circuit takes heat from the fuel rods, passes it on the secondary circuit which runs the turbine, and the third circuit is there to cool down the secondary. Each separated to avoid nuclear contamination.”

“Insufficient clearly.” Lockwood stated with a derisive shake of his head. “Nevertheless, we will find a way to make it work. I insist you do not touch the controls until we have thoroughly reviewed the procedure we will be going through today.”

No shit Sherlock. As if he was going to mash the control buttons of a nuclear reactor. What kind of fool did that guy take him for?

“Our data on the Tihange power plant tells us the system contains a total of three different reactors, each hooked to a different turbine, each with its own emergency diesel generator.” Lockwood began. “These turbines later join up at a substation from where they then power up the regional electric network. Our goal today will be to bring the chain reaction in the reactor to its minimum, and then to reduce core temperature to a safe point before we fill it with a neutron absorbing solution that will ensure radiation emissions are limited and prevent increases in temperature in the long run. Do you understand?”

“Why can’t we inject the neutron absorber immediately?”

“If I may…” Burke stepped in. “The Tihange plant is a particularly old model. As such, recent inspections before the cataclysm had revealed micro fissures around the housing of reactor 2 and 3. These fissures were accompanied by microscopic bubbles of Hydrogen inside the pool. These are a particular concern because they force us to avoid cavitation in the core circuit at all cost. The vibrations due to a cavitation phenomenon could cause the bubbles to implode, which, if combined with the fissures, could cause a catastrophic breach of the housing. The reason the neutron absorbing solution may not be inserted in the core at high temperature, is that it is not soluble within the sodium chloride/heavy water mixture used inside the reactor in such conditions.”

“And what does this have to do with cavitating the pump? Wait, how come something would NOT be soluble in such conditions? Doesn’t it get better at high temperature?”

“A default in conception I’m afraid. Several mentions are made about it in notes about that plant in particular to prevent it from occurring, but the neutron absorber will react with the chloride in the coolant solution if the reactor is at a sufficiently high temperature. In theory, this will form a solid deposit… at the entrance of the pump impeller. An unfortunate byproduct of using sodium chloride in a pressurized water reactor. That type of coolant is completely phased out in more modern reactors.”

“Ah shit…”

“Shit would be an understatement to that.” Lockwood said. “The resulting clog would act exactly like a partially closed valve and increase back pressure on the pump. Cavitation… would be unavoidable. But this part of the shutdown will only come into play at the very end. In the meantime, Agent Kipling…”

The woman stood up and grabbed the camera on their end of the communication, pointing it at a number of schematics on the wall.

“We will start off one reactor at a time.” Kipling said. Funnily enough, she had a British accent despite wearing an American flag on her shoulder. “Reactor 1 is in the best shape, so we will start with that one. For you I think the controls are on your left?”

Angelo nodded once.

“Excellent. Regardless of user input, the control rod position should be indicated on the central screen. I don’t have much data on the user UI, but you need to access the sensor monitoring panelyou’re your computer. It should be in the first half of the main menu.”

There was a large screen in the center of the semicircle housing the control panels for reactor 1, showing the status of the nuclear pile. Roberto had already gone through that part, thankfully. Numerous LED lights were showing him the position of the rods as well as which segment of the pile contained fuel rods.

“Okay, for reactor 1 it says the controls are in automated power production, the rods are 40% down and we’ve got about half of the fuel rod slots filled in.”

“Automated production? These greedy fuckers must have overridden the SCRAM protocols otherwise the plant would have gone into cooling mode.” Kipling swore.

“Agent Kipling, language.” Lockwood admonished her.

“Fine.” She snorted. “But no reactor should have kept going for that long. Gives me bad hopes for the rest of the continent if the first European reactor we shut down is like that. For one they refuse to decommission a thirty years old plant, and then they override emergency safeties so the plant keeps producing? I’m not the most pious gal around the block but these jackasses were begging for an Apocalypse.”

Angelo coughed politely. He had brought up the sensor monitoring panel on his screen, but the recorder was showing him an empty graph.

“Sorry mister Molnàr.” Kipling apologized. “There should be an index folder in the room, in which you will find all the values for the graph recorder. Don’t know how it’s called in French however…”

Roberto was already on the case, because the second she said that, a red folder found its way in his hands, courtesy of the Italian cat. In it, Angelo found numerous tables with minimum and maximum values, as well as numbered tags.

“So, Kipling… would you please clarify what I’m looking at?” He said, showing the folder in front of the camera.

“The tags you will find in this folder refer to the factory number of each sensor around the installation. For each of these, you have a digital tag to input within the computer in order to have them shown on screen, this will monitor changes in the value, and give you the operating window in that part of the system. Average pressure, liquid flow, the works…”

“Copy that. What do I need to input?”

“We will need three screens for that, but let’s start with the core circuit…”





In another part of the power plant, Nikola dragged Nguyen back to the mogs. The slightly scorched cat was moaning in pain, and frankly the gargoyle didn’t envy him. Funnily enough, the electric shock had made the cat’s fur stand up straight.

“Bugs with tasers uh?”

“Oh fuck off.” Nguyen groaned, leaning against one of the trucks’ wheels. “The hell was I supposed to do? Shoot them? ‘cause I tried and that was wildly successful.”

“Don’t ask me, I was an army mechanic, not a goddamn tactician. Are you hurt?” Nikola asked, passing the cat a canteen of fresh water.

“I’m fine. Well, not fine at all but I’m pretty sure it’s just pain from the stun grenade and the electric shock and not an actual injury.” He answered before taking a sip out of the canteen.

“If you say so… Still, a flashbang against insects? Never heard of that one before.”

“Eh, in my defense it worked.” Nguyen winced. “Though my ears are still ringing, and I had the ear defenders on.”

“The perks of PPE. If you hadn’t put them on you would be deaf by now.” The gargoyle waved at the scorch mark on Nguyen’s flak jacket. “Same goes for the jacket, for that matter.”

Nikola picked up a box of rations from the back of his truck and opened a box of biscuits. He wasn’t really hungry, and the food was kinda bland to him lately… which was surprising since before the event he used to like his food unseasoned.

On the plus side, he still had a thermos of green tea he had brought along for the ride, which he shared with the injured cook. In passing, he pulled out a tab of painkillers from a pouch on his flak jacket, which he gave to Nguyen.

“Here you go. Injured or not, that might help with the pain. Just don’t take the whole tablet, ain’t good for your kidneys.”

“Thanks” Nguyen swallowed a pill with his tea. “What now?”

Nikola stood up, already downing his cup of tea and attaching the thermos to his belt.

“You stay here and get some rest. I’m getting back to my nest on the roof to keep an eye on the area. The ‘taser bugs’ may be stuck in the generator building, but that doesn’t guarantee they were alone. Stay on the lookout, you never know… By the way, do you have a name idea for those things?”

“A name idea?” The cat cocked his head.

“It’s like 19th century explorers.” Nikola shrugged. “You found a new species, so you get to name it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Nikola then walked off back to the control building, rifle slung around his shoulder. By then Angelo should be starting the shutdown procedure, but lowering the temperature of all three reactors would still take quite a while.





“Are all monitoring parameters set up for reactor 1?” Kipling asked.

“Affirmative. I got all three screens ready with each circuit. Roberto, you good with the control panels?”

The Italian who was standing at the centre of reactor 1’s controls looked around briefly before giving the minotaur a firm nod.

“We’re set then. What’s your plan?”

The female HPI agent pointed the camera on her side of the teleconference to some more schematics on the wall, as well as a whiteboard.

“We don’t have much time for shutdown per reactor, so we will make full use of the filtering station the power plant is fitted with…”

The agent went on to explain that, even though the system wasn’t supposed to be used in normal circumstances, there were some emergency dump tanks hidden beneath bunkers next to the filtering station. They had been put there to allow replacement of the liquid in the core and secondary circuit in case of emergency, mostly to vent liquid at excessive temperature. Which was exactly what they were going to do.

Those emergency tanks were directly linked to the normally closed discharge line in the pressure relief tank. Using that discharge line presented the risk of venting radioactive liquid, so it was not supposed to be opened, but they were ready to make use of the emergency tanks.

Like the core circuit, those dump tanks would have to receive a dose of neutron absorber to ensure leakage of radiation was kept to a strict minimum. While any liquid they vented to the dump tanks was unlikely to exceed the radiation threshold of the concrete shielding, prudence pointed to taking the extra safe approach. That liquid would be there for a while after all…

The pressure relief system would be used with the injection device. That part of the system was placed just after the pressure relief valve so that they could inject new content in the core circuit without having it immediately removed.

The standard injector was a chemical processing plant that would normally mix regular water with a certain rate of heavy water, the ‘normal’ solution found in the tank. To that, they would add some sodium chloride as coolant. Of course, they would put as much of it in the solution as possible to speed up the cooling, but not so much that they would damage the pump because it started to form particles.

Talk about threading the needle.

The secondary circuit was just as important to the cooling of the reactor as the core circuit because of the heat exchanger that connected the two. Performance on the turbine be damned, they would have to cycle cold water through the exchanger as quickly as possible to amplify cooling effect on the core circuit, which would force them to increase pressure to the very limit of what the secondary circuit could take so that water could still be vaporized by passing through the exchanger.

Thankfully for Angelo, the third circuit (the one that passed through the giant cooling towers) was less affected by the shutdown procedure… provided it kept cooling the secondary circuit. That third part of the system wasn’t pressurized, so that left them less options when it came to overclocking the system.

“How long do you think the procedure will take?” Angelo asked.

“Three hours per reactor, give or take.” Kipling said, waggling her hand.

“But then we have to take into account that you will have to program the system to keep cycling coolant on its own until decay heat has been removed. That’s on the whole system, but I’d add an hour or so to our estimations.” Burked added.

Angelo glanced at his watch. Yeah that would carry him well into the night. Might have to ask one of the guys to make them coffee at some point…

“Molnàr, are you ready to proceed?” Lockwood asked.

“Yes, let’s do this.” The minotaur said, steeling his nerves for what might be the hardest task he ever had to accomplish in his career. “I’d say ‘no pressure’ but the core circuit is at 160 bars so…”

Lockwood gave him a disapproving glare for his attempt at a joke, though in the back he spotted Burke giving him a sympathetic smile. Angelo shook his head and steeled his nerves for what was easily going to be the hardest task he ever had to accomplish in his career.

“Core status: inlet temperature at 302 degrees Celsius, outlet temperature at 329 degrees, overall pressure in the system at 160 bars.” Angelo stated. “Reactor control rods position: 40 percent lowered, ready to go down. Pressurizer status: ready for injection of light/heavy water mixture, no sodium chloride or neutron absorber solution ready.” He checked the status on some valves. “Emergency dump valve: locked in closed position. Turbine RPM in the green and holding steady.”

“Start off by lowering the rods, lower them by increments of 10% and keep an eye on any change in the system.”

Angelo then ordered Roberto to lower the rods to 50%, and then allowed the reactor five minutes for the values to adjust. He threw a glance at the core’s temperature graph.

The inner temperature had been slowly climbing for the past week, but extrapolation of the changes in temperature showed lowering the rod slightly had put a dent in the speed at which the core was heating up.

The process continued until they completely lowered all control rods. Despite the fission being mostly blocked by then, the temperature had only lowered by about five degrees. Angelo voiced his concern about that turn of events.

“No reason to worry so far.” Lockwood explained.  “Lowering the rods prevents each fuel cell from continuing the chain reaction with others, but there are still some free neutrons inside the core. It might take some time for the fission to wind down completely, so give it some time. Burke, what’s the temperature at which we can inject the neutron absorber again?”

Before the red haired man had the time to answer his superior, the display on the control screens flickered and the lights shut off for a few seconds before coming on again.

“Roberto what was that?”

“No idea, the controls went in safety mode all of a sudden.”

“Molnàr, what’s going on?” Lockwood asked.

“No clue. Something just went up the sensor wiring and overloaded the control board.” He tapped a few keys on the central computer. “We’re locked in observation mode, no remote control possible. I need a few seconds to check out the alarm log to figure out what went wrong.”

Quick as lightning, Lockwood turned around on his heels to face Kipling. The woman visibly shrank under the African’s stern gaze.

“Kipling, check the schematics of the control system, figure out how we can put the control room back in place as the master station.” His gaze swiveled to face Burke on the other side of the table. “Burke, grab some plans and start looking for the manual controls just in case.”

Angelo was already typing away on the computer, trying to find the location of the alarm log. Roberto came up behind him to translate and guide him through the menus.

“There, open that program: Journal d’enregistrement des alertes. That should be the one.”

The program opened to reveal a timed log of every recorded alert that had occurred in the plant. Some dated back to months ago, but the last one was still blinking, awaiting acknowledgment. It was listed as having occurred five minutes ago.

“What does it say?” Angelo asked the Italian.

“Surtension du réseau de détection et contrôle... That’s a power surge on the control network. Can you open the detailed report?”

Angelo opened the report to reveal half a page worth of text. From the amount of red and yellow on the text, it didn’t look too good. Still, he allowed the Italian a minute to translate the highly technical piece of text.

“Alright.” Roberto finally said. “The surge came from one of the auxiliary power units... the diesel generators that is. Apparently the circuitry around the generator was hit by an overload and that damaged it.”

“Shouldn’t there be equipment to prevent damage from surges by the generator?”

“For the generator only. The surge occurred on the gear around the generator, it hit a sensor and went straight back to the mainframe. That put it in safety mode. There are some damage reports but thankfully it’s just the controls in the generator and a fuse box halfway to the mainframe that have been burnt out. We definitely lost remote control on the generator, but still got the sensors.”

Suddenly, Angelo snapped his fingers and brought up the CCTV control menu.

“Roberto, what’s the number on the overloaded generator?”

“Number two. Why?”

“Taser bugs, that’s why.”

The minotaur brought up a live feed from the cameras on screen, showing the inside of the stricken generator building. There indeed was a swarm of the trapped bugs, and they were firing bolts of lightning left and right at every opportunity. Angelo also took note of the demonic circle burned into the floor of the building.

“Well I’ll be damned. That’s one thing to hear Nguyen talk about it, but that’s another to see it for myself.” Roberto commented over his shoulder.

“Molnàr, what’s going on in there?” Lockwood asked in a severe tone.

“We found the source of the surge that’s what. Some kind of insect that fires bolts of electricity. Injured a member of our team too.”

“Now is not the time or place to crack jokes.”

“I’m serious.” Angelo said, pointing the laptop’s camera at the screen showing the CCTV feed. “There, swarm of bugs, shoots lightning. Not the first case we’ve had of some weird err... monsters appearing. See the demonic circle on the floor? That’s been present every time we met a monster like that.”

“We were not aware of such an occurrence. You are aware this will go up our chain of command?”

“Duly noted. I would have expected our Captain to mention that to Agent Eko but sounds like I was mistaken. Regardless...” He waggled a finger towards the screen. “Got an idea on how to address that issue? They injured one member of our group but he managed to pull the fire alarm and trap them in there.”

“Can’t let them keep frying the circuitry like that, they could wind up causing actual damage to the mainframe. They really look angry, what did your guy do?”

“Shot in their general direction and threw a flashbang at them. Might explain why they’re flying around like angry bees.”

Angelo observed the African scratch his chin pensively before he turned to Kipling who was still going over some schematics.

“Can’t say I’m an expert in bug removal but I might have an idea. Kipling, what’s the firefighting equipment in the generator building and how can we isolate it from the rest of the network?”

“Each generator is fitted with a fixed carbon dioxide installation. There should be a set of industrial high capacity circuit breakers to disconnect the building from the network. Burke, can you locate breaker GD15-A on the plans?”

The redheaded man started to quickly flip through several large sheets of paper before stopping at the plan for the generator building. He traced the circuit with a finger before stopping, eyebrows raised.

“Found it, but we might have a problem.”

“Come on; don’t go telling me the breaker we want is inside the building. For one that’s cheesy as hell, for second that’s such a glaring design flaw it makes the Death Star look well designed.” Angelo complained.

“Actually no. It’s outside. But there are two breakers we need to activate on the roof of that building if we want to reroute power from generators one and three towards reactor two, which will be needed once the reactor cools down to such a point that it doesn’t generate enough power to activate its own turbine and drive the pumps. Shoddy design I reckon, but they didn’t modify it over the thirty years that the plant has been operational. A pity, considering a simple ladder outside the building would have done the trick.”

Burke went on to list off the name of each breaker they would have to activate to reroute the power the way they wanted, which was a lot. Angelo dutifully wrote down each name and location for the breakers, as well as the order Burke insisted to activate them in.

“Can’t we use external power for the shutdown? From the regional grid I mean. We saw plenty of wind turbines coming here.”

“True as that may be, and we will make use of that power, it fluctuates too much to reliably cool down the reactor starting from the point we wish to leave them at. When you leave the power plant you will turn on the generators to continuously keep driving the cooling system until they empty their tanks, and only then will the core be cool enough that we can trust the regional grid to power the system. That makes it one week on diesel power at low rpm before the tank is empty and the regional grid takes over. Trust me, I checked my calculations, past that point the core will be cool enough that green power will be enough despite the fluctuations.” Burke explained.

“In any case…” Lockwood added after his subordinate stopped talking. “I have an idea that should rid us of that electric pest problem. You should be familiar with fixed carbon dioxide systems, so just activate it in generator two to freeze the bugs.” The African man shrugged. “Worst case scenario, they’re resistant to extreme cold and we have to wait ‘til the CO2 suffocates them.”

That he could get behind. While Kipling was still trying to figure out how to restore control over to the control room, Angelo walked outside radio in hand to get in contact with Nikola. The gargoyle had made his way back to the roof after helping Nguyen, and from the tone in his voice was rather bored. Good, now he would have something to help out with said boredom.

“Niko, you remember how to activate a fixed CO2 installation? Over.”

“Affirmative, why the question? Over.” The gargoyle answered through his walkie-talkie.

“I need you to activate the installation in the generator building where Nguyen trapped the bugs. That, and I got a couple breakers for you to activate. Over.”

“Hold on, lemme get a hold of my notebook first. How many breakers are we talking? Over.”

“Well first off you have the isolating breaker for generator two. That one is priority ‘cause we want to cut off the electric bugs from the network ASAP. Name’s breaker GD15-A; and it’s outside the building under a shed on the North side. Can’t miss it with the cables going around it. Over.”

“So first I do that one, and then I activate the CO2? Over.” Niko asked.

“Correct. Then you’ve got a number of breakers to activate in a specific order. Last ones are on the roof of generator two and there is no external access so it will have to be vented before you get to it, but I should be able to do that from here after making sure the bugs are dead. Plenty of time for that however. You ready to write that down? Over.”

“Fire away chief. Over.”





Back in the control room, Kipling had found out how to regain control of the plant and was explaining it to Roberto, with the cat listening intently to the woman’s description of how to go about it.

“It’s in the control building. You need to get to the basement, that’s where they put the mainframe. Most of the servers there are of no interest to us since it’s just data storage and management files. What matters is the central computer, which is connected to the sensor processor. If the signal lines were overloaded then that forced a reset on the processor, but the connection with the central computer is fitted with an automatic disconnect to prevent a local surge from frying the whole system. Locate the connection locker next to the central computer, and turn on the automatic switch that failed to reconnect. Worst case scenario it’s fried completely and you will have to replace it, but there should be parts lying in a supply storage somewhere. No issue replacing a burnt out fuse. Copy?”

“Bit of a mouthful, but I got the gist of it. Get down to the mainframe, find the fuse box and fix it. Easy enough. That’s all?”

The pudgy woman just gave him a tired nod. Behind her, Lockwood gave him a stare that clearly said something along the lines of: ‘You best be going, or else…’.

The cat didn’t wish to garner the ire of the haughty South African, so he quickly left the room, dodging Angelo on the way out.





Outside the building, Nikola had already slid down the fire ladder on the roof of the control building and was making his way to the generator building. He stopped by Nguyen to tell him to watch the gate while he was busy with the breakers. The cook complied happily, just having to turn in the opposite direction from where he was making a thermos of coffee to get a look at the gate.

The shed with the isolating breaker wasn’t too hard to locate: it was painted bright red to attract firemen’s attention, leaning against the Northern wall of the generator building.

The less convenient part was that Nikola had to go back to the trucks to fetch a pair of bolt cutters to get through the padlock keeping the door shut. Still, that barely took him a minute at jogging pace.

As a testimony to the power plant having avoided any incident during the course of its existence, most of the inside of the shed was covered in cobwebs, with only the breaker remaining uncovered by spider silk due to being regularly changed. The gargoyle quickly pulled the lever next to the massive multi-thousand amperes breaker, the springs inside the system pulling it shut with a loud ‘clang!’

Nikola signaled Angelo that the breaker was down via radio before moving on to a larger building adjoining the generator housing. The manifold going out of its roof and into the side of the generator building made it very clear it was the room in which they stored the CO2 bottles, if the numerous signs on its walls weren’t enough of a hint.

One application of bolt cutters later, Nikola was inside and going over the layout of the room. On either side of the door were rows of tall cylinders filled with compressed CO2, all hooked up to pipes that met in the center of the room. Thanks to signs laid out around the room, the gargoyle was able to deduce that each row of bottles made up a dose of CO2 to fill the room, and there was a control valve in the center of the piping to select which row he wanted to use before the pipes left for the generator building.

Easy enough, he thought, as he went through one row of bottles pulling off their safety pins. The control valve in the center was even fitted with a manometer that told him when the system was ready to deliver its shot. The Bulgarian quickly checked which row he had selected before setting up the control valve.

The pipes started to whistle as they filled up with carbon dioxide. Nikola spotted small specks of frost already forming at the joints in the piping. When the manometer on the control valve reached its operational range, the gargoyle left the building, being very careful to close the door behind him.

Next to the door was a large red lever in a box, held in place by a safety pin. The release control, because you the CO2 shouldn’t be fired from within the bottle storage room (or the targeted room, obviously). Nikola ripped off the safety pin and called up Angelo on his radio to check if the minotaur was ready. He had to wait a minute or two for his superior to bring up the diesel generator on his CCTV screen before finally getting the green light.

Upon pulling the lever, a loud siren rang out as the gas raced through the piping. Nikola spied more frost forming inside of the bottle storage room as each bottle quickly discharged its icy content. The main reason behind using CO2 in a fire suppression system wasn’t because of the cold it generated, but because it smothered fires. The freezing effect was supposed to just be a neat side-effect, though in this case it was the main reason they used it.

The gargoyle waited for Angelo to tell him he was good to go on with re-routing the current with the breakers, his tail idly swinging back and forth as he waited. Agile as it may have been, Nikola didn’t have half as much control over the appendage as he wanted to, and it being clad in a restrictive sleeve of fabric didn’t really help. Sure, he may have been able to instinctively keep it from getting stuck in random doors, but he still had issues with overbalancing and knocking things over whenever he tried to turn around too quickly.

Rahul had been quite cross about it the last time he broke a jar of mayonnaise in the cafeteria. Eh, not like he could help it, he thought, as his tail tauntingly swung in front of him before he swatted it aside with a snort.

“Angelo to Nikola, you’re good to go. The bugs are completely frozen to a wall, so now you just need to give me time to vent the place after Roberto restores the control system. Give it half an hour or so. Out.”

All the time he could ever ask for to just go turn some breakers at his own pace. Good, that would give Nguyen the time needed to finish the coffee.





Once Angelo was given the time to vent all the carbon dioxide they had pumped inside the generator room, he sent in Nikola to activate the last breakers.

If the bottle storage room had fallen victim to a light frost coating upon activating the fire suppression system, the generator was even more marked by the injection of CO2. Lumps of dry ice and snow littered the floor and every sharp edge in the now freezing room, and Nikola’s breath formed a cloud as he exhaled. An icicle crashed down on the floor the moment he opened the door. 

The taser bugs had been resting on a wall at the moment of activation. They were now stuck to said wall, the swarm frozen together in one solid lump of ice. The gargoyle stopped by to examine them, taking note of their still shiny eyes and the ever present blue glow that surrounded them. Taking out a pair of pliers, he ripped off a cluster of bugs which he shoved into a pouch of his flak jacket.

Might as well take a trophy if they could, not like there was any risk of them coming back to life since surviving being flash-frozen like that only ever came true in science-fiction. 

The reason the last breakers were such trouble was due to a design oversight in the generator building. Most of the electric lines around the power plant ran above ground alongside the structures that supported all of the non-radioactive piping in order to save space and simplify the layout.

While it did have the upside of making it clear to follow and inspect lines, some engineer had at some point thought it was a good idea to put the re-routing breakers on the roof. That idea wouldn’t have been that big of a problem if said engineer had had the presence of mind to put an external access to the roof. But of course not, the only way to reach the roof, and that particularly critical equipment, was through a ladder inside the generator building.

The fact that the generators being inaccessible and power needing to be redirected were intrinsically tied seemed to have gone over said engineer’s head.

And thus, the gargoyle found himself climbing the thin ladder to the roof. He had been forced to put on some gloves thanks to the metal of the ladder being so bloody cold after exposure to the carbon dioxide, but the climb wasn’t that difficult compared to some of the tighter spaces inside of Amandine’s engine room. He did have to stop when part of his mane stuck to the metal halfway up the ladder though. He would have to spare the time to style it when he got back to the ship.

With an annoyed grumble, Nikola practically punched open the hatch at the top of the ladder. A minute later, Angelo was receiving a radio call telling him all breakers had been activated in the correct order.

As for the gargoyle, he sat down on the roof to enjoy the sight while he was up there. Pulling out a cigarette, he let his gaze wander in the direction of the burning town off in the distance.





“We have now regained control of the plant, and all lines have been re-routed in preparation for the shutdown.” Angelo said to the HPI agent on the other end of the teleconference.

“About damn time.” Lockwood snorted. “We are way behind schedule thanks to this incident.”

“Be certain that I would have done my best to avoid this, had it been possible to predict it.” Angelo answered through gritted teeth. The African’s behavior was seriously starting to get on his nerves. “As it stands, our models in risk analysis do not account for the appearance of electricity related monstrous creatures.” He added sarcastically.

That seemed to hit its mark as Lockwood’s composure wavered for a second before he pulled himself together. Behind the man, Burke mouthed for Angelo to stop antagonizing the man, repeatedly pointing to a sheet of paper where he had quickly scribbled ‘bad idea’. The minotaur ignored him, if the man didn’t have the balls to stand up to his annoying superior, that wasn’t his problem.

“I believe we were ready to begin injections of liquid coolant. The core temperature remains at an average of 310 degrees.”

“That means it’s down five degrees over… about an hour?” Kipling asked from the back of the room where she was taking notes on a tablet.

“That is correct.” Angelo nodded. “The loss in pressure due to the cooling resulted in the injection of regular water some ten minutes ago to maintain it at 160 bars. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s do it.” Burke said. “My estimations are that we will need between three and five changes of coolant per reactor to bring them down to the right temperature. No time to waste then.”

Following instructions from the HPI specialists and Roberto’s help in translating the controls, Angelo began to prep a ‘shot’ of sodium enriched coolant in the system’s chemical processing plant. Burke was very stringent on the content of the shot, insisting on mixing the water with a very precise amount of sodium and heavy water.

When they were certain the shot was mixed to the optimal concentration, Burke finally allowed Angelo to inject it in the core circuit. For a few minutes, they heard the whirring noise of the pressure relief system making its work on the core circuit trying to keep the pressure stable. After a few tense moments, the noise stopped and the pressure graph on Angelo’s screen stabilized.

For about half an hour, the temperature went down until it eventually reached a plateau. Burke explained it was normal and went on to tell Angelo a new mix of concentrations for the following shot they would inject in the reactor. The HPI engineer was very keen on designing the most optimal mix of coolant for each plateau of temperature they reached, and Angelo didn’t deem his own expertise sufficient to contradict the short redheaded man.

They continued the process of injecting a new mix of coolant in the reactor for a few times before they had to stop because the temperature had gotten so low that the turbine stopped producing enough power to drive its own pumps. A fact they couldn’t ignore since the secondary circuit provided some crucial cooling effect via the heat exchanger that connected it with the core circuit.

The task of redirecting power to the pumps was one he was more familiar with, and that was done rather quickly considering Nikola had already done most of the required preparations by turning the breakers. Within minutes, the pumps were starting up again, much to Angelo’s relief: the lapse in cooling caused by the loss of power had made the core circuit’s temperature rise back by a couple degrees.

Things could have gone bad real quick had they not expected that turn of event…

Thanks in no small part to the advice of the HPI engineers, Angelo managed to bring down the temperature of the reactor to the desired level in a few hours and as many injections of coolant. The pressure relief system opened a few times to release liquid into the emergency tanks, which  had the minotaur worried until he got the chance the check out the level inside of them.

For all the faults he wanted to blame on the designers, he didn’t have anything bad to say about that system in particular. Every time the pressure relief valve opened to vent some liquid, it had to first transit through a ‘prep’ circuit where it was cooled down and mixed with a healthy dose of neutron absorber before being pumped out to the emergency tanks. While that liquid was still very much radioactive, none of what they vented that day exceeded the capabilities of the shielding around the tanks.

Furthermore, even after all the venting of liquid in the core circuit they had done, they barely reached a third of the maximum volume in the tank. That might have caused some issues… if each reactor didn’t have its own separate dump tank. 

So there he sat at the controls of a power plant with a freakishly well designed core control system, but a backup power grid that was unable to plan ahead of its own systems being damaged. Puzzling, but nothing he couldn’t work with.

“Have we reached the right temperature now?” Lockwood asked impatiently, pacing around the room he was stuck in with his two colleagues.

“We plateaued about six degrees below the maximum temperature for the neutron absorber.” Angelo answered after a quick glance at his screen. The line depicting the average core temperature was lazily oscillating well below the thick red line indicating their goal temperature and showed no sign of climbing back up at the moment. More reassuring even, was that the inlet and outlet temperature on his instruments were steadily getting closer to each other, meaning the core wasn’t emitting as much heat as before.

“Well, now that it’s stable we’re good to inject the neutron absorber then. I just need a couple minutes to adjust the mixture to the right temperature and make sure we don’t accidentally vent more coolant than we inject, then we can begin the last phase for this reactor.” Burke said. The man was typing frenetically on a laptop in the back of the room. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that effort of bringing the temperature down now, would we?”

Once they got the numbers right for the last injection, the last phase of their work on the reactor happened rather quickly. The temperature started to show a very slow but steady decrease, indicating the fuel rods had finally stopped chain-reacting with each other.

“Getting rid of all the decay heat will take time.” Lockwood began. “We can’t expect to do it all in a day, but what we can do is stop the chain reaction and begin the process of cooling down the core. At first we will set the diesel generators to power the system until they run out of fuel. That alone ought to bring the core to a relatively safe level. For anything that occurs past that point, we will set up the system so that it leaches off of the renewable energy that’s generated by the regional grid. Not much power, but enough to drive the pumps and keep the system cool.”

“So we start the generators now?” Angelo asked.

“Not yet. We will do it once all reactors are in their cooling phase and the turbines stop producing anything. In the meantime, we will still use all the nuclear power we can, understood?”

“Crystal clear.” The minotaur nodded.

At the rate the regional grid would cool them; it would take weeks for the reactors to reach a safe temperature. Thankfully, there was little risk of things going awry past that point.

Shutting down the other two reactors took them another couple hours. By the time they were finished and concluded the whole affair by turning on a single diesel generator to power the pumps, the sun had long set and Angelo had gone through several thermos of coffee, courtesy of Nguyen who brought him a new one frequently.

Following Lockwood’s directions, Angelo set the generator to the lowest possible rpm before setting up the grid so that it took power from around the plant once the generator ran out of fuel. They double checked all connections manually before eventually agreeing the plant was ready to enter its long term cooling phase. Lockwood made Angelo promise to check out the systems the following morning before he left and to call them if their efforts turned out to be insufficient before the African finally left the conference room at a brisk pace.

That only left Burke and Kipling in the conference room. The redhead gave Angelo a tired smile as he served himself a cup of coffee.

“Hope you don’t take his behavior personally. Since Lockwood is the chief of nuclear operations he’s had to manage the shutdown procedures for the entire American continent, which still isn’t finished I must add, and now he’s got the European plants to look forward to. Usually he’s not so…” Burke tried.

“That big of an asshole?” Angelo said, getting a hesitant shrug from Burke as an answer. “It’s fine, I understand. Lotsa work, and I don’t think your organization is doing too good on morale right now, uh?”

“We really only avoided a full blown nuclear catastrophe by pure luck because we found your ship.” Kipling said. “Understandably, the higher ups are not too happy about it and Lockwood is having to deflect all kinds of flak from them when they got the idea his division was responsible for the segregation of nuclear remote access across all facilities. We’re all in a tight spot at the moment, and we still have to prepare the plans to assist your shipmates with Doel’s reactors later…”

“Best of luck with those reactors. Just tell your superior to lay off the stimulants; I could see his eyelid ticking from across the teleconference.”

Not giving the HPI engineers the time to respond, Angelo bid his farewell and closed the teleconference with a soft tap on the laptop’s keyboard. He let out a tired groan and leaned back in his chair.

On the laptop’s screen, the timer had stopped the teleconference just short of eleven hours. Eleven hours of continuous surveillance and careful manipulations to avoid nuclear annihilation… but he had done it. He, a mere marine engineer, had managed to shut down a nuclear power plant. Granted that was done with satellite assistance from other engineers that were actually competent, but still… Biggest achievement of his career by a long stretch.

Angelo swiveled in his chair to face Roberto. The Italian cat was napping in a chair in a corner of the room, having long ago finished his translation business. With the right lightning, the black furred bipedal cat with white spots here and there on his coat might have looked cute.

To a person that liked cats.

Angelo didn’t, so he just woke up his colleague with a sharp clap of his hands (since he had yet to figure out how to whistle with a muzzle). Roberto jerked awake as if the minotaur had slapped him, looking blearily left and right.

“Shutdown is done Rob’.” Angelo said, giving the cat a few seconds to wake up fully. “I’m fucking tired, and I seriously need to grab something to eat. Care to finish this all? Report to the Captain and maybe pack up the laptop and antenna if you’ve got the heart to do it.” He added, moving towards the exit.

The cat held up a paw to stop Angelo from leaving just yet and let out a wide yawn. He pulled out a small black box the size of a cigarette pack with a LCD screen from his pocket and held it towards Angelo.

“Meant to give you that earlier. I found this pager in the server room. Turns out, some of the plant’s personnel were using them before the cataclysm so they could leave the control room and still be alerted whenever an alert sprang up. Might be useful if anything happens overnight.”

With a small word of thanks, Angelo pocketed the device and left the control room. It was now night outside, and the city off in the distance was still burning, casting a red light against the glass structure of the control building.

Lacking anyone to activate them, the pole lights around the compound remained turned off, unlike the many automatically activated street lights that Angelo could see lining the streets outside. The orange-toned lamps coursed through the streets and countryside surrounding the power plant like dull streamers. On top of these so-called streamers were the blinking white lights of the many wind turbines that topped hills in the region.

Angelo allowed himself to drink in the peaceful sight and wind down after the busy day he’d just had. He closed his eyes and let out a long, drawn out breath; thinking about the past events.

His reaction to Lockwood’s behavior surprised him. Usually when confronted with people of such… character, he would just ignore it, stay professional and keep going. No point in seeking confrontation, which was what he had tried to do in the beginning. The odd part was that towards the end, the African engineer had started to grate on his nerves so much that something inside him snapped and he started to retort to Lockwood’s jab.

Of course that didn’t mean he just started yelling at the guy, Angelo was still very much in control of his emotions. But the sole fact that he had bitten back was unlike him, and the thought worried him. There was a chance that the transformation had brought on small mental changes…

Or he could be wrong and that was a natural change in his character.

The minotaur snorted and turned away from the windows. No sense dwelling on that at the moment, he wanted to catch as much shuteye as he could before they went for the HPI facility the next day. Hypothetical mental changes were something he might entertain discussing with someone when they got back to the ship.









 
> Chapter 14: The Facility
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning rose on the power plant. Sometime during the night, the fires ravaging the city of Huy had stopped, leaving behind smoldering ruins and buildings damaged by smoke. The thick column of smoke wafting up from the town mixed with the white steam leaving the power plant’s cooling towers high up in the air, creating an ashen gray cloud high above the ground.

As expected, the fires hadn’t spread in their direction and left the plant alone. Given time to let the smoke dissipate, the city would become accessible again. Damaged by smoke as they were, some buildings still contained salvageable resources and a couple city blocks had managed to escape the fire, mostly those on the river bank opposite to the side ravaged by the fires.

Angelo’s team woke up as the sun crested the top of the hills that marked the valley in which the river feeding the power plant ran its course. They had slept in the back of their trucks for the night, the tarpaulin of the cargo bay doing a decent job of keeping out the humid air of the night. Paired with some sleeping bags they had obtained from the navy base in Zeebrugge, the night was pretty bearable.  It was now the first of June, and the late spring weather was pretty mild in that part of Europe.

At Nikola’s insistence, they had established a watch system to keep someone on lookout while the rest slept. Angelo hadn’t been too pleased about it, what with the mental fatigue caused by the shutdown procedure the day before, but the Bulgarian gargoyle’s idea made sense considering the possible risk of a monster getting the drop on them.

By morning, it was Nguyen who wound up rousing the others from their sleep. The cook was brewing some coffee for them on a grill they had fashioned out of an oil drum the evening before. At first, Angelo had protested upon seeing his subordinates throw bits of dismantled pallets in the drum, not being particularly keen on starting that kind of fire within the boundaries of the power plant, but Nikola had reassured him by pointing to a stack of fire extinguishers they had retrieved from the office buildings.

And now the minotaur wasn’t regretting his decision of letting them proceed, smiling tiredly as he took a sip of his morning coffee. At his side, sitting on the edge of their truck’s bed, Nikola was already reviewing the maps to get them to their next objective.

“So it’s next to another power plant on the same river. Simple enough, we just have to follow the river upstream ‘til we get there.” Angelo said as he peered over the gargoyle’s shoulder.

“I’d rather avoid that. Following the river makes the trip twice as long so I think we can safely cut through the hills. That’s what the GPS says, and I don’t think the satellite network is going to break down anytime soon so…”

“Your choice, you’re the driver after all.” Angelo shrugged. “Still got enough fuel to get us there?”

“Yeah, just going to need to stop for fuel on the way back to Amandine. Have they reached Antwerp yet by the way?”

“They got there a little past midnight from what I was told by phone. They said they suffered from some delays because they had to slow down a lot due to not having a harbor pilot or tugs to maneuver. Antwerp is a river port, getting there with a large ship like Amandine can be kind of hard when you lack the usual assistance. Still, they should be doing the shutdown in Doel today.”

“Better hope they’re as successful as we were then.” Nikola concluded as he finally selected a route on his GPS. “Any alarm with the plant?”

Angelo shook his head. His pager had remained silent for the entire night, and he had gone to the control room once during his watch to check out the systems. With nothing out of place, he had gone ahead and closed the control room before returning to guarding the trucks.

The team shared a quick breakfast around the burning oil drum, with Angelo giving them a quick recap of what they were going to do as they ate.

At first, they would have to locate the entrance to the underground HPI facility. The only lead they had (though it ought to be enough) was that it was beneath built inside the bunker of a decommissioned cold war era underground nuclear reactor, on the grounds of the Chooz power plant.

Step two: contact Agent Eko once the target is located and gain access to the inside of the facility.

Step three: establish a stable communication link with the American HPI facility so that they can take control of the European nuclear grid and shut it down.

They might have a bit of a gap between steps two and three, but it really shouldn’t be any trouble. Right?

After breakfast, they wasted little time packing up all their gear. Roberto had had the presence of mind of retrieving his communication equipment the evening before, so they only had to stow and lash the gear properly inside the unimogs’ cargo bays to prevent it from moving around or falling off.

Within minutes, their small convoy rolled out of the power plant facilities and headed south towards their next objective.

Nikola’s idea of cutting through the hills to save time led them deeper in the Ardennes. Unlike American troopers 70 years before, they didn’t have to worry about being attacked by Germans as they made their way to Chooz.

What they did have to worry about, however, were monsters. Nikola had showed them the dead insect he had taken for trophy in Tihange. The dead little bug had been put in an empty plastic bottle after the ice surrounding its corpse thawed out. By then, its blue glow had almost entirely faded away, though you could still see its antenna twitch from time to time.

The rolling forested hills they traversed showed them those bugs hadn’t been alone: two times over the course of their journey they passed a lone demonic circle in the middle of the woods. There were no signs of monsters in the immediate vicinity of these signs, but both times the vegetation around the place of discovery was thoroughly trashed, leading them to think some more wood hounds were prowling the hills.

They were suddenly very glad to have taken guns along for their expedition. The location of the demonic circles was added on their map before they moved on, not too eager to force a clash with monsters that could reassemble themselves each time they brought them down. Two casualties inside Amandine’s infirmary were enough to tell them not to mess with the angry canine branches.

After an hour of driving, their convoy found its way back to a narrow valley. The usual succession of hills and forest of the past hour was replaced with a more open plain when they went down into the shallow vale, and pastures replaced the dense forests. As they drove on, some sheep and goats stopped their grazing to raise their heads. The small cattle had found its way out of their pens and were now sampling the taste of grasses by the side of the road, which quickly got annoying when it forced the seafarers to dismount their trucks and shoo the animals off the road.

The peaceful creatures seemed utterly unaware of their masters’ disappearance, or of the looming threat posed by the wood hounds roaming the woods. In a way, Angelo envied their carelessness, because the growing threats they had to take into account were starting to get on his nerves. He was supposed to be an engineer in the merchant navy, and there he was inside a military truck, with a machinegun in his lap, headed for a secret bunker to save Europe from nuclear annihilation after having shut down a nuclear power plant.

Not exactly a normal undertaking.

Roberto finally managed to keep the animals off the road long enough for them to get their trucks past the herd. From his seat in his truck, Angelo idly contemplated the landscape around them.

The small valley they were following had a brook in its center that fed into the Meuse a couple kilometers further. It was rather shallow, and pastures had been set up on either side of the river, with some of the land set aside to make room for meadows, providing food for the cattle in the winter. A road had been built parallel to the river, with the odd farm built here and there along it. Most of these buildings were old, all built with thick stone walls that dated back to the 18th century, except for some wooden hunting lodges that were usually built closer to the woods.

That rural landscape clashed with the small town they reached further down the road, at the junction between the river they were following and the Meuse. Maybe that was because it was another country- a sign on the side of the road indicated they had crossed the border to France- but the town was more developed, if still old.

The main feature in that town was an old Napoleonic-era fortress. The large fortress loomed over the city from where it was perched on a steep stony hill. A French flag was still hanging on the fort’s mast, doomed to be forgotten with none of the garrison present to salute it.

The rest of the city, if typical of French architecture, was rather forgettable. Angelo didn’t have the architectural know-how to fully appreciate the quality of the buildings, though the mix in types of buildings lead him to believe the city had been there for quite a while, and had fared well until the Event: older buildings in the center were well maintained, and the city folks appeared to have been in the process of enlarging their suburbs and building a mall, if the construction sites on the outskirts of the town were any indication.

Nikola insisted on going through the town to check out if they could find any survivors, but after driving through for half an hour repeatedly blasting their trucks’ horns to attract attention, they only managed to find a pack of roaming dogs which Angelo quickly scattered with a salvo from his machinegun (he shot over the dogs, not directly at them, he wasn’t that heartless).

Nevertheless, the town wasn’t their objective. Beyond a hill upstream of the city, the minotaur spotted the white steam column that marked the position of the power plant they were aiming for. Getting to the power plant was a matter of minutes since a road had been built directly on the banks of the Meuse. They passed a small quarry on the way, where most of the equipment had collapsed after being abandoned for a week.

The convoy was forced to leave the road and find a way through the quarry after they were stopped by a conveyor belt that had fallen across the road. The belt connected to a small dock where a sunken barge laid abandoned in the water, half-buried beneath a pile of rocks.

A short inspection of the wreck revealed no one was on board at the time of the Event, its crew most likely being occupied with managing the paperwork at the quarry’s office while the belt was loading stone onto their ship. Unfortunately, the mining equipment kept going after their disappearance, quickly overloading and sinking the small vessel. They didn’t find any equipment they didn’t already have in the wreck, except for a small bottle of German Schnapps. Most of the gear had been submerged for a week already, and was hardly worth salvaging.

Their unimogs didn’t have any difficulty traversing the terrain inside the quarry thanks to their off-road capabilities. Their only problem in there turned out to be a large amount of tunnels dug in the rocks of the quarry. Their origin was rather quickly discovered by the sailors however, when they found yet another demonic circle burned in the white rocky cliff face of the quarry.

Nikola swore and gunned the throttle in hopes of getting them out of there ASAP. Behind them, the cats’ truck roared to life as Nguyen floored it too. The two little mogs left a trail of dust behind as their drivers urged them out of the now very dangerous quarry, zigzagging around holes in the rock and collapsed mining equipment. The gargoyle at the wheel of the lead truck came dangerously close to toppling his own truck when he sped around some collapsed scaffolding, Angelo letting out an impressive string of swear words in Greek after the mog righted itself.

Just as the convoy left the quarry, three large red creatures emerged out of the ground behind them.

Both trucks stopped after a hundred meters, their occupants turning their heads in the direction of the quarry. Angelo absent-mindedly pulled out his phone out of his flak jacket, his eyes not leaving the creatures that were glaring at them.

They couldn’t see the entire body of the creatures, but the part that came out of the ground made them gulp in fear at their sight: they had a serpentine body with a diameter of a least one meter, covered in thick, dry skin of a dull red color. The red skin was lined with pinkish marks on the entire length of their body on the sides, paired with thin purple fins that ran along their underside.

The head reminded Angelo of a moray eel he had seen once when he went diving in the Mediterranean Sea, except warped to such a point that it looked genuinely evil (and the moray eel didn’t even look kind to begin with):  the muzzle was curved inward and the lower jaw extended out beyond the upper jaw, revealing some large serrated fangs glistening with saliva. The fins on their bellies reached just below their jaws where it lengthened to form a sort of ‘sail’, and they had another frillier fin on the top of their head looked like a crest.

The tip of their muzzles was marked by several protruding strips of red skin. Antennas or feelers of sorts, the minotaur couldn’t figure out their purpose, too focused on the most riveting part of the creatures’ appearance: the eyes. They had small yellow eyes, filled with malice, which glared at them across the distance that separated the monsters from the convoy. Their glare was filled a primitive sort of intelligence that told the sailors that, while these monsters were certainly not going to win any Nobel prizes, they had more than enough wits to figure out how to make their prey suffer.

The three… eels were standing halfway out of their tunnels, heads turned in their directions with their jaws parted slightly and their nostrils flared.

Angelo, after having taken a picture of the monsters, had dismounted his truck and now stood a fair distance from the monsters, shoulders squared and machinegun in hand. Nikola was kneeling a small distance behind him, already tracking the monsters through his SCAR’s scope.

“On your mark, boss, and I can nail these fuckers right in the head.” The gargoyle stated, though he had yet to pull the arming lever on his rifle.

“Don’t fire; let’s not escalate things if we can help it.” The minotaur said, though his body language pointed to him being ready to take the violent option any second now, what with the way he squared his shoulders and how his tail was whipping around behind him. He looked like a bull ready to charge a torero at a corrida.

In front of them, the eels whipped their heads from side to side quickly before letting out a bellowing roar, spittle flying from their open maws.

Eyebrows furrowed, Angelo faced their roar head on without wavering before letting out a loud bellow of his own as he took one step forward. For a second, his finger over the trigger of his gun, but he deemed it unnecessary.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Nikola asked him in alarm.

“Letting them know we’re not available for dinner.” He answered, not taking his eyes away from the eels.

The eel in the center of the trio, an individual a bit bigger than the other two undulated its body twice before growling at its companions. It threw Angelo one nasty glare before diving underground, soon followed by the other two.

“You actually scared them away? What the actual fuck?” Nguyen said, walking up behind Angelo with his rifle held loosely in its sling.

“No idea what I did, just following a hunch. Now, how about we get out of there, preferably quickly? I got no idea if they’re actually leaving and I’d rather not find out.”

His fellow crewmembers didn’t contradict the minotaur and hastily walked back to the trucks. The sailors were all too eager to leave the quarry behind, not entirely sure whether their weapons could reliably neutralize the land eels.

“Convoy Two to One, what do you think we will call these when we tell the rest of the crew? Over.” Nguyen’s voice came over the radio.

“Hold on, you still need to find a name for the bugs from yesterday. What makes you think we already have a name for those? That and we literally found them seconds ago, why the hurry? Over.” Angelo answered.

“The bugs? Yeah, I was thinking ‘Electric Mites’ for those. I don’t think these… eels, I think? I don’t think they will pose much of a problem anymore. Looked very territorial, sure, but they didn’t seem eager to track us down. Over.”

“Since when did you get into animal behavior, cook? Though, I approve the ‘Electric Mites’ thing. The eels… Yeah, eels for sure from what they look like, but we need more. Over.” Angelo said.

“Land eels, maybe?” Nikola tried, his eyes fixed on the road.

But the cats in the other truck refused the proposal, saying it was too simple. Eventually, they settled on calling the monsters ‘quarry eels’, because they found them in a quarry. Critics be damned, they were pretty sure some zoologists had done a worse job of naming creatures.

Not a minute later, their convoy reached a crossroads that finally revealed the power plant’s cooling towers. Their goal ought to be situated on the grounds of the plant.

The power plant itself was much larger than the one in Tihange they had left earlier, despite the fact that it only had two reactors to Tihange’s three. It occupied most of the valley it had been built in, which made it rather well defended: the way the Meuse ran its course there formed a horseshoe shaped valley, protected on all sides by steep hills covered in dense forest. If someone were to come from the hills, they would immediately be stopped by the river before reaching the power plant, which left coming from the nearby town as the only approach to reach the reactor facilities.

Furthermore, most of the forestry that separated the crossroads from the power plant’s grounds had been removed to make room for pastures, meaning there was a whole two kilometer stretch of exposed ground before reaching it, giving the plant’s personnel plenty of time to spot incoming vehicles. Angelo even spotted what looked like barracks next to the entrance checkpoint, above which he could see what must have been a guard tower.

Seems like Frenchmen were particularly cautious when it came to ensuring the safety of their nuclear plants.

In front of the plant proper were some rows of small houses, probably built there to house the workers of the plant. The small ‘village’ was just as deserted as all the settlements they had passed through on the way, and at that point they didn’t even bother looking for activity. If a worker had been left behind after the cataclysm, then they would most likely be inside the plant proper to manage it, not carelessly roaming the village.

Despite its heavily militarized status, the power plant’s operators had built a visitor center and a small museum next to the entrance. Both buildings were barely worth a glance to the sailors who immediately made their way to the guard post next to the checkpoint.

Since he was the only French-speaker of the group, Roberto spearheaded their search for some sort of plan of the compound that would orient them in the right direction.

The inside of the checkpoint highlighted even more the militarization of the power plant, if such a thing was possible. Crates of military hardware were piled next to the entrance, awaiting an authorization for entry that would never come. On the wall, there was a personnel list of the garrison present on the plant that indicated which of the guards had been off site at the time of the Event.

Right next to the entrance, subtly hidden past a corner behind the secretary’s desk, was a small armory in which they found a large amount of French firearms, most of which were FAMAS service rifles. They didn’t take any of the bullpup weapons, but a crate of assorted grenades and some night-vision goggles found their way to the back of their trucks, as well as all the optics and accessories they could find for their weapons. They may not be able to affix them to their guns at the moment, but with the tools on Amandine, that ought to be easy enough.

“Any luck finding some plans?” Nikola asked Roberto as the Italian cat was rifling through papers in the building.

“Nope.” He answered curtly. “Not a single plan to be found here, though I did find a large amount of delivery receipts for gear a nuclear plant doesn’t really need.”

“Like what?”

“Manufacturing and lab equipment, lots of food, unidentified prototypes among other things. All shipped to the plant’s delivery warehouse, but that’s just a building on the plant’s grounds. They must have had it transferred from the warehouse to the bunker on their own after the delivery guys left.”

“Maybe we’re not going about this the right way. What do we know about the bunker?” Angelo said, carrying a crate of equipment on his shoulder.

“Apparently it’s built under the hills, cold war bunker, used to be a nuclear reactor before they built the ones outside in the open. What’s in that crate by the way?” Roberto asked.

“NVG goggles. Just in case we need them while underground, and I packed some extra batteries.”

“Can’t we just use flashlights?”

“Packed them too. The goggles just give us more options. Don’t you have night vision anyway, kitten?” The minotaur said.

“Correct, and don’t call me that.”

“Noted. Now about that bunker…”

“I may have an idea. The two working reactors, they call them Chooz 2 and 3, but I also see some mentions of Chooz 1, which is said to be disused.” The cat said.

“Must be our objective then.” Nikola said. “Got a plan?”

“Just directions. It’s on the other side of the power plant; think we can get the mogs there?”

The gargoyle pressed a button on the secretary’s desk. With a whirr, the large gate that blocked the entrance slid open.

“Now we can.” The gargoyle said, quickly turning around. He caught himself on the side of a desk as he overbalanced with his tail and then just walked away with his head lowered, his colleagues snickering behind him.





Finding the bunker once they had directions was much easier. Once their convoy crossed the power plant’s grounds; they reached a concrete bridge that crossed the river. It had a fence and gate of its own separating it from the rest of the facilities, topped with razor wire and several video surveillance cameras. A pile of sandbags next to a small shed on their side of the bridge lead them to believe it had been under constant watch before the Event. Opening the gate posed them little trouble with the help of some bolt cutters.

Beyond the bridge, the opposite bank of the river had been covered in concrete to make room for a small dock and a large building that looked like a pumping station. Several pipes and cables left the building in the direction of the rest of the power plant, crossing the river parallel to the bridge.

Next to the building was an open-air depot that was covered in shipping containers from various shipping companies from all over the world. Angelo even spotted some that came from their own company, but that didn’t bother him too much considering they did also have a trucking branch in the company. Containers get around so much, at one point you stop paying attention to which company they belong to, at least that’s the way he thought of it. The deck guys might not necessarily agree.

Everywhere around the area, he could see barbed wire fences and cameras. The place was kept under a tighter watch than the most secure of military bases.

Towering above each corner of the dock were metal reinforced guard towers, each topped with what looked like remotely controlled guns. Very large guns that wouldn’t look out of place on a light tank. The sailors eyed them warily as they parked their trucks next to the pumping station.

Better hope the HPI doesn’t turn on them or they wouldn’t even be turned into Swiss cheese with those, more like fine red paste.

Behind the pumping station, there was a large concrete hole dug into the side of the hill, heading downward at an angle. It was easily wide enough to fit two lorries side by side, and the concrete that made up its walls was beyond two meters thick. The pipes and cables that coursed through the pumping station dug in the side of the hill, following the tunnel entrance and running alongside that tunnel.

Contrarily to many Cold War relics, that installation looked expertly maintained and kept to modern standards. 

“Well… here we are folks.” Angelo said hesitantly to the rest of the group standing behind him.

They had left the trucks parked next to the pumping station behind them, and were now all staring at the gaping maw of the tunnel entrance. Dull red lights were illuminating the tunnel, which curved to the left a hundred meters in, masking what lied beneath.

“Don’t you guys have some weird feeling of impending doom?” Nguyen asked. “I know that tunnel looks ominous and all but… there’s something off, am I right?”

“Yeah” Nikola nodded. “It’s like all my instincts are screaming at me to get the fuck outta here ASAP.” The gargoyle said, strengthening his grip on his rifle.

Angelo didn’t answer but he had a deep feeling in his gut, as if something terrible was about to happen. Which was odd: a simple look around told him the bunker didn’t have any apparent flaw, yet his heart didn’t seem to believe his mind and kept pressuring him to leave. He just ignored the feeling.

Without taking his eyes off the entrance, the minotaur dialed Agent Eko on his sat phone. The HPI agent would tell them how to go about that ‘mission’ of theirs.

“Agent Eko on the line, state your business.” The Indonesian’s voice came on the line.

“Second Engineer Molnàr, calling to tell you we’ve reached the entrance to the European facility. We’re awaiting instructions.”

“Good. First you will need to gain access to the inside of the facility. Information has been compartmentalized between continental branches of our organization, but we all have an override code in case of emergency. I have been authorized to send you this code by my superiors.” The agent halted and the tone of his voice hardened. “Be aware that we will know it if you abuse this code, which changes daily anyway. It will allow you to bypass all electronically locked doors inside of the facility, including the main door.”

“I see we very much trust each other…” Angelo said wryly. 

“Be certain that resorting to asking you and your shipmates for help is not what my superiors would have done if they could help it.” Eko answered. “We do not usually reveal ourselves to the public, and you should remember it is within your interest not to reveal this affair once the dust settles, understood?”

“It’s not like there are a lot of people to reveal your existence to anyway…” The minotaur muttered with his muzzle held away from the phone. “Understood.” He resumed. “What shall we do once we’re inside?”

“You only need to reach the control room and reset the transmission array. Once the facility is back online, then our experts can take over and shut down the European nuclear grid remotely. Indications inside will be in English, it’s our working language. I wish you the best of luck with that task.”

Angelo had an idea it would be far more complicated than just that, but he let it slide without commenting. The agent was just an intermediary, not an actual expert. Pity they would have to figure it out on their own.

“I doubt we will be able to contact each other as long as we’re underground. I guess you will know soon enough whether we’re successful or not.”

“One last piece of warning Molnàr.” Eko said. “We have no idea what went on under there since the cataclysm, and while you’re under no risk of irradiation thanks to this facility using the reactors outside to supply its electricity… little is known about the inside of the European facility, even from us. Be careful, there is a lot hinging on your success.” To the HPI agent’s credit, the minotaur felt a bit of genuine concern in his voice.

“Thanks for the cryptic warning, better than nothing.” Angelo concluded, hanging up and shoving his phone back in a pocket of his coveralls.

A minute later, said phone pinged once, indicating he had received the override code. The Greek minotaur squared his shoulders and walked forward into the red lit tunnel.

“Need I say I’d rather be tasered by electric mites again than getting in there?” Nguyen commented, his tail swinging back and forth wildly behind him.

“We heard you the first time cook.” Roberto retorted coldly, though Angelo could see the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up straight. “Man up, we don’t have much of a choice at this point anyway.”

Angelo stopped a dozen meters into the tunnel and gave the Vietnamese cat a sympathetic look.

“Listen cook, we’re all volunteers here, nobody’s paying us to do that. If you don’t want to get in, it’s fine, I understand. I won’t force you.” He said.

Nguyen looked back towards the parked trucks, a look of hesitation on his muzzle. For a moment, he looked like he was about to walk away and wait outside, but then he shook his head firmly and turned around, heading down the tunnel at a brisk pace.

“Nah, screw that, I’m not leaving you guys to do that alone.”

Behind the cook, Roberto’s large ears twitched in annoyance. The secretary glowered at Nikola before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and throwing it at the smug gargoyle. Angelo just observed the interaction with a soft smile on his snout before following the cook deeper into the tunnel.





Some three hundred meters after the entrance, they reached a large metal door hidden from direct sight from the entrance by a curve in the tunnel. From the looks of the hinges alone, the thing must have weighted a hundred tons. It was also fiercely guarded by several remotely operated gun emplacements on each side.

Phone in hand, Angelo approached a control panel next to the door. With a press of his big finger, the panel opened up to reveal a keyboard onto which he quickly typed the override code. The keyboard then flipped to the side, showing a big red button.

Angelo glanced back at his companions who all gave him a nod to tell him they were ready before pressing the button.

Yellow alarm lights flared to life, with a siren screaming loudly (which made them put on their ear defenders, almost out of reflex) before the door slowly swung open. Beyond the door, everything was dark, the red light of the tunnel not managing to pierce into the deep darkness of the bunker.

“Great, the power is off, ain’t that fantastic.” Nikola said.

“Nothing we can’t work with, just a bit cheesy.” Angelo stated. “Complete darkness? That’s one more point on the spooky scale.”

“The spooky scale? Really?” Niko said incredulously. “And how high are we on that anyway?”

“So far? Three, one for the underground bunker, one for the ominous feeling and one for the darkness.”

“How far up does it go?” The gargoyle asked.

“Five points, any higher and it turns into comedy horror.”

“You watch too many movies.”

“And you, not enough.” Angelo chuckled before stopping to gape at Nikola. “The fuck are you doing with that flashlight?”

“Duct taping it to my antlers, what do you think it looks like?” Niko said as he stuck it in place using a roll of industrial tape. “Unlike our two pussycats I don’t have night-vision, so might as well get some use out of those.” He said, tapping a finger on his left antler.

“But what about the NVG goggles?”

“If they’re anything like what I had in the Bulgarian army, then they’re a piece of shit you won’t see anything out of.”

Angelo glanced dejectedly at the pair of goggles he had been about to put on. He really wanted to try them out, but maybe the more experienced gargoyle was right… With a huff, he shoved them back in the rear pouch of his flak jacket and unbuckled a large flashlight from his belt.

Once again, practicality had won the day over the excessive use of high-tech gear, much to the minotaur’s chagrin.





The group of sailors slowly progressed inside the first room of the facility. Their flashlights revealed they were in some sort of hangar, with many armored vehicles and deactivated drones around them. A gantry above the vehicle held most of the cables and pipes that had ran parallel to the entry tunnel. The inside of the facility stank of dust and copper, and ventilation fans whirred in the background.

Silently, they followed Angelo. The minotaur advanced at a crawling pace, checking every corner behind the vehicles they passed. Towards the back, they reached a section that had been arranged into a repair shop of sorts, which is where they discovered the first corpse.

The man, a German apparently from the flag he wore on his shoulder, was dressed in the same black coveralls they had seen on the nuclear experts the day before.  He was sprawled face down next to an IFV with an open hood, probably having been fixing it at the moment of the cataclysm.

“Heavens almighty…” Nguyen muttered, turning away from the cadaver.

Despite being just as disturbed as his colleague, Angelo approached the week old cadaver, Nikola behind him. The gargoyle didn’t appear as disturbed as the rest of them, though the stoic look on his features showed he didn’t like it any more than they did.  Angelo gulped once before hesitantly turning the corpse over.

He had to wince upon seeing the state of the man: blood, now dry, had pooled around his nostrils, ears and eyes. The dry sterile air in the bunker had slowed down the decomposition process, but after a week he certainly wasn’t pleasant to look at, and his death mustn’t have been very pleasant either.

The man had bit his tongue off, and had specks of yellow dry saliva mixed with blood and vomit around his mouth. A brown puddle next to his head showed he must have spilled his guts while unconscious, pretty much sealing his fate if he had any hope to begin with.

The strangest part wasn’t the blood and vomit, but the black lines that crossed the man’s body. Angelo turned his face this way and that, not sure what to make of them.

“Any idea Niko?” He asked tentatively.

“Blood and vomit would look like an overdose I think… But those black lines, that’s on his veins right?”

“Not the veins… The nerves I think? Look how they trace the palm of his hands but the veins on the back seem fine.” Angelo pointed out, easily overcoming the corpse’s rigidity with his strength and moving its hand around.

“I’m no forensic, but let’s just take a some pics and keep going. Didn’t come here to start fooling around with corpses.”

Angelo nodded and dropped the dead man’s hand. They took some pictures of the corpse before moving on with a macabre chill on their back. Angelo’s joke about the ‘spooky scale’ was now entirely forgotten. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Roberto wipe some vomit from his muzzle, the Italian looking a bit haggard.

They eventually reached the end of the hangar. On one side, the tunnels continued towards some supply depots and storage rooms, and on the other they found a lift that went down deeper into the bowels of the Earth. A gleaming light above its control panel told them it was powered by the emergency generators.

Angelo found a message flashing across the control screen talking about some thaumic shield and how the facility was compromised by a leakage of thaumic radiation.

“The mysterious human killing radiation?” Roberto asked, still a bit queasy.

“Most likely. Seems like their shield did a piss poor job of protecting them. Probably made the whole experience worse than it otherwise would have been.” Nikola said.

“Good or not, the lift controls tell me where they put the shield just happens to be on the same level as their generators and electric grid controls.” Angelo said, eyes riveted on the control screen.

“And what level would that be?”

“Bottom level, of course.”

“Obviously.” Nikola muttered, rolling his eyes. “Found the control room yet?”

“Two levels above the shield. Did you know these guys have an entire factory complex in there?”

“Really?” The gargoyle peered over the minotaur’s shoulder. “Damn, shame they lost the facility, these guys were loaded. That bunker would make the Swiss army envious.”

Once they boarded it, the lift went down the shaft at a slow pace. The darkness of the facility was temporarily alleviated by the passing red lights marking each level of the facility, but even the inside of the lift didn’t have an emergency light to illuminate it. They descended for what felt like hours, the temperature rising as the depth increased, just like the ominous feeling they all had. It was getting harder for Angelo to focus and not crawl into a corner in fear.

His colleagues didn’t fare much better: Roberto was absent-mindedly clenching and unclenching his claws, Nguyen’s ears twitched in all directions and Nikola, who kept a better composure than the rest, still was frenetically tapping his pistol holster with his fingers.

Just as the lift stopped and opened its door, a tremor rocked the facility, shaking the cab and sending the sailors tumbling. Bits of concrete fell on the floor around them and the red emergency lights flickered a few times before settling.

“What was that?!” Nguyen yelled out in alarm.

“Nothing good.” Nikola answered, getting up. “We best keep going.”

Upon leaving the lift, the group was faced with a thick steel door covered in warning labels. Angelo had to once again use the override code to open it.

Inside, they found some large installations as well as a complex looking apparatus that was lit with an eerie green glow. A large amount of wiring left the generators to feed into the machine, and it was surrounded by half a dozen remotely controlled gun emplacements. Several steel walkways traced paths around the machines and the apparatus, with one of them going to an observation room protected by thick ballistic glass windows.

As they walked towards the observation room, they noted the green-lit apparatus sometimes let out sparks and arcs of lightning. It also seemed to be the source of their feeling of dread.

“You think that’s their shield?” Nguyen asked.

“Not unlikely.” Angelo said. “I’d rather not do anything to it. It’s not something we’re trained to manipulate.”

The Vietnamese cat contemplated the minotaur’s words for a few moments, staring intently at the apparatus before turning away quickly.

“Can we go? That thing gives me the creeps.”

“If I can turn it off, I will. Let’s get going.” Angelo said before walking on towards the observation room.

The controls they found inside were, thankfully, fairly simple. A computer told them the shield, which was the weird apparatus inside the room, was trying to draw all power from the facility in an attempt to keep out this so-called ‘thaumic’ radiation. Whatever that was supposed to refer to, it wasn’t successful: the shield was running at twice its normal output and failing to keep out the radiation in question. Its backup unit was running too, to an even lesser effect.

Angelo made sure to avoid looking in the direction of the corpses at the back of the observation room. Some more victims of the cataclysm, a team of four French engineers had been having their coffee break when the radiation killed them. The group gave the vomit covered corpses a wide berth, though the stench of death permeated the observation room.

In its attempt at keeping out the radiation, the shield’s processor was cutting off energy from other sections of the facility, including the lighting, to feed more power to the shield core. Which explained why all the facility had gone under emergency power like that.

Angelo had no idea whether that was damaging to the core or not, but he decided to override the processor’s choice of re-routing power to the shield. The moment he pressed the button on the keyboard, the green light around the shield core dimmed and it ceased releasing sparks in the air. After a few seconds, the feeling of dread in their gut lessened somewhat, though it didn’t disappear entirely. Several warnings popped up on the screen in front of him, telling the engineer the shield was ‘insufficiently powered’, but he ignored it. They had taken a Geiger counter along and it showed they were fine, ‘thaumic’ radiation or not.

It took a minute for the lights to come back on, but the screen in front of him showed other sections were steadily reactivating themselves. No trouble on that part, the facility had a lot of electricity sources in the region to suck its power from, the nuclear power plant on the surface included.

Just as Angelo turned to his companions to tell them they were ready to move on to the control room, another tremor rocked the bunker hard enough to make them fall on the ground. A long groan of strained steel reverberated through the walls.

Nikola picked himself up, flicking a bit of concrete off his shoulder.

“Okay, now there really must be a problem. I don’t think Western Europe is known for its earthquakes, so what’s going on?” He asked.

“Computer reports a breach in the upper levels. Still above the control room. Lifts are shut though.” Angelo read out.

“Well, whatever’s causing this, we gotta put a stop to it.” Roberto said, his rifle held in his paws. “Bet you it’s those quarry eels.”

“No deal, I don’t take lost bets.” Nikola answered. “Angelo, got the level where the breach occurred?”

“Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself now?” Angelo said. “Pretty sure 5.56 won’t be enough to take them down, if that’s really quarry eels we’re facing.”

“Probably not. At least not with a single bullet. But I may have an idea.” He pointed to one of the gun emplacement around the shield core. “Those are most likely able to.”

“And yet we don’t have the controls for them, so that’s a moot point.”

“But these controls have to be somewhere, and if there’s anywhere I’d look first, that’s the control room.” Nikola countered. “You’re with me, Rob?”

The Italian just shrugged.

“Okay, fine.” Angelo relented. “Nguyen, you’re with me. We’re going for the control room and we’ll try to find those gun controls.”

After getting a nod of assent from the cat, he turned to the other two in the group.

“Niko, Rob, try to find those things.” He then held up his machinegun towards Roberto. “Take my gun, it’s chambered in 7.62, packs a hell of a lot more punch than yours. If you can down them with it, fine, but if you can’t, try to lead them to one of the gun emplacements. Nguyen and I will do the rest.”

Roberto accepted the proffered gun, giving Angelo his rifle in exchange. The smaller cat visibly strained under the weight of the heavy MAG machinegun.

“I would give you some extra ammo, but I don’t think you can take the weight.” Angelo said.

“How much rounds are there on the belt you loaded in anyway?” Roberto asked, looking at the weapon in wonder.

“A hundred. If you want to fire, flip the safety on the pistol grip, and pull the lever back, then push it all the way forward. I zeroed it to one hundred meters and frankly, you won’t go much further in there so don’t touch the rear sight.”

“Will do. You think a hundred rounds will be enough?”

“If whatever you’re shooting at takes more than a hundred shots of 7.62 to bring down, better find something bigger to shoot with ‘cause you’re doing it wrong. You ready to go for the kill pussycat?” Angelo said.

“Kitten was already a bad nickname, what makes you think that any better?” Roberto bristled. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.” He added, already walking towards the door.

“Pace yourself buddy.” Angelo chuckled as he followed him. “You’re gonna have to haul that thing up ten floors.”

If he could have snapped a picture of the aggravated cat’s face right then, Angelo would have had it framed on a wall in the engine room.





The group split in two on the level of the control room, with Angelo announcing they would keep in touch with them via the PA system and guide them to the nearest gun emplacement with it. When they figured out how to make it work, that is.

A bit winded from having to climb up so many floors using the stairs, Nikola and Roberto eventually reached the breached level. The staircase opened up to a clean, white tiled floor. The white neon lights of the rest of the facility (now that they were turned on) changed to a softer bluish tone. When Nikola breathed in the air, he felt that the dusty smell of the bunker was replaced with a more pleasant humid air, imprinted with the smell of damp earth (though the smell of death was still present, if slightly overshadowed by the floor’s smell).

The corpses littering the ground of the facility there were dressed in coveralls marked with green stripes on their shoulders, and they all had some letters on their back that read ‘hydroponics’.

They had found the facility’s food source.

With a gesture of his hand, Nikola motioned for Roberto to follow him quietly. The gargoyle cocked his gun, mindful of catching the lever before it made the typical ‘clack’ of a gun being armed, before slowly progressing ahead, gun at the ready.

After passing some offices and store rooms, still littered with decaying corpses, the two sailors reached a succession of long narrow rooms in which planters had been set up. Rows upon rows of planters, each filled with a different plant occupied these brightly lit rooms. A thin mist reduced visibility in the area, caused by the irrigation system.

Despite the constant noise of the ventilation system, they managed to hear some noise coming from the other side of the plantations. Quietly, they followed it, taking great care not to rustle the plants inside the green rooms.

Nikola took cover next to the door leading to the hallway from which the noise was coming and carefully leaned through without making a noise. Roberto took cover on the other side of the door, next to a stack of seed filled jars.

Two dozen meters down the hallway, the gargoyle spied the red silhouette of one of the quarry heels. From the shape of its head fin and its general size, it must have been the ‘alpha’ eel of the trio they had met. The creature was entirely out of its tunnel, which came out on the side of the hallway, merrily chomping on the corpse of one of the dead HPI guys. Behind it, its two partners were snoozing on top of each other, completely unaware of their surroundings.

Nikola stopped Roberto before the cat could open fire on the eels, mouthing for him to wait. They needed to wait for Angelo’s signal; otherwise they wouldn’t be able to use the gun emplacements as backup if their guns turned out to be insufficient.

They had seen two of those right next to where they exited the staircase, hopefully they would be able to outspeed the eels until they reached them.

Nikola was suddenly deeply conscious of how the transformation had affected his mobility. The two hooves he had wound up saddled with might have been sturdy, but he had yet to be fully accustomed to running with them. Adrenaline had better do the trick or he would be…

The alpha quarry heel snapped its jaws, cracking the bones of the corpse it was eating without difficulty and sending guts spraying all over the floor.

Yeah, Usain Bolt was a role model alright.

Next to Nikola, Roberto was practically hugging his machine gun like a comfort pillow, deservedly terrified of the spectacle in front of him. The cat had his ears stuck against his head beneath the large ear defenders he was wearing, and his breath was coming short. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fangs ripping at the decaying flesh some ways in front of them.

They managed to wait for about ten minutes like that, which gave the alpha enough time to finish its dinner and coil around its partners before the inevitable happened.

Roberto’s tail, which had been swaying back and forth increasingly faster, eventually toppled the stack of seed jars next to him. The glass jars shattered with a sharp sound that echoed through the hallway.

The next moments happened in slow motion for Roberto. First all three eels opened their eyes, the alpha swiveling its head towards them; and next he knew Nikola was already halfway through the door in a kneeling position, filling the hallway with supersonic lead. The gargoyle’s fire, relatively disciplined and willingly kept to single fire, was mostly accurate, for all the good that did.

The first bullet to hit its mark hit the alpha on its forehead, ripping at the skin but failing to penetrate the angled bone of its skull. The next few hit it in the jaw, still managing to damage its skin but failing at causing significant damage thanks to the thick bone protecting its head. The very last bullet of the salvo chipped a fang, sending shrapnel against the creature’s tongue and forcing a bloodcurdling scream out of it.

For a rusty shooter, Nikola was a pretty good shot, only missing the first few rounds he fired. It took Roberto a good three seconds to react and throw himself down in a prone position (he didn’t dare think he could handle the machine gun in any other position) next to the gargoyle, which gave the eels enough time to rise up and roar at them in challenge.

“Cazzo!” The Italian swore as he fumbled with the charging handle of his gun. He accidentally ejected one round without firing before deducing it was ready and pressing the trigger.

Nothing.

With an annoyed growl, he pressed a thumb against the safety before trying his luck again, Nikola already having dumped a whole mag downrange in the meantime (and yet failing to do much more than piss off the alpha by skinning half its head and chipping at its skull, the guy was dedicated to achieving a headshot).

Roberto only really realized his colleague had gone through his first mag when he accidentally dropped it on his head, eliciting a sharp yowl and a ‘ Watch it,Stronzo!’ from him. 

By the time he sent his first salvo down the hallway, the eels were already throwing themselves in their direction. Thankfully, with the 7.62 round being about twice as powerful, the effect was better perceived by the recipient of the gun’s attention. Even with the help of the ear defenders, firing such a gun in an enclosed environment made his sensitive ears ring.

The twenty shot salvo went wide and missed its mark on the alpha, but it hit the one behind it in the belly with half the rounds fired, ripping a large gash in the thick muscle mass that coiled around its body and sending blood spraying. The rest of the bullets dug large holes in the concrete walls behind.

The monster let out a high-pitched screech in pain, tumbling tail over head and making its partners turn towards it. Without missing a beat, Nikola yanked Roberto upright by his collar.

“Run!” The Bulgarian yelled, struggling to insert a fresh mag in his weapon after having shoved the spent one in a pocket.

The duo raced back through the plantation towards the entrance of the hydroponics level, a crashing noise behind them telling them they were being pursued.

Before they were able to reach the entrance, the wall beside them exploded in a cloud of dust and small rocks as the wounded eel smashed through it effortlessly. Nikola ducked just in time to avoid being smashed by its trashing tail, though he got a nasty gash on his cheek from the sharp fin at the end of the tail whipping him.

Still not having reloaded his rifle, the Bulgarian went to draw his holstered pistol, quickly flipping off the safety and firing a round at the eel’s head.

The disintegrating rounds of the less-lethal pistol crumpled on the creature’s nose, hardly doing anything more than irritate it further. It smacked Nikola with its tail, sending the gargoyle on an assisted flight in the opposite direction and cracking a few ribs of his in the process.

A couple meters behind, Roberto neatly dodged the flying gargoyle and, forgetting his earlier calms about the recoil of his weapon, opened fire from the hip. Most of the shots missed, but the few that hit added to the injuries of the quarry eel and pushed it to retreat with a large hole in its tail and a ripped head fin. The shrapnel caused by it digging down into the ground nicked the cat somewhat, but it was nowhere near as bad as Nikola who he had to help getting up.

Hoping to give them some time, Roberto threw a flashbang as far as he could down the hallway before pulling Nikola inside an out of the way office. The resounding ‘bang’ and roars that followed told him the eels had bitten the bait. They needed more time; time to let Angelo gain control of the guns, and time for him to patch up Nikola.

The Bulgarian was still dazed from the hit he had just received, softly moaning in pain as he cradled his injured ribs. A small trickle of blood fell out of the gash on his face. It didn’t look too bad, with the wound being more of a shallow, long gash. It went from the lower part of his jaw to the top of the gargoyle’s stubby muzzle.

Still, it would require some treatment to take care of: some bits of concrete had lodged themselves inside the wound.

Careful not to make too much noise lest he attract the quarry eels, Roberto unlatched the first-aid kit from his flak jacket. He wasn’t particularly good at it, and Niko would most likely require stitches when they got back to the ship, but he could do his best to ensure the wound didn’t get infected.

“Brace yourself buddy, that’s gonna sting a bit.” Rob whispered. Niko didn’t show any sign of having heard him beyond his fist unclenching and freeing the less-lethal pistol he was still holding.

The gargoyle started to regain his wits the moment Roberto applied disinfectant to his wound, his eyes now focusing on the Italian that was tending his wounds. Fortunately, he didn’t stir too much and was smart enough not to make noise, only clenching his jaw when disinfectant was sprayed over the gash.

“We’re hiding until Angelo can get the guns online. I’m already halfway through my ammo; we can’t fight them like this.” Rob answered upon receiving an inquisitive look from the gargoyle.

He wrapped a bandage around his head to keep the blood from pouring out. Nikola wouldn’t bleed out, but that would leave a nasty scar once they got him stitched up. He didn’t know what to do for the damaged ribs, so Niko would have to deal with it and hope for the best until he could get some advice on the matter.

Once his comrade was treated as well as he could, Roberto set up his machinegun on a desk in the office, pointing it towards the door. He sat down behind the gun, getting ready to wait. Next to him, Nikola rested his back against the wall opposite the door, his now reloaded rifle in his lap, ready to fire once more. He popped a painkiller in his mouth without looking away from the door.

Next time, he would aim for the throat.

Somewhere down the hallway, the quarry eels were rampaging through offices, trying to track them down, breaking down walls as they searched for the sailors that had hurt them and dared to enter their territory.

Two floors below, a cat and a minotaur were frenetically looking around the control room, the sight of the eels fighting their colleagues on the security cameras spurring them to look further for the gun controls.

The race was on to see who would find their goal first, where the winner would get to take the life of the loser.
> Chapter 15: Under the Hill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minutes before the fighting with the quarry eels started two floors above, Angelo and Nguyen entered the floor of the control room.

That part of the facility was, if it was even possible, even more high tech than the rest, and richly decorated too. The floor was covered in a red carpet and the walls were lined with laminated wall panels behind which soft lights had been installed, making the lighting here much less aggressive than the industrial lights found on the generator and shield level. The utilitarian parts were still visible however: a mesh of wire ran along the roof of the tunnels on this level and control panels and ventilation fans remained visible at regular intervals. The gun emplacements guarding the entrance on that level were even hidden behind subtle Plexiglas windows, ready to pop up at any moment.

A guard post was set up directly by the entrance, but the two guards that had been present at the moment the radiation hit were… unable to keep up their duties. Still, Angelo had to admit, the HPI knew how to equip their guys.

Over a Kevlar reinforced version of the usual HPI coveralls, the Belgian and the French guard (as shown by the flags on their shoulder) were wearing extensive ceramic body armor. The sheer weight of all that plating would have been enough to make the average human collapse, but it seemed the HPI (this branch at least) had figured out how to make powered exoskeletons, as shown by the frame that wrapped around their bodies just below the armor plates. Both of them were armed with what looked like a heavily improved version of the P90 sub machinegun (of which they had a couple copies themselves inside of Amandine’s armory, albeit unimproved). Angelo couldn’t see their faces as they were hidden behind balaclavas and their eyes were masked by the thick ballistic plate of their helmets’ visors, but their expression wouldn’t have been pleasant to look at considering the yellow trickle of spit and vomit that pierced the balaclavas.

One of them had had enough time to react to the cataclysm before dying and had jabbed an auto-injector pen in his leg, for all the good the medicine did. He was leaning halfway against the guard post, his cadaver still held up in a bizarre mockery of a mannequin by the immobile servos of his exoskeleton.

The duo left the dead guards behind and progressed down the hallway following indications on the walls that pointed to the control room.

Along the way, they passed many offices and conference rooms. Most of them were empty, but some held what must have been HPI executives. Some were dressed in coveralls, albeit with silver or gold trim on the collar, while others wore suits befitting their rank as high standing members of the European branch. One particularly large and well furnished office held the corpse of one redheaded woman, the plate on the door of the office labeling her as the branch director. She had been in the process of reviewing paperwork when the Event hit, and now she laid face down on her desk, her fiery hair forming a halo around her head.

Behind him, Angelo could see that Nguyen wasn’t too comfortable at the sight of all the corpses around them. He gave the cat a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before urging him onward to the control room. Time was of the essence, visiting the place could wait.

A couple turns later, they passed a large server room which seemed to be the clustering point of all the wiring that passed overhead. Cold air from the cooling equipment drifted from inside the room, making both sailors shudder a bit. A lone technician laid sprawled amidst the servers, surrounded by dismantled electronics and loose wire. 

Next to the server room was a metal sliding door with the letters ‘control room’ written in white on it. No less than four gun emplacements surrounded the door, leaving them little doubt about the importance of the room. Angelo silently typed the override code on a computer beside the door, making it slide upward with the hiss of a pneumatic system, revealing a small airlock. Nguyen and he went inside, though it was a bit of a tight fit considering the minotaur’s large frame. He gave the cat a sheepish smile as he leaned forward to avoid scratching the roof with his horns.

After cycling the air a couple times, the airlock’s inner door slid up to show them a wide staircase that opened up to the sides after a couple meters. Directly on their right was a door that led to what looked like a situation room, which they followed.  The room had a long table in its center, and numerous screens occupied its walls on one side, while the other side was occupied by a glass window that showed them the control room. At the head of the table was a tall leather chair, the director’s chair for when their branch leaders gathered there. Behind that chair was another door that led to a balcony overlooking the control room.

It was designed like some sort of auditorium: the staircase that came after the airlock kept going down a gently sloped floor until it reached a platform. Workstations were installed along the slope, allowing every user of the control room to get a look at the screens on the very tall wall at the end of the slope. The sheer size of the room would have made the war rooms of the Pentagon and the Kremlin look tiny, and the level of technology present outdid anything the two seafarers could think of. The computers that equipped each workstation looked at least two generations ahead of the best the market could field at the time of the Event.

Looking up, Angelo spotted several walkways fixed to the roof of the room, allowing technicians access to the complex maze of wires that ran around the nerve center of the European HPI.

One thing of note he observed too, were the projectors installed at regular intervals around the room, accompanied by a pedestal right in front of the screens at the base of the slope. The way it was presented, it looked like it was important to the working of the control room somehow…

They made their way back out of the situation room and went down the stairs into the control proper, having found nothing of immediate use to them inside it. Angelo shuddered, the control room’s atmosphere was cold due to all the cooling required for the computers, and the lighting was kept at a low level. Heading to the central workstations at the top of the slope, Angelo pushed the corpse of the lone HPI agent that had been keeping watch when the radiation hit out of the way, making a quick sign of the cross in passing. 

While his superior was busy with the central console, Nguyen approached the mysterious pedestal at the bottom of the slope. The thing was hooked to a lot of wiring, but didn’t seem to have much in the way of controls: a single on/off button stood out against the aluminum casing of the pedestal.

Naturally, Nguyen pressed it.

The pedestal hummed to life, some lines in its casing lighting up with an icy blue glow. All of the projectors around the room flickered to life, focusing on the pedestal in front of the bewildered cat. 

“What’s going on?” Angelo asked, tearing his muzzle away from the screens in front of him.

“I don’t know I just pressed the ‘on’ button!” Nguyen cried out.

Before the minotaur had the time to give his subordinate a stinging remark about pushing buttons he didn’t know shit about, the projectors let out a soft ‘beep’. Light coalesced around one point above the pedestal, shaping up to form one very clear holographic display.

“’Initializing control room assistance system: Athena (build 0.12.3)’. Boss, looks like that could help us.” Nguyen read out.

“We don’t know how it even works; let’s not get our hopes up.”

A loading bar appeared beneath the floating text. When it reached 100%, it disappeared for a second, before being replaced by the form of a statuesque woman floating in the air. The woman was clad in a toga, held at the waist by a string of rope. On her head, she wore a helmet straight out of Ancient Greece which hid her facial features. She held a long hafted spear in one hand, and a shield in the other.

The hologram was truly stunning, though it had its limitations. For one, it wasn’t particularly stable, flickering every few seconds; and for second, it was monochrome. Weirdly enough, both of those limitations added up to give the figure an even more ethereal look, like a golden apparition that had come down to grace the Earth with its presence.

The figure slowly turned its head in the direction of Angelo, stoically staring at the engineer across the length of the control room.

“Warning: no user logged in at command station. Please start operating procedures from the command station.” It uttered in a flat voice.

“She talks just like the GPS lady!” Nguyen blurted out.

“’It’ cook, it’s a machine, not a… person” He caught himself before saying human. “They probably programmed it with a generic voice. I think it’s only allowed to interact if a user is logged in, wait a sec.” Angelo said, tapping the keyboard on the computer in front of him.

The screen came to life, showing a login menu. The minotaur just typed the override code once again, bypassing the need for any user ID. The hologram jerked its head when he typed the code.

“Starting assistance process. Override code detected, please state your facility of origin.”

“North American facility.” She didn’t need to know they weren’t from the HPI.  “Present to reestablish communications between facilities.” Angelo answered, leaning down towards a microphone inserted in the desk in front of him.

“Acknowledged.” The hologram flickered once. “You have thirty-seven alarms pending acknowledgment…”

“Skip.” Angelo said firmly. He had no time to review alarms he was probably already aware of.

“Please state your request.”

“Show me the security cameras.” He tried. “Two floors above us.”

“Sending live feed for hydroponics to main screen.” The hologram complied.

The screens, small and large that occupied the large wall at one end of the control room came to life showing them every camera (and boy was there a lot of them) on the requested floor. On one screen, Nguyen pointed out their two companions slowly progressing through the level, guns at the ready. Good, they had yet to find the monsters… which Angelo spotted on another screen, quickly identifying them as the three quarry eels they had met earlier.

Too bad he couldn’t make heads or tail of the order in which the rooms came. Time to try something else.

“Athena.” At least it’s what he assumed the program was called. “Show me the floor plan of the hydroponics. Highlight camera positions.”

The computer program complied with the request, pulling out a giant plan on the main screen. That’s one step forward...

“Nguyen?” Angelo asked.

“Yes?” The cat said, halfway turning towards the minotaur.

“Can you try and memorize the layout of that floor and pair it with the cameras? I need you to guide Niko and Rob once I find the PA system.”

The cat gave a sharp nod and turned back to face the large screen. Behind his console, Angelo leaned down to speak into the microphone.

“Athena, highlight the gun emplacements too.” He said, careful to pronounce his sentences clearly so the hologram would be able to pick up what he meant.

Only the gun emplacements at the entrance of the hydroponics popped up on the map. In front of him, he saw Nguyen scratch his chin pensively as he pieced together what the cameras were showing him and placing it mentally on the map.

“How can we control the guns?” He tried.

“Please repeat your question.” The computer droned.

“Athena, tell me how the gun systems work.” He repeated slowly.

   The hologram pointed its lance at a row of computers towards the middle of the control room, each equipped with a joystick.

“The Remote Control Heavy Defense System or RCHDS is a core component of the facility’s defensive network. Each gun emplacement is equipped with a single F2 20mm gun. All of the guns inside the underground sections of the facility have been modified with a short barrel and autoloading system…”

“Skip. How can I control them?”

“Warning, each user must first receive the safe use briefing before being allowed to manipulate the gun controls. Untrained use of the weapon system may result in injuries ranging from loss of life to loss of…”

“Skip.” Angelo said impatiently. “My colleagues are in danger! How long is your fucking briefing?”

“This unit is authorized to provide the abridged fifteen minutes version of the briefing, do you wish to proceed?”

“Negative. I will just use the override code and figure it out myself you useless piece of code.” He growled out, already walking towards the weapon stations.

“Warning, each user must first…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Angelo yelled.

He plopped himself down in a seat in front of one of the weapon stations, trying to make sense of it. The controls seemed rather complicated, though the system was laid out with two screens per station: one normal, another obviously being military hardware in front of the joystick. In a drawer below the stations, Angelo found an instruction manual which he tauntingly held up for the hologram to see.

Now to figure out how to work the guns…

On Nguyen’s side, the cat had finished memorizing the floor layout and was tracking the progress of Nikola’s team on the map in front of him. Seeing his superior busy with the guns, he made his way towards the central station and decided to ask Athena about the PA system.

The blasted computer had him repeat himself four times in a row because of his accent, but he managed to get the hologram speaking (after copiously insulting it in Vietnamese on the last try).

“To use the general announcement system, activate the option in the emergency tab on the central station and speak into the microphone on your right.” A small mic popped up out of the desk on Nguyen’s right.

“Uh… simple enough, and she ain’t ranting about safety this time.”

“Warning: use of the PA sys…”

“Skip” He said.

Before he had time to even open the menu to activate the mic, a blur of movement on the cameras drew his attention.

Niko and Rob had finally reached the eels. Fortunately, they hadn’t engaged them yet, but they were dangerously close.

“Angelo, if you’re gonna figure out those guns, now is the right time.”

“Need a couple more minutes, why what’s…” The minotaur trailed off when he looked up from his manual and towards the screens. “Shit. Can you tell them to wait?”

“Not without alerting the eels.”

Angelo swore and started flipping through the manual at an accelerated pace. His pace only increased when their two companions opened fire on the eels and were chased down the hallways. They hurried into an office with the three monsters pursuing them, their immense size crushing or pushing aside anything in their path.




Roberto’s claws tapped impatiently on the barrel of the machinegun in front of him. The suspense was starting to get on his nerves.

Down the hallway, the three eels were methodically checking one office after another. There was just no way a mere beast could be that smart, animals don’t do searches, much less in a methodical pattern like that.

The cat winced when he heard yet another door be slammed open by the large creatures, making him retract his claws in surprise. That sounded like it was three, maybe four offices next to them? He didn’t know.

His gaze drifted to the bandaged gargoyle in the room. Nikola was in pain, that much was very clear. The light dose of painkiller he had given him was barely enough to dull the pain, but he didn’t have anything better to give him. The gargoyle was in the process of refilling his spent magazine with loose ammunition from a pouch on his flak jacket, making a barely audible ‘clink’ every time he inserted a new round in the mag. For a second, Roberto’s eyes fixated on the blood stains that marked Nikola’s coveralls and the bandage he had wrapped around his head.

Another slamming noise down the hallway. Two doors left. The Italian checked if his gun was ready to open fire. Half a belt of ammo left and no monster killed to show for it.

Like a godsend, the PA system finally sprang to life with Nguyen’s accented voice. Roberto thanked whatever Gods there were in this wretched world for that lifesaver.

“We’re ready guys! I got you on the cameras, just follow my instructions and you will be fine.”

Roberto gave a thumbs up in the direction of the nearest security camera while Nikola slowly stood up, biting back a pained groan.

“Fire on your left when you exit, then run directly ahead through a supply closet.”

The cat hoisted up his machinegun and quickly checked on his companion. The injured gargoyle gave him a grim nod before approaching the door. In a whisper, Nikola counted down.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One”

Nikola pushed the door open in one swift motion and ran out the door, Roberto in tow. A few meters on their left, they saw the three eels and immediately opened fire on them, both sailors shooting a short burst from the hip.

Only a few shots hit, but that was enough to make the eels recoil in pain and give them enough time to build up some distance between them and the monsters. Knowing his colleague was injured, Roberto willingly stayed behind to let him set the pace, though he didn’t have to slow down too much.

Adrenaline does wonders sometimes.

The quarry eels were surprisingly fast for monsters of their size, but Nguyen had made up for it by guiding them through as many enclosed spaces as possible such as supply closets and maintenance corridors, keeping the sailors just ahead of their pursuers.

The way the Vietnamese guided them quickly made them both lose their bearings as he sent them through several turns and twisting hallways. Roberto stopped trying to remember where they were after the first few turns to focus on his running. He could feel the sweat building up under his fur, and the weight of the machinegun cradled in his paws was starting to wear him out. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be when he was human, and the gun was already heavy for trained soldiers, let alone a secretary. If this kept up like this, he might end up as dinner for the large burrowing eels.

Ahead of him, Nikola was having difficulties of his own. He didn’t have the problem of Roberto’s thick fur retaining too much heat, but his injuries and lack of balance more than made up for it. With one hand extended to keep his balance and the other cradling his injured ribs, he had let his rifle hang freely in its sling.

“Keep it up guys you’re on the last stretch!” Nguyen said encouragingly.

Behind them, the eels had slowly been gaining on them for the last few minutes of running. With a grunt, Roberto forced himself to pump his legs faster. He was starting to recognize where they were.

Just as they approached the entrance of the hydroponics level, the ground exploded right behind them when the alpha eel burst from the ground, sending debris all over the place and the two sailors flying forward. One flying piece of rebar would have skewered Roberto had he not felt the urge to lean ever so slightly to the side a second before. Instead, both Niko and Rob slid the rest of the way to the entrance hall.

Unable to make out anything through the cloud of dust the alpha had caused, Roberto wildly dumped the rest of his ammunition in the general direction of the eels. The machinegun sang its deadly tune, filling the hallway with supersonic lead and eliciting a few sharp screams from the monsters before a click signaled he had reached the end of the ammo belt.

A whirr above him attracted his attention as one of the gun emplacements came to life, its protection panels sliding away to make room for the deadly autocannon. With a loud ‘click-clack’, it loaded the first round in its chamber, and then waited, the green gleaming optics at the base of the gun waiting for a target.

That target didn’t get to wait long, because the cloud of dust dissipated within seconds, revealing the three quarry eels, two of which were already wounded by gunfire. They attempted to charge at the downed sailors, but didn’t get very far before the cannon opened fire on them.

If the MAG machinegun he had fired was considered deafening, the autocannon above him was something else entirely. The booming noise it made every time it fired sent Roberto reeling despite his ear defenders, the world around him fading away to leave only the sound of the cannon above. His paws flew up to his ears in an attempt to keep out the noise and at one point he found himself screaming in pain. The large spent casings of the cannon landed around him in a rain of hot brass, sometimes shattering floor tiles when they landed.

Unseen by the Italian, the 20mm rounds of the cannon ripped the eels apart. The HPI had loaded high-explosive belts inside the weapon emplacements before the Event, and the result showed by making literal sushi of the red skinned monsters. The alpha eel was hit the hardest, two successive rounds impacting its spine at its base and ripping it in half in a fountain of blood and gore. Its head carried on its momentum, landing just short of reaching Nikola, its yellow eyes now staring lifelessly at the gargoyle. Another of the eels got hit straight in the forehead, the explosive round digging just enough in its skull before the fuse ignited, splattering the hallway in grayish brain matter and skull fragments.

The last of the eels, the one Roberto had nailed in the gut earlier, was less fortunate. It didn’t get hit in the head, the rounds instead impacting it in the flank and tearing large holes in its muscle. It crumpled to the ground, the wounds rendering it unable to move but still very much alive. The wretched monster wailed in pain and struggled futilely to get away from the cannon that had now ceased firing. Soon enough, its wails weakened as its blood quickly poured out of it body before it finally died.

Roberto finally looked up; he was surrounded by spent casings and debris all around, his ears were ringing as if he had just facehugged a subwoofer at a festival for three hours straight and the pain he felt told him he might have sprained his ankle… and maybe his tail too, but they had won.

Smoke from the autocannon filled the room, the smell of burnt gunpowder and fresh blood having replaced the previous earth and decay of the hydroponics. Above him, the gun emplacement receded back behind its protection panels, having done its job of defending the facility. 

Next to Roberto, Nikola was laying sprawled on his back with a stupid grin on his muzzle. The gargoyle looked once at the dead eel’s head in front of him before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter interrupted by hisses of pain, soon joined by Roberto. Both sailors laughed their asses off for a whole minute before regaining their spirits.

“Why are we laughing?” Rob asked after regaining his breath.

“No fucking clue, but it felt good.”

“Guys, I have no idea what joke got you going like that, but if you could try to make your way to the control room when you’ve regained your wits, that would be great.” Nguyen said over the PA system.

“You know, I once heard stories about people walking out of accidents laughing from the adrenaline…” Roberto said.

“Must be that.” Nikola shrugged, biting back a wince. “Shit, I think I sprained a wing. You good Rob?”

“Believe it or not, I think I sprained my tail, and probably my ankle too.”

“Sprained tail? Damn, last time it happened to me was at the red light district in Antwerp. Mind the hole in your ear too.”

“What?” Roberto’s paw flew up to his ear, in which he felt a rip the size of a coin, which was bleeding profusely too. “Damn, there go my good looks.” He commented, immediately wrapping a bandage around his head.

“Dunno pal, maybe the ‘alley cat’ look can suit you.”

“Tell me about it, Scarface.” Roberto joked.

“Hey, I dig the nickname. Loved the movie, it was all the rage when I was a teen.”

Roberto chuckled and went to get up, only to collapse back down after letting out a pained growl.

“Yup, sprained just as I expected.”

“Just lean on me, we will get you a crutch later if we can.” Nikola offered.

With a soft ‘thanks’, the cat accepted the offer and leaned on the smaller gargoyle’s shoulder, mindful of not touching his injured wing.

“Wanna take a trophy?” Nikola suggested, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the dead quarry eels.

“No thanks, let’s just get to the control room and catch some rest while the others finish the job.”

“Now that’s an idea I can get behind.”





“Athena. Give me a status report on the communication array.” Angelo asked.

Following the combat with the eels, the minotaur had shut down the weapon systems and started to go through what data he could find on the facility’s communication equipment. Nikola and Roberto had turned up wounded in the control room, and now Nguyen was tending to their wounds in the situation room. By sheer luck, they had managed to find some first aid kits along the way to avoid using their own already partially depleted medical stock.

A shame they had left the better part of their medical gear back in the mogs.

“Status report: all fours antenna sites are 100% operational and ready to be activated. The central communication server is currently unpowered. Activation is necessary to access the communication system.”

“You may activate all communication systems.”

“Warning: activation of core systems requires authorized user access.”

Angelo groaned in annoyance at the pesky AI before once again typing the override code, forcing it to comply with his request.

“I need to establish satellite contact with the North American facility, how can I do it?” He phrased carefully.

“Once the boot up process of the communications systems is finished, it is possible to link up the central computer to any of the antennas on all four sites. Dialing up other facilities is part of the core system functions and can be accessed from the control menu of the communication systems.”

Simple enough then. After giving the computer enough time to warm up, Angelo just had to hook it up to a satellite antenna of his choosing and voila, he was ready to call the Americans. The programs didn’t even ask him for a code when he activated the information exchange with the other facility.

A mere minute after the exchange began; he got a call on the central station. Agent Eko’s voice rang over the line the moment he picked up the call.

“Congratulations on a job well done Molnàr. May I inquire about how it went?” The Indonesian asked politely. That was a rather abrupt change from how he had addressed him before; the agent must be feeling good about the operation being a success.

“Not too good I must say. The premises got breached by monsters after we entered, I got two members of my team lightly injured, but they should be fine in the long run.”

“Ah yes, monsters. They’ve been the talk of the research department ever since you pointed them to the nuclear experts. I trust they’re taken care of?”

“Got that done before restoring communications. It was some sort of burrowing land eels, very large in size.” He skipped the fact they may have been responsible for drawing them there in the first place. “I’m afraid we’ve found nothing but corpses inside the facility, observations seem to indicate this so-called ‘thaumic’ radiation killed them.”

“Was the shield active? It’s very important to us.”

“That it was.” Angelo frowned. “Even though it was running beyond its normal working parameters it utterly failed at keeping out the radiation. Though it did create a sort of… unsettling feeling among the members of my team.”

“Unsettling you say?”

“Correct, from the moment we entered the premises up until we shut it down, my companions and I were feeling a profound sensation of dread. The feeling is only just starting to dissipate.”

“That’s one thing worth noting indeed. Is that all?”

“Beside the fact that this Athena AI is really annoying, nothing that I can think of. It did mention some alarms when we booted it up, but the presence of the monsters pushed me to ignore them at the time.”

“Our own teams should be able to review those ourselves. Funny thing you’d mention it, Athena I mean. The European branch was very unenthusiastic about implementing advanced builds of it into their mainframe, something about not wanting to trust automated systems to such an extent.” It seemed the agent was relaxing to the idea of working through them, time to try something.

“What is Athena precisely?” Angelo asked.

“As far as I’m allowed to tell you, it’s an AI system meant to assist my organization in managing systems automatically; it lets us reduce manning requirements, though the European branch willingly restricted its ability to interfere with their systems by using an older build.”

“Didn’t sound too advanced, beyond the hologram that is.”

“Different ethics about technology.” Angelo could practically hear the man shrug across the line. “Anyway, thank you again for restoring communications; you have done a great deed for the sake of the planet. Our own agents will take it from there…” Eko trailed off.

“I sense there is something more.”

“Indeed there is. I have a request from our research department. They say they can access research data remotely but they need some of the prototypes that were in the hands of the European branch at the time of the cataclysm…”

“I’m afraid I have to stop you there.” Angelo apologized. “I am under strict orders not to accept any request from your organization without express authorization from Captain Prateek.”

“That can be corrected quickly. May I invite him on the call?”

“By all means…” Angelo said.

It took a whole five minutes before the Captain answered the call. Apparently, he had been having a rather important discussion with Chief Officer Mendoza when they called, though he didn’t say what it was about.

Probably just the modifications they were doing to the ship.

“Greetings Eko. Why are you calling me now? They still need a couple hours before completing the shutdown in Tihange if I remember correctly.” Dilip inquired.

“It’s about the facility in Chooz Captain. Eko has a request to submit to you.” Angelo interjected.

“Can’t say I didn’t expect that. Still, glad to hear you Molnàr, how is the operation in Chooz going?”

Angelo briefly brought his Commanding Officer up to snuff about what had occurred down there. The Captain wasn’t too happy to hear about the two injured crewmembers and warned Angelo they would seriously investigate his decisions once they got back to the ship before they went on with Eko’s request.

“The request came from our research department Captain.” Eko explained. “They want to retrieve the prototypes that had been transferred to the facility before the cataclysm. From what I understand, they didn’t have time to move them to the labs so they should either be in the hangar or the warehouses, still inside a shipping container.”

“Transporting freight is our core business, how much cargo are we talking about and is it dangerous?” Dilip asked.

“All of the prototypes fit into a standard forty-foot container and no, nothing dangerous. It’s only inert cybernetics and drone parts, plus a few batteries –none of which are loaded I assure you-.”

“Then it’s something we can transport. However… I thought you said your organization was unable to leave their bunker?”

“We still are, but predictions have us believe we can downsize our shield system so that it would fit on vehicles within one or two months. Then, we will be able to pick up the gear once you bring it to port.”

“Crossing the Atlantic doesn’t take that much time you know. Are your superiors comfortable with us keeping the prototypes in the meantime?”

“They aren’t, but they don’t have much choice. It will take much more time for us to reestablish a sufficient air fleet or even reach our mothballed fleet, it’s either trust you and have them in one or two months, or don’t and maybe have them in one or two years.” Eko admitted.

“Why Eko, you seem to be getting comfortable talking to us outsiders, revealing all that.” Angelo commented.

“My realization of our need for outside help doesn’t mean we are friends Molnàr, remember that.” Eko snapped. “My organization needs your assistance, regardless of divergent opinions on the matter at the command level. Me revealing you more about us is just a token of our willingness to take care of our allies. That, however, is between me and your Captain only.”

Rude much, but accurate.

“Molnàr, you may retrieve the target container once Eko gives you a description.” Dilip said. “Eko, I do not have time to discuss the terms of this transportation at the moment. Call me again this evening around ten in the evening, Belgian time that is.” The Indian concluded before hanging up.

“Now that it’s just the two of us, care to tell me what kind of container I’m looking for?” Angelo asked.

“Blue container, probably from the CMA-CGM originally, with a new logo painted on. It’s six white circles arranged in a hexagon with another circle in the center.”

Angelo thought about something he had seen on the internet before the Event.

“Isn’t that the flag of Earth?”

“Exactly, and now it represents the HPI and humanity. Good luck, I need to leave now.”

And just with that, Eko hung up on him without even waiting to see if he had a question. Angelo let out an annoyed snort, one step forward and two steps back with that Agent Eko. As long as the Captain is on the line the guy plays relatively nice, and the moment he hangs up the agent just gives his orders and leaves.

Picking up his rifle in one hand, the minotaur slowly made his way to the situation room to tell his companions about the new assignment. Thankfully, it should be much simpler than what they had been doing since they left Amandine.





The sun was setting after a bright day on the port of Antwerp. Of course, it would have been hard to tell with all the lighting that was coming from the flare stacks that dotted the industrial landscape.

That’s the problem with liquefied gas: once you stop the refrigeration process; it gradually starts boiling and then it evaporates. Of course, that was also the case with petroleum products, but to a lesser extent. The flares coming from the oil terminals and the refinery were lit with a much lesser intensity than those on the gas terminals. The flames there must have been a good fifty meters in height, Vadim estimated.

The Ukrainian griffon was keeping watch on top of the monkey island, having already done his rounds for the duration of his watch. There was no need for him to remain on the bridge, he had set all the communication gear to the maximum volume so that he’d hear it if the ship received a message of any kind. Being a scant few meters from the bridge as he was, he was ready to react should anything occur during his watch anyway.

As usual, he was clad in the orange high-vis coveralls that were practically a uniform for the crew. He had modified his own set by sewing on more pockets (to the point of Micha calling it ridiculous) here and there, as well as zippers to let his wings through if he felt like it, which happened to be the case at the moment.

Had he not been busy keeping watch, he might have dozed off: he was lying on his belly, wings extended limply on either side of him catching the soft winds that passed through the port. The sea breeze did a good job of keeping away the fumes of the flares and brought the pleasant smell of the sea with it. The temperature was just right at the moment, with the last rays of the sun warming up his wings nicely. He had actually managed to get them to fold and unfold at his command recently. Sure that wasn’t much, but progress was progress.

The griffon actually caught himself purring. He shook his head in embarrassment and tried to look a bit more serious about his task. Micha was out with a team keeping an eye on the nuclear plant while Schmitt did the shutdown, but that still left Alejandro and the Captain aboard who could accuse him of slacking off on duty.

The rifle lying beside him was enough of a hint they weren’t exactly here for holidays. No monster had been located in Antwerp yet, but they still needed to keep a tight watch. Vadim clicked his beak distractedly and gave one more look around.

Amandine was moored at a container terminal, a mere two kilometers away from the Doel power plant. Its cooling towers were easily visible downstream of them along the river Scheldt. The terminal itself was extremely large, having been built to receive multiple container carriers at a time, each about twice the size of Amandine. Tall as she was, the terminal was meant to receive bigger ships even, and the port’s cranes loomed over her superstructure.

Now that’s an achievement, making a 200m long ship look small.

The container terminal was, as expected, a well secured installation, which had made their efforts of ensuring the place was safe as long as they were moored there relatively easy. They had two sailors on watch at the entry checkpoint with a machinegun keeping an eye on the entrance, with a constant radio contact with him and the guys at the power plant. When they arrived in the morning, some of them wanted to check out the containers but the Captain had put a stop to that quickly. They were there for the power plant first, additional gear could wait.

The city of Antwerp itself was not visible from where they were moored. The port of Antwerp was among the top five biggest ports of Europe, its facilities extended for kilometers on end. They must have been about ten kilometers away from the city. Not even the highest skyscrapers were visible at this distance, hidden behind the twisting landscape of the various terminals, locks and warehouses along the banks of the Scheldt.

Animals had been quick to venture close to the terminals once human activity wound down to nothing. Vadim remembered coming to Antwerp a few times in the past and this was the first time he had seen seals this close to the city. The grey furred mammals were curiously exploring the port, looking for fish now that they were under no risk of being trampled by a barge or a ship. One colony of them was happily resting in the mud of the river bank opposite their terminal.

A flicker of light on the edge of his vision suddenly drew Vadim’s attention. The grey griffon’s head snapped towards a highway going around the port, his raptor sight easily focusing on a convoy he would have had trouble seeing without binoculars in the past.

In some ways the transformation wasn’t all that bad.

The convoy was led by a familiar white UN unimog, though the reflecting light of the sun on the windshield prevented him from identifying the pilot. The mog was followed by a lorry towing a blue forty-foot container on its trailer, and then another mog, this one olive green, ended the convoy.

Angelo was back, and he had found the prototypes the HPI had asked them to retrieve.

“Bridge to Checkpoint, you’ve got an incoming convoy. The boys are back, over.” Vadim spoke in his walkie-talkie.

“Roger that bridge,” The sailor guarding the checkpoint answered, Yuri he was called, a Ukrainian turned into a hippogriff. “We will let them through, thanks for the heads up, out.”

Vadim folded his wings and slid down the ladder back to the bridge, his rifle slung around his back. The griffon padded over to the interphone on the bridge and quickly called the Captain to let him know Angelo was coming. He would have liked to have a lengthy chat with the minotaur himself, but he had been told about the injuries he would have to treat when they arrived.

He sighed, passing a claw through his grey feathers in a tired gesture. Time to play doctor again. He wasn’t too comfortable with the way the rest of the crew had started to consider him as the go-to medical expert; he wasn’t an actual doctor, just an Officer that had gotten somewhat extensive training in medicine.  

“Captain’s office, what’s the matter?” Dilip said over the interphone.

“Third Officer Zinoviya on the bridge. I just spotted the convoy coming in, so I will be down in the infirmary prepping it for the injured.”

“Thanks for the info Vadim, let Angelo know I will be waiting for him in my office when you see him, OK?” The Captain told before hanging up.

Putting the interphone back in place, Vadim slowly made his way down to the infirmary. Few crewmembers were on board at the time, what with most of them being busy with the Doel power plant. 

There was only one person present inside the infirmary when Vadim reached it… or pony he should say. Bart, the unicorn they had rescued in Zeebrugge was still bedridden and would be for a few days more. The light blue furred equine was watching a movie on a laptop Geert had given him the day before, its hard drive loaded with movies subtitled in Dutch to help the guy learn English when Geert wasn’t available to give him lessons.

The unicorn raised his head upon noticing the grey griffon walk in the room, giving Vadim an inquisitive look.

“I’m not here for you.” Vadim said futilely. The Belgian wouldn’t understand him anyway, not without Geert present to do the translation (and the Dutchman was busy hopping around the power plant on crutches translating the controls for the Chief Engineer).

After watching the griffon pile up medical supplies on a tray, Bart concluded the Officer wasn’t here for him and resumed watching the laptop with a focus that bordered on the unhealthy. 

A few minutes later, the door opened and Vadim turned around to face… Angelo’s crotch.

“You know, it gets really annoying being at crotch level with all the bipeds.” Vadim drawled.

“On the bright side you don’t have to kneel to give me a blowjob.” The minotaur joked.

Vadim had to crane his neck back to look Angelo in the eyes; the Greek had a grin on his muzzle.

“If you’re gonna be dumb enough to ask BJ’s from birds of prey don’t come complaining when you get your dick chopped off, debil. You come here to flaunt your Greek sexual depravity or you have some actual patients?”

“Sexual depravity? Why, you homophobic Vadim? Should I tell HR?” Angelo said, tilting his head to the side.

“Just saying, for a creature that’s supposed to be the result of godly levels of bestiality you ain’t exactly raising the bar. As for HR, one of the few good things that came out of this apocalypse is that those worthless desk jockeys are gone.”

“No argument ‘bout that.” The minotaur pointed a thumb back in the direction of the door. “Jokes aside, Rob and Niko are injured, can they come in?”

Vadim leaned back on his haunches and spread out his claws, showing off the supplies he had already prepared.

“What does it look like? You let them in and get out; the Captain’s waiting for you in his office. Now, shoo.” He said, pointing a talon towards the door.

Angelo’s grey furred frame disappeared through the door and in walked Rob and Niko, with the secretary leaning on the battered gargoyle.

“Bozhe moj,what the fuck happened to you guys?” Vadim exclaimed, rushing over to help Roberto to one of the beds.

“Monsters happened that’s what.” Nikola groaned out. “Quarry eels we decided to call them. Very big snake-ish things, they can dig through the ground.”

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to start over from the beginning.” Vadim said, taking off his gloves and applying a large dose of disinfectant to his claws.

“Well, we were going to the plant when there was this quarry…” Roberto explained.





“And now they’re dead?”

“Could have mistaken them for salsa when we left.” Nikola affirmed.

Vadim twisted the needle holder in his talons one last time, putting the finishing touch on the stitches on Roberto’s ear. The cat only felt mild trickle of blood down the side of his head, the ear having been desensitized by a small application of anesthetic.

“Was the stitching really necessary?” Roberto asked. “I’m pretty sure my ear would have been fine with a simple bandage.”

“Not with a rip that size, it would not.” Vadim said. “Plus it gives you some sense of kinship with Scarface over there.” He added, nodding in Nikola’s direction.

The gargoyle’s gash had been properly stitched and bandaged now (covering half the Bulgarian’s muzzle in white fabric). The wound would leave a scar, but nowhere near as bad as it would have been without Vadim’s intervention. Currently, Nikola was resting in one of the beds, holding a cool pad against his cracked ribs.

Almost as an afterthought after the stitching, the Ukrainian griffon applied a bandage around the Italian’s head. The white fabric, bearing some slight orange stains from the isobetadine Vadim used to disinfect the wound, made a stark contrast with the cat’s black fur.

“So did you guys take a trophy?” Vadim asked as he grabbed a splint for Roberto’s ankle.

“No, we only got photos. Didn’t feel like ripping off a fang or something.” Roberto said, brushing a paw over his bandaged ear.

“Shame, would have made a neat trinket. Can I see the pics?”

“Sure.” Nikola fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to the griffon. “It’s not locked.”

Vadim whistled upon seeing the pictures of the eels. The first one showed the trio roaring at the convoy from the safety of the quarry, and the next one showed their disfigured corpses.

“Hey Bart check this out!” He said, showing the phone to the bedridden unicorn in the room.

The equine’s large eyes bulged out when he saw the pictures. His head flicked back and forth between the two injured sailors in the other beds and the phone.

“You… Kill? Kill, deze?” Bart struggled, pointing his hoof first at the phone then towards Roberto.

The cat gave a soft nod.

“Goed gedaan.” The Belgian said. “Less monsters… is good for… boat?” He said tentatively.

“Ship.” Vadim corrected. “Boat is small, ship is big.” He explained, trying to keep his words simple.

The blue unicorn accepted the explanation with a polite nod before turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him. With the tip of his hoof, he pressed the spacebar and resumed watching his movie.

Splinting Roberto’s ankle was a matter of being crafty, but little changes to splints made for humans were needed to fit the cat’s foot, though he would be more restrained by it than a human would have been.

Things got a bit weirder when Niko and Rob asked him if he could find a splint for their sprained wing and tail respectively.  That was something new…

“So I heard about you and Micha…” Nikola said suggestively while the griffon was measuring how to splint his wing.

“Heard what?”

“Well, there’s this rumor that’s been going around the ship how you’ve been… you know…” Nikola said.

“Porking.” Roberto finished.

“I’m sorry what?” Vadim said a bit forcefully.

“It’s the logical conclusion.” Roberto shrugged. “The night before we left he –or maybe should we say she in this instance- was seen leaving your cabin blackout drunk. So… we figured you were both active, so to speak.”

“Dude what the hell, he’s my best friend on this ship, why would I try and fuck him?!” Vadim cried out, insistent on putting emphasis on the ‘him’.

“Eh mind the wing.” Nikola interjected. The Ukrainian had squeezed the sprained limb quite hard when Roberto spoke up.

“Sorry Niko. Regardless, that’s gotta be the dumbest thing I heard today.”

“Not to some on this ship.” Nikola countered.

“Then they’re wrong. Micha and I were talking. He was married before the Event and I was gonna propose to my girl. He’s been female for what? A week? I know some of you guys are thirsty but it’s not the case for all of us, go jack off or something.” He told, carefully folding Nikola’s wing against his back before wrapping a bandage around the guy’s upper torso to keep it in place.

Hopefully the frame he had stuck against the wing kept it from moving too much, though the bandage holding the splint in place would be painful to the gargoyle’s injured ribs. As long as he stuck to light duty, his ribs shouldn’t get any worse.

“In all honesty Vadim? You’re being naïve.” Nikola said. “It’s not like we can get hookers to blow off some steam, and I bet you at least one of the guys-turned-gals feels curious to try it out. It’s gonna happen eventually.”

“And if you guys could avoid projecting your sexual drive onto me, that would be great.”

“We can do that but no promises about the rest of the crew.” Roberto shrugged.

“Whatever, I got a watch to go back to. You’re both on light duty until I decide the contrary, anybody’s got a problem with that, send them to me, got it?” He grabbed two small cardboard boxes from a shelf. “I put these together; you’ve got fresh bandages and voltaren gel in there for the sprains. Some ibuprofen too for the pain, and a week of antibiotics to be taken daily. Try to keep water out of the bandaged stitches and…”

“Yada yada, I know the drill Officer, no need to recite your Bible to me.” Nikola interrupted him. “Any problem or infection, we get back to you, easy.”

“Fine then!” Vadim exclaimed, pulling off his nitrile gloves and throwing them in the bin. He put his ‘walking’ gloves back on before walking out with a huff.

Nikola listened intently to the noise of the Officer leaving, waiting ‘til he reached the stairs before speaking up.

“How long?”

“I’d say… two weeks before they’re an item.” Roberto said.

“Wanna bet? Three Havana’s on the three weeks mark.” Nikola said.

“Make it five and that’s a deal.”

“Sold.”





Dilip dismissed Angelo after a brief review of the minotaur’s ‘expedition’. He had ordered the minotaur to write down a complete after action report for the next day, with reports from his team members included. He didn’t have time to completely go over what had occurred during Angelo’s outing, so that would have to be postponed for later.

Now he had a call waiting, as shown by the clock on his desk nearing ten o’clock.

Right on cue, a request for a video call sprang up on his computer, this one not needing to be patched through from the bridge since he had given Eko the number of his workstation. A quick flick of his mouse later, the Indonesian’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hello again. I heard my team in Doel was putting the finishing touches for the shutdown.” Dilip started.

“So have I Captain. Do you have the prototypes?”

“Loaded and stowed. Now I believe we should discuss the… payment regarding this delivery.”

“My superiors have yet to choose the port of delivery, but it will certainly be on the East coast of the United States. As for the payment, I believe my organization has manufacturing capabilities you don’t have, and we can make the parts to keep your ship going.”

“Now you have my interest.” Dilip said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Do go on.”

“Anything you request, we can manufacture, and while you may be able to keep going with parts obtained from warehouses for a while, that would be… inefficient. Provided you are willing to keep upholding contracts for us, we will provide you with the best electronics and mechanical parts technology can achieve.”

The dog stared thoughtfully at the screen in front of him. The Indonesian had managed to put his finger right where it hurt. They did need to find parts for Amandine, and a steady supply was nothing to scoff at…

“Deal.” Dilip said. “I will have a talk with my Chief Engineer to figure out what are the most pressing parts, we will e-mail a list. Think you can get someone to work out a written contract?”

“Yes, but it might take some time to go up the chain of command for approval. Contracts with third parties are…”

“Difficult for a secretive organization like yours, I get it.” Dilip interrupted. “Should it fail, will we get the first batch of parts?”

“That I can guarantee.” Eko reassured him.

“Good. That’s the deal for the prototypes, what about the power plants?”

“For that we have agreed to give you something else. You know about all the satellites that surround the planet?”

“Obviously.” The Captain scoffed.

“First off, you can be certain that communication and geolocation systems will be maintained by our organization so you needn’t worry about GPS or SATCOM stopping working. Maintenance of other services may vary depending on the payload we can use on the satellites, but little trouble is to be expected. What matters for your reward is the login we can give you to access admin parameters on all these networks. We’re also adding military-grade GPS in the package.”

“Alright now you got me impressed. With that we ought to be able to see and locate all traffic on the network, doesn’t that worry you?”

“Of course you won’t be able to use it to locate our assets, we made sure of that. What you can locate on the other hand, are uses of satellite tech all around the world.”

“Other survivors.”Dilip whispered.

“Exactly. I believe this should be more effective than mere radio surveillance. The location algorithm is imbedded in the programming, so no need to worry about that. There is something else you will find useful too: the weather satellites are integrated into the network.”

“Really? Replaces the NavTex I guess.”

“I’m no weatherman Prateek, so you will have to try it out yourself, but it should be effective.”

“That’s great news Eko. I thank your superiors for putting this much trust into us, I will make sure it is not misplaced.” He shuffled in his seat a bit to adjust his tail. “Now, I believe I am owed a history lesson on your organization if I remember correctly?”

“Yes, so here’s how it goes…” Eko began.

  “It all began in the sixties, as a byproduct of the Space Race. In 1963 the first manned flights were being sent up in space, and humanity got its first chances at looking out unimpeded towards the center of the galaxy. That’s when they noticed something odd.

  I can’t recall which mission encountered it first. Soviet for sure, Vostok I think they called it. Regardless, something happened when the pilot left the atmosphere. He didn’t die, but it sure came close when he was exposed to something that wasn’t the expected cosmic rays. The Soviets were pretty hush-hush about it and didn’t say much about it, but they started to fit sensors to their satellites to look into it.

  It’s the Yanks that reached out to the Soviets about it when another similar incident happened during a flight for Project Mercury. Another pilot injured, Gus Grissom, he died shortly after returning to Earth. Same radiation, but this time the exposure was greater and Grissom came back as a drooling vegetable. A shame, the guy would have made a great astronaut from what his story led to believe, but that’s more of a personal opinion. As far as the public was concerned, the guy was dead before landing from cosmic rays.

  Since the NASA couldn’t figure it out on their own and neither could the Soviets; President LBJ reached out to the Kremlin and had a talk with General Secretary Brezhnev. Both reached a somewhat tense agreement on pooling funds to figure out what this radiation was exactly by setting up a joint research venture. The sheer amount of red tape surrounding the projects was immense, since both parties wanted to keep it hidden lest they admit they couldn’t do science on their own. That’s the first apparition of the HPI, though it wasn’t called that at the time. Project Black Sun, joint American-Soviet venture, they even got a research complex near the Bering Strait. Both countries increased their defense spending the moment they signed off on the project and quietly channeled funds towards the project.

  For years, Black Sun laid out detection equipment around the planet and snuck it on board of high flying planes. They had access to NASA and the Soviet Space Program to obtain data and steer their research the way they wanted. They even snuck equipment on the launchers as they saw fit. In that time period, Black Sun reached two conclusions.

  One, the ‘thaumic’ radiation as they coined the term in ’69, only affects humans. Dogs, cats, frogs, you name it; they don’t have to worry about it. But that’s something you’re probably already aware of.

  Second, they found where the radiation was coming from. The galactic core was producing it. Our understanding of the radiation was mediocre at best at the time, so it forced Black Sun to go further than before, and for that they would need more resources. That was decided in’72.

  Enters the UN Security Council. It was time for Black Sun to open up to the rest of the world and recruit from an even wider pool of experts and scientists, embracing even more of the global community. A secret resolution was passed to implicate all countries in the affair, but it still had to remain secret because something very alarming had been discovered by the head scientist when he discovered the source.

  I don’t know if you’re aware of that; but in astronomy you’re technically looking into the past. That’s the thing with light travelling at a certain speed. Another thing is, astronomers can make observations of an object and estimate when it’s about to go supernova or what ‘sit. That’s precisely what they did with the core when they observed the frequency at which it was emitting the radiation.

  Calculations were inaccurate, thanks in no small part to the technology available at the time. Still, with the scale at which astronomers work, they reached the conclusion that we were dangerously close to a burst of said radiation that would reach biblical proportions. As in, compare a solar flare to the Sun exploding. Humanity was in danger, though we didn’t know if we had two or two hundred years to find a solution.

  By ’75, Project Black Sun was officially under the administration of the United Nations. Additional funding and scientist streamed in, and the project was renamed HPI. Our focus was now to better calculate the time we had and research a solution. Any kind of protection against the end of Mankind. Most of our efforts were centered on how Earth’s magnetic field managed to keep out the minimal thaumic radiation that had injured astronauts in the past.  

  Things we going well until the fall of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Without the huge defense spending that could hide a trickle of money and resources going our way, progress slowed down despite our best attempts at finding funding using less… respectable methods. Our hopes went from saving the entire planet by 2030, to maybe a country, then to a few hidden facilities. Priorities changed, without the Security Council really being aware of it. And how could we tell them? That as far as we were concerned humanity was doomed in the near future? That wouldn’t fly with them.

  Granted, we still had access to unparalleled tech, but we were way ahead of ourselves in this endeavor. Many prototypes of shielding tech were conceived, but we were limited in the scope of their use. We were trying to do what Earth’s magnetic core was doing, only without a gigantic mass of molten metal and a hundred thousand times stronger. No small task, many of our scientists burned themselves out to get just one step further.

  And while the scientists were busy, other branches in our organization came to life despite the limited resources. To prepare us for the worst: having to recreate humanity from scratch, preserve our way of life, the whole nine yards. That’s how facilities like the one in Chooz were created, and since we were not sure of how effective the shielding would be, a few more of those were created, countering the limitations on how many different shields we could fit in one place.

  And then… Well it gets less interesting. It was a matter of keeping the facilities ready for the big day while continuously improving the shields. Make sure the facilities are always crewed and the shields on, plan for what’s going to happen after, get as much tech as possible.

  And that brings us to now.” Eko concluded.

“That’s a lot to digest at once…” Dilip muttered. “Did you expect the monster part? And what happened with my ship?”

“That I’m afraid, is something we’re trying to piece together as hard as you are. Unfortunately, our hands are tied until we can adapt our tech to get out. It’s on you until then Captain.”

“Climb a hill… only to discover the mountain it was hiding.” He whispered. “How ready were you?”

“Not at all. Estimations were off by a whole three years. Lots of our outside agents were lost in the cataclysm.” Eko sighed. “Frankly finding you and sorting out the nuclear affair is the best news we’ve had in a while.” He admitted, for once dropping his façade.

“There is hope yet. I may have lost the appearance of one, but I’m still human and we will make it through this crisis Eko. Whatever your scientists need from outside to figure out a solution, you can count on Amandine to get it. Mutual support is the only way we will make it through, you can tell your superiors that.” The Captain said firmly.

“Believe me I will. Goodbye Captain.” The HPI agent said before pressing a button on his keyboard.

The screen went black and Dilip finally allowed his shoulders to sag. After letting out a long sigh, he opened the folder on his computer that contained his research on the change and monsters.

He could already picture himself pulling another all-nighter.
> Chapter 16: Making Plans
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning that followed Angelo’s return to Amandine saw most of the crew gathered in the cafeteria around the Captain just after breakfast. They were only missing the two sailors guarding the checkpoint at the entrance of the terminal, and Bart who was still in the infirmary (if the unicorn was to be counted as part of the crew that is).

Dilip checked one last time that his presentation was ready on the laptop he had plugged to the room’s ceiling projector before turning his gaze to the crowd sitting around the room.

“Good morning to you all, I hope the breakfast this morning was good, all thanks to the return of Nguyen to the kitchen.” Dilip started, addressing a polite smile in the direction of the counters from which both the cooks were observing the presentation.

“But there are matters that need to be attended now. First off, let’s not ignore the elephant in the room. I must congratulate all members of this crew for a job well done with those power plants, in particular the engineering department for their excellent work with the shutdown.”

A few polite claps resounded around the room before the Captain resumed his speech.

“A detailed analysis of what happened will have to wait some more, but certain conclusions can already be drawn before the complete reports come in. Nothing to worry about for the ratings, the department heads will communicate the detailed conclusions to you once it’s done. Now for the obvious stuff…” He trailed off pressing a key on the laptop in front of him.

A PowerPoint appeared on the white screen on the wall of the cafeteria showing Dilip’s presentation. It started off immediately with pictures of the monsters they had encountered and a casualty count. In bold letters, the Captain had highlighted ‘9 days’ and ‘5 casualties’.

“Our biggest problem as of now is that we are getting injured way too frequently. I won’t delve into Farkas’ case since that was just a fall. On the other hand, encounters with monsters have systematically resulted in injuries. The electric mites Nguyen faced may not have hurt him much in the long run, but he was still hit and can only thank his PPE for not getting fried. It’s been barely more than a week since the Event happened, we can’t keep it up at this rate or everyone will be agonizing in the infirmary within a month. We can thank the skies for Zinoviya’s medical competence but that can only get us so far. Solutions need to be taken in order to counter that, which I already have discussed with the department heads.”

Another press on the keyboard made a new slide appear on the screen. 

“First off, on the prevention side. We need to improve weapon training to a point that you all will be able to engage most threats without injuries on our side. Artyom has been designated responsible for this training.” Dilip said, waving a paw in the boatswain’s direction. The Russian dragon acknowledged the Captain with a curt nod.

“Before we leave this city, I want every uninjured sailor to have undergone at least six hours of active handling training, shooting with live rounds and one live fire exercise to get used to moving in a combat situation. I do realize we are just merchants, not the navy, but we need to train better in order to avoid further injuries down the line. I hope the pacifists among you understand.” He paused to take a breath.

“Next up is first aid training. I have reviewed most of your training files and a great many of you have fallen behind on medical capabilities, officers included.” Dilip said, directing a pointed stare towards the table where his Deck Officers were seated.

“That one includes the guys on light duty. Before we leave, all of you will undergo two hours of theory and one hour of practical training on first aid courtesy of our Third Officer. Planning is up to you Vadim, but there is one more thing: in order to alleviate pressure on our resident ‘doctor’, I need one volunteer to undertake extensive medical training to support Vadim as a… nurse, so to speak. I don’t care if the volunteer is an officer or a rating as long as the place is filled, but I need a name by tomorrow or I will designate someone myself, understood?”

There was a murmur of assent among the crowd before Dilip continued his speech, taking note of who showed interest in the position.

“That’s it for the conclusions so far. I will add that any group that leaves the safety of the terminal for a venture of any sort must have at least three members, communication equipment, a machinegun in addition to the rifles and a vehicle. Now…” He said, going to the next slide on the presentation. “I will pass the reigns to the Chief Officer who will explain what shall be done while we’re in Antwerp.”

Alejandro stood up and marched forward to Dilip’s side. The hyacinth macaw had managed to get enough free time to complete the ‘foot-gloves’ idea that Geert had come up with earlier that week, so now he finally had something to wear on his feet. The Kevlar and leather gloves wrapped nicely around his clawed feet; creating a fair balance between protection and freedom of movement.

“Thank you Captain. I will begin with the high priority stuff to get it out of the way. Our fuel reserves are still in the green but we need to top off the tanks whenever we can. That one is mostly for the engineering department but us deck guys will have to help too with a fuel barge. Port reports indicate they can be found on the opposite bank of the river in the refineries. Filling up on heavy fuel oil will only take one trip and the diesel is a daily task but…” The parrot turned in Schmitt’s direction. “Think we can fill up the diesel via trucks? Five tons a day seems feasible and it’s less work than moving a whole barge for that little fuel.”

“Diesel is possible, but not the heavy fuel, for that you’ll still need a barge.” The orange dragon said.

“Will do. Now beside the usual task of looking around the terminal for useful things –of which you can find a list of requested items on the ship’s server-, there are two more tasks that need to be done. Highest priority goes to adapting the ship’s breathing apparatus and gas masks for use on muzzles. We got some equipment to modify them from Zeebrugge and I think someone’s already started it in the engineering department if I’m not mistaken?”

A female hippogriff stood up in the back of the room, Aleksei, the Third Engineer. The Latvian had light green fur and wing feathers, with a white crest and tail feathers. He was wearing an oil stained set of coveralls and had gloves on his claws for the sake of hygiene, not unlike Vadim’s.

“I’ve gotten started on making prototypes for the masks but I need to fine tune my models so it can fit anyone before I make the molds. I need a dog and a cat to come by and try the models before I decide which fits best. I won’t need much help until I start making the molds.”

“Good, then that leaves two things. One, for those who have yet to do that, go to the infirmary to get your blood sampled. Two, we need some ideas for a new light vehicle smaller than a truck. Ideas can be submitted to your superiors. I believe that’s all?” The parrot said, turning to the Captain.

“Besides finishing building the workshop that’s it, you’re all dismissed.” The dog nodded. “Get going, there’s a lot of things we have to do.”





Nothing else of particular interest happened that day. The tasks they were given kept the crew busy, and those that didn’t participate in them were either busy with their own projects or resting.

In his cabin later in the afternoon, Dilip scratched his ear as he observed the various CCTV recordings the crew had managed to retrieve whenever possible. He was interested by the moment at which the Event occurred in particular.

So far, he didn’t have much material to go by but there was one thing he was certain of: the Event had progressed like a wave. It was difficult to see on the recordings but there was a very fast wave that swept every area and removed humans and… active vehicles apparently, wherever it passed through from what he had seen.

Videos taken from the harbor terminal had shown several forklifts that had been in the process of moving around containers suddenly disappearing when the wave swept the area. That had led him to the conclusion that an occupied vehicle would disappear, just like any human bar those protected by one of the HPI’s thaumic shields. This would explain how the anchorage of West Hinder had become so deserted all of a sudden.

Now the Indian dog was trying to figure out where the wave came from. Time stamps on the recordings allowed him to draw certain conclusions and estimate the origin of the wave but…

Dilip pulled out a map of Europe from a cabinet and set it down on the table. Glancing back and forth between the screen showing the recordings and the map, he carefully jotted down each position and time at which the wave was detected. That was only three locations so far they had managed to acquire but…

The anchoring in West Hinder came first, it being the earliest to have been hit. Dilip added an arrow pointing in the general direction the wave had seemed to come from.

Repeating the process with Zeebrugge and Antwerp gave him a more accurate estimation of the origin but these three locations were still too close to triangulate the origin, much less considering the bearings he was following were estimations themselves. Cameras don’t come with integrated compasses as far as he knew.

They would need more recordings to find out the origin of the wave… and from what Eko had told him the day before; they were pretty much on their own trying to figure that out.

A knock on his door interrupted Dilip’s reflection.

“It’s open.” The dog said, tearing his eyes away from his desk.

In came Angelo. The minotaur was holding a sheaf of paper in his hand which he immediately presented to the Captain.

“The After Action Reports sir, all members of the team included.”

“Thank you Molnàr. By any chance, have you reached any early conclusion yet?”

“Yes Captain.” The minotaur nodded. “The team and I had a talk about it at lunch; I added what we concluded at the end of the document. If you want I can also send you the digital version…” Angelo offered.

“No need for that. How are the injured?”

“Getting better. Nikola can’t do much in engineering with his ribs so I got him monitoring the diesel generators and Roberto’s alright managing the server. Just had to find him some crutches to get him hobbling around just fine.”

“And Nguyen? I heard he didn’t go to the infirmary for his electric shock.”

“Beyond some mild tingling he doesn’t report anything so I didn’t bother him with it. I’m honestly more worried about his reaction to what we saw in the facility.”

“And why is that?” Dilip inquired.

“He wasn’t too enthusiastic about entering the facility in the first place; and then… Roberto and Nikola were shaken granted, Roberto even threw up, but they pushed on fine. Nguyen on the other hand; he mostly stood at the back on the brink of outright panic the whole time. I swear if we didn’t have guns with us he would have been running for the hills the moment I opened the facility’s door.” Angelo explained.

“I can’t say I’m an expert on psychology Angelo but if you could keep an eye on him. The situation is pretty hard for all of us and I don’t know how much worse that kind of exposure to death and violence could make things. Try to make sure he doesn’t isolate himself, but don’t be intrusive. If he doesn’t feel like speaking up about it don’t press okay?”

“Will do sir. Anything else?” The minotaur asked, his bulky arms crossed behind his back.

“Negative. You may go, how is the workshop coming along?”

“Still two or three days of work to finish the bulk of it give or take, then we can move on to the firefighting installations.”

“Excellent. Have a nice day.”

The moment the minotaur’s frame passed the door, the Captain pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote down a note about the Vietnamese cook before shoving it in his dossier.





The following day saw hardly more activity for Amandine’s crew. Practically nobody bothered to leave the ship save for the team that guarded the checkpoint and the one group charged with getting them diesel for the generators that had also stopped to explore the container stacks for a bit before coming back empty handed. Not because they didn’t find anything, quite the contrary, but because they didn’t find anything worth loading on the ship. The atmosphere on board was rather dull for all after the chaos that had followed their arrival in Zeebrugge.

The only thing they had to look forward to beyond working on building the workshop was the impending training in first-aid and weapon handling.

Vadim walked down the hallway to get to the gym after a long day spent redacting PowerPoint’s for his first-aid lessons and helping Artyom prepare the live-fire training. He hadn’t gotten many chances to do some sport since the Event and frankly at the moment he needed something to relax that didn’t involve alcohol or tobacco.

The gym was situated on the same deck as the ratings’ rooms and the cafeteria, it being the largest deck of the accommodation on Amandine. As he passed their rooms, Vadim noted that the Filipinos had managed to find a Playstation 4 on which they were hosting a Fifa tournament with the Ukrainians. With most of them having turned into clawed species they could still reliably play video games… though the lack of one digit made for some poor performances if what he spied through the open door was any indication. He silently wished the Ukrainian player using the Dynamo Kiev success before walking away without being noticed.

The Third Officer continued on his way through the hallway before making a sharp turn after the garbage room into the gym.

Roomy as it was, the gym was nothing impressive. When they were building the ship, the yard had wound up with one useless room they couldn’t turn into a cabin because of its proximity to the funnel and all the piping that passed through, thus they had decided to make it the barebones gym it now was.

The room was illuminated by two rows of white neon lights and had its floor covered in blue weight mats. One wall had had its cover panels removed to access the piping that went through the room, which the guys from engineering had yet to put back in place.

On one side of the room were some racks of weights and benches for power training, and on the other were a fitness bike and a treadmill for cardio. Not much, but enough considering they usually were too busy to even think about using the gym. There was only one window, currently left open to vent the heat that tended to build up in the room as well as the unpleasant stench of sweat that was practically impregnated in the walls by now.

Hispanic music resonated around the room, coming from a small Bluetooth loudspeaker set on one of the benches on the side courtesy of the single blue parrot who was having an energetic workout when Vadim walked in.

Alejandro was too entirely focused on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling in front of him to notice the grey griffon by the door. The Spaniard was delivering a flurry of punches and kicks to the bag in front of him, quickly switching sides and hopping this way and that as if the bag was fighting back. Vadim didn’t miss the frown that marked the Chief Officer’s feathered face whenever he went for a kick on the bag or how the blue crest on top of his head was extended like his tail feathers.

Just as the music on the radio wound down, Alejandro relented his assault on the bag and dropped his arms before letting out a long sigh, eyes closed.

“Something bothering you Alej’?” Vadim asked.

“Just getting used to the changes is all.” The Chief Officer answered, grabbing a bottle of water on the bench by the speaker.

“Really looked like something was getting on your nerves right there.”

“I do. I practice martial arts in my free time. I even got a black belt in BJJ. Shame I don’t have a partner to train with. It’s really annoying having to relearn your limits because of this change.”

“Can’t be that bad. I mean, look at us all, we seem to be doing fine.”

“Fine ain’t enough. When you spend hundreds of hours training to the point where you know your body to perfection, it takes time to get back to that level. I’m still getting used to some of the finer details, and that’s probably just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What kind of details exactly? Because pardon me if I consider myself to be worse off than you are.” Vadim said waving a claw over his own quadruped body.

“Small things that are actually rather important in martial arts. Reach for one,  and speed too. I’m shorter than before but the change brought on some kind of speed boost so I have to relearn how to pace myself and manage my hits. Lost quite a bit in raw strength too. What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you need to work on your first-aid lessons?”

“They’re as ready as they will ever get so I think I deserve some leisure time for myself.”

Vadim then proceeded to take off his shoes and gloves before making his way over to the treadmill. He shrugged off the front half of his coveralls, tying it around his midsection before propping himself up against the handrail to select a mode on the control menu.

“Plus I believe if I can get enough time running on the treadmill I can finally get used to that quadruped shtick.” He added.

“Not used to that either are you?” Alejandro asked with a smile.

“As you said, fine ain’t enough. If I could get enough motor control on my own body to outdo a five-year old that would be great.” Vadim said before hitting the ‘start’ button. “I catch myself fumbling with which leg to put down whenever I think about it too hard. Lemme tell you, falling over like that gets old real quick.”

The treadmill began rolling at a mild pace, pushing the griffon to let go of the railing and start running. Vadim had to concentrate for a minute before he got the hang of it. Front left, rear right then front right, rear left. Easy… He eyed the speed display, only to groan in dismay upon seeing he was barely doing six kilometers per hour despite already having difficulties keeping up.

Alejandro had turned away from Vadim and started up another song of the radio before resuming his training with the punching bag, rhythmically throwing jabs to the beat of the music. 

“Say Vadim, you look quite… stiff when you run.” Alejandro threw after taking a quick look at the griffon.

Vadim stumbled and caught himself just before falling, then reduced the pace on the treadmill by a small margin.

“What do you mean?” He asked after catching his footing.

“Your legs and uh… arms I guess are the only things moving. I’m no expert but I’m pretty sure your tail is there for balance, and you’re not compensating with your back either. That and you won’t get anywhere by alternating sides I’m afraid.”

Vadim quirked an eyebrow at the Spaniard.

“For someone who’s not stuck on four-leg drive you seem to know a lot about running on all four.”

“Eh what can I say?” Alejandro momentarily interrupted his assault on the punching bag to give a shrug. “Plenty of my exes had cats, and don’t get me started on my abuela. Never liked the furballs much but at least I got my sense of observation right.”

“Ever the Don Juan aren’t ya, Alej’?” Vadim chuckled, adjusting his running and finally relinquishing control of his tail which started to move in tandem with his legs. “Can’t keep yourself dedicated to one lady?”

“I’d never dear colleague. The ladies like the Mendoza touch way too much, I would never be so selfish as to keep them all from appreciating my skills.” The blue parrot chuckled. “Contrarily to you I don’t need a woman waiting for me when I go back ashore.”

“Well I for one don’t contribute to the ill reputation of the entire profession by impregnating a woman in every port!” Vadim countered.

“Please, that was just one port and I haven’t set foot in Ceuta ever since. I learn my lessons.”

“More like you can’t afford much more in the way of child support.”

“Nope, I got my ass covered with lawyers. Bitch never got to nail me with the payments, not like she could have afforded to fight it in court, so that’s a win for me.”

“That’s low.” Vadim said, hitting the button to speed up the treadmill.

“I’d rather go low than lose over thirty grand because of a drunken one night stand. Anyway, how’s Micha?”

The griffon stumbled before throwing a glare at the laughing Spaniard.

“The hell? You’re in on it too now?” He growled.

“I wasn’t speaking about romance but your reaction tells it all.” Alejandro laughed.

“No it fucking doesn’t!” Vadim said, glaring at the wall in front of the treadmill. “You guys really should get your mind out of the gutter sometime.”

“Chill, I’m just enjoying watching you squirm. No way I’d play matchmaker with colleagues, that’s just asking for trouble. Can’t say the same for the rest of the crew however.”

“I noticed.” Vadim drawled. “Niko and Rob were all about it the other day in the infirmary.”

“They and others too.” Alejandro said. “If I may offer my own point of view on the matter?”

“Shoot.”

“Ignore it and they will let it go after a while. I’d suggest avoiding Micha in the meantime but…”

“As if that was even possible!”

“Yeah, that. But I hope I don’t need to tell you how bad an idea it’d be to flirt with another officer. Fraternization may not be a thing in the merchant navy but…”

“’cause we all know you want Geert for yourself.” Vadim fired back.

“W-what?!” Alejandro stuttered, missing a strike against the punching bag and falling over. “The hell did you get that from?”

“Caught you stuttering. Didn’t know you had a thing for scarlet macaws, but I guess the colors are pleasant to look at.” Vadim said with a twinkle in his eyes.

The hyacinth macaw gaped at the griffon for a whole ten seconds before he shook his head with a smile on his beak. His feather crest rose up slightly as he smiled.

“Fair enough I deserved that one. You’re not going to speed it up a bit?”

“Baby steps chief, baby steps. I ain’t gonna start sprinting ‘til I got the tail motion down at least.” Vadim said.

The griffon preferred to keep going with his particular style of running before he even tried to sprint like a cheetah or something. Managing all the extra limbs was already hard enough as is, and it wasn’t helped by the fact he didn’t really have proper sport clothing that allowed the right range of movement (at least that was the excuse he came up with). 

Alejandro just dropped the subject and left Vadim to his own training, not having anything else to add to the conversation.





Later that day after dinner, a bald eagle female griffon was seen making her way down to the engine room with a laptop awkwardly held in one claw. Micha slowly hopped down the last set of steep stairs to the engine room, mindful of the computer in his claws.

There wasn’t much activity inside the control room: the office was empty and the only light came from the lower part of the control room where a light green furred hippogriff was fiddling with one of the control stations, Aleksei. The Latvian was pretty much in the same boat as Micha when it came to the change since both of them used to be male before the Event. 

Despite not having had a lot of interaction with the guy prior to the Event, Micha found himself developing a sort of friendship with Aleksei once they got to talk about how they felt regarding the changes they had undergone.

Micha let out a polite cough to let the hippogriff know he was there.

“Ah.” Aleksei said in slightly accented English. “Didn’t see you there, anything I can do for you?”

“Maybe.” Micha said, plopping down in a seat beside him. “Remember the radio recorder on the bridge?” He asked, setting down his laptop on the console in front of him.

“I think I do. It’s hooked to the voyage data recorder right?”

“Yep. Little bit of a problem with it tho’: we can’t read the files it records and I’m trying to figure out how to convert the files. I heard you were skilled in coding?”

Aleksei shook his head and gave Micha an uneasy smile.

“Skilled is a generous term for what I can do. Can’t you really code it yourself?”

“Tried everything I could and the usual sites I would refer to are down. You’re all I have before calling it quits.” Micha admitted after running his claw through his feathers.

Aleksei leaned back in his seat, giving the screens of the laptop and the console in front of him a critical glance. He scrolled down for a bit on the laptop’s screen before crossing his arms with a huff.

“Think you can help me?” Micha asked in a tentative voice.

“I might have an idea.” The Latvian frowned. “But hold on.” He said, raising his claw when he saw the griffon’s brightening features. “This is gonna be a two-way street.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

Aleksei tapped the console with a claw.

“So here’s the thing. You remember how we changed the pumps recently? As in, all of them?”

“Vaguely. We got them delivered last time we went to Rotterdam I think? What’s wrong with them?”

“The pumps are fine, that’s the controls that are bugging us. We have yet to set up the bloody things correctly for remote control from here so they can manage themselves without our input.”

He brought up a tab on the console showing the diesel generator system, before pointing a claw at some symbols on the screen.

“See this here? That’s all the feed pumps in the system. Because the throttle controls are not inputted in the command computer yet, we have to keep someone down here at all times to manage it otherwise the generator will starve itself out of fuel, or worse. Now what I was doing was programming all that data from the pumps’ information sheets into the computer so we get rid of the problem. But I just don’t have time, what with the gas masks I need to finish.”

“Can’t Angelo or Schmitt help?”

“Both busy with the workshop and all. Schmitt is touching up the schematics and Angelo is harassing the welders up top.” He shrugged. “The programming takes low priority, but getting that done should free us some manpower. At least when we’re in port. Plus there’s the deal that I’m stuck with the task ‘cause I kinda bragged about my programming skills so they said I could manage it on my own.”

“Alright fine. I’ll do that for you if you help me with the radio recordings.” He held up one claw towards the hippogriffs. “Deal?”

Aleksei grabbed the proffered claw in his own and gave him a firm handshake.

“Deal. Now hand over the laptop and let’s take a look at it in detail to see what can be done for now, ‘kay?”

For the better part of two hours, the two gender bent sailors looked in detail at what Micha had already done with the conversion process of the files, Aleksei giving the griffon some tips here and there on how to proceed. The process itself wasn’t really complicated, but the fact they couldn’t acquire the code from the internet to shorten their work made for some rather lengthy process which forced them to retool another file converter for the specific task they wanted to do. Aleksei eventually decided to call it quits when the clock hit midnight.

The white hippogriff downed the cup of coffee he had set down on the console before turning to the griffon at his side.

“That should do it for today.” Aleksei concluded. “Not that I think we can’t go further but I’d rather avoid pulling an all-nighter if I can help it.”

“Fine by me.” Micha nodded, standing up.

“You know there’s that funny thing…” Aleksei added in passing.

“Uh?”

“I was just thinking about your name. With the way it’s spelled it can be any gender you want depending on whether you pronounce it with a ‘ch’ or a hard ‘c’. Just an idle thought.”

Micha raised an eyebrow at that.

“As innocent as that thought may be; I’d rather you keep calling me with the male version of my name. I do not intend to resign myself to being stuck as a gal for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

“I’m not saying that, just pointing out the coincidence.” Aleksei said, raising his claws in defense. “I want my dick back too. Hell, I could even settle for being a hippogriff as long as I’m male again, but I don’t really see any solution lying around.”

“And we’ve got monsters, dragons, telekinesis-using sphinxes, time travel and more. I’m convinced I can find a solution, even if that’s not going to be easy. It never is, doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up.”

“If you say so, pal.” The hippogriff shrugged. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see ya.” Micha said, walking away with his laptop under his arm.





While the two officers were discussing coding in the engine room, other discussions were taking place in the cafeteria. At such an hour, the lights had been dimmed down; making it so that most of the lighting in the room was coming from the kitchen after the curtains had been drawn. The smell of baking bread floated in the room, courtesy of Nguyen who was making a fresh batch for next day’s breakfast.

Two creatures were seated at a table in the dark, sharing beers over some idle talking. One was a blue dragon, Artyom, the ship’s boatswain; while the other was a ginger furred gargoyle with a black mane going by the name of Nikola.

The gargoyle still had part of his face covered in bandages thanks to the wound he had received two days earlier in the HPI facility, but the injury was in no way hampering his ability to drink from several bottles of beer in quick succession.

The meeting was nothing out of the ordinary for the two sailors. With both of them being former military and significantly older than most of the crew, they had quickly found a sense of kinship that was only rivaled by their own friendship with Sri, the Indonesian hippogriff that was also in the age range and former military as well. After hours meeting had long ago become the norm for them before the Event threw them in for a loop… and increased their daily alcohol intake as a coping mechanism. The only bad thing was that Sri had seemed more distant recently due to his enforced sex change.

Nikola set down his fourth beer of the evening with a clatter.

“Man I tell you, these Belgian beers, they may not be the best but they sure come close.” He said.

“If anything you pretty much earned your alcohol ration for the rest of the month with what happened in Chooz.” Artyom commented, setting down his own bottle.

“Meh, honestly that also revealed I’m way rustier than I thought I was with guns. What I did against the eels was pretty sloppy I must confess. Got me fumbling with my mags and all. Don’t let it know to others but I might need the training just as bad as they do. How is the planning going?”

“I found a place that ought to do the trick for a firing range within the boundaries of the terminal. All these dikes they built around the place to protect it from floods make for a good impact berm, and then we can use the forklifts of the terminal to move containers around and create a firing box. I even found plenty of plywood in a shed this morning, so I got plans to train them how to properly shoot on the move.”

Nikola raised his eyebrows.

“Lots of planning you got there.”

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” The dragon joked. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask ‘cause I assumed you were fine with it but in my planning I wrote you and Sri down as shooting instructors to help me.”

“Can’t say I’m entirely comfortable doing that… yet. Live firing and dry runs like we’ve already done are different things, plus there is the whole light duty deal. I can give it a try but I don’t think my ribs will agree.” He gave a gentle tap on his ribcage, barely concealing a wince.  “You want to start tomorrow?”

Artyom took another sip of his beer before nodding.

“At least that was the plan. I got a detailed plan of the training program in my office I drafted this afternoon.” The dragon paused. “You know what? I got an idea. What if I did the program once with only you and Sri so you shave off some of that rust, and then we do it with the rest of the crew, sounds better to ya? You even get to test it out and see if you can manage with your injuries.”

“Much better. Where is Sri anyway? We need him to train the quadrupeds.”

“Guard duty at the checkpoint. He switches out at four in the morning so we won’t see him ‘til tomorrow I’m afraid.”

Nikola shook his head dejectedly.

“Shame, I really wanted to share a beer with him tonight. Think he will agree ‘bout being a shooting instructor?”

“Can’t picture him refusing. Though he’s been worrying me recently…” Artyom said.

“I don’t know what’s worrying you. If anything, seeing him smoke so many cigarettes a day to keep his voice somewhat masculine sounding is rather funny.”

“Not the most sympathetic guy, are you?”

“Nah, I understand his reaction.” Nikola waved him off. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make light of it. God knows if I was always about doom and gloom I wouldn’t have made it past thirty. Sri will make it; you just gotta give him some space to get around his situation. Funny thing though.”

“What?” Artyom tilted his head.

“With all that transformation thing, you would think the crew wouldn’t get so fixated on something as trivial as losing a dick when they sprouted wings and claws and all… Really shows you what matters to people, uh?”

The dragon snorted out a small puff of smoke in annoyance.

“Yeah, ain’t completely false. Say… speaking of dicks. I know this may come across as strange, but have you been feeling… energized lately?” Artyom asked.

Nikola quirked an eyebrow at the dragon.

“Energized you say?” He said with an amused smile on his muzzle. “Dragon dick got you your libido back?”

“Among other things, but yes, I haven’t felt this lively in years. It’s like the change removed all the kinks I had acquired over the years. I haven’t had a single problem with my bad knee since the cataclysm. What about you?”

The gargoyle took the time to down his beer before answering.

“I’d say it’s about the same for me. I may not have been as banged up by time as you were but I do feel rather good since I underwent the change. Libido wise… well…” He hesitated.

“Come one just spit it out, I won’t judge.”

“I’ve jacked off at least twice a day since the cataclysm, and not out of boredom. Before that I hardly felt the need to do it more than once a week; yet now…” Nikola blushed. “Feels like I’m a teenager again to be honest.”

“Worse off than me then, but not by a large margin I assure you.” The dragon let out another puff of smoke. “Frankly at this point it just feels annoying. Though I’m honestly impressed by the ‘collection’ our younger colleagues have amassed on the ship’s server.” He chuckled.

“You and me both pal. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the size of the folder, these fuckers even categorized the bloody thing.” He laughed. “Bloody ship is running a miniature Pornhub.”

“Damn right it is.” Nikola said with a shake of his head. “Want another?” He asked, pointing a thumb back towards the beer fridge.

“Hell yeah. Next one’s on my tab.”

“Who gives a shit ‘bout tabs anymore? We ain’t getting paid.”

“Make that two then!”
> Chapter 17: Training and Paperwork
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dilip’s sleep was interrupted by the blaring sound of his alarm clock singing its morning tune. With a groan, the Indian dog slammed a paw on the loud plastic box before hauling himself out of bed.

‘4th of June, 06:30’ read the digital screen of his clock. The usual hour when he was in port and nothing had kept him up overnight.

On the bright side, the transformation caused by the Event had seemed to shave off a few years on his biological clock. The 54-years old had never felt this good this early in years, and that’s with the investigation work that kept him up ‘til one in the morning taken into account.

Dilip’s cabin, directly linked to his office by a single door, was much larger than even the VIP or officers’ cabins on board, though the base decoration of a carpeted floor and wooden wall panels was pretty much the same. At twice the size of such rooms, the space was dominated by a king size bed on one side. Just above his bed hung a vintage chart of India and an Indian flag he had acquired from a sale in Aberdeen.  On either sides of the bed were small wooden nightstands in which he put books he liked to read for his own pleasure, at least when he had time to spare.

Close to the bed were some shelves and a large wardrobe, his biggest storage compartment besides the numerous cabinets recessed into the walls of the cabin. One thing of importance in the room was Dilip’s Hindu altar, which stood out against the rest of the room with its bright colors. The door of the wardrobe was left ajar, revealing a hint of Dilip’s white dress uniform, which he still had to refit to his new body shape.

The rest of the room was occupied by a small kitchenette that allowed the Captain to eat apart from the crew when he felt like it, complete with a well stocked mini fridge, a bar and a table with four seats. From time to time, he liked to order the cooks to prep him a particularly good meal to share with Alejandro and Schmitt in his cabin.

The dog cracked his neck before setting some water to heat on the stove while he took a shower. Hygiene had been a bit… odd to figure out in the first days for the whole crew. Fur didn’t always get along with water, unlike skin despite sweat having the bad tendency of building up rather quickly under his coat whenever he exerted himself. That forced him to be rather generous with soap to avoid spreading his ‘musk’ all over the ship’s hallways.

The feeling of warm water trickling down his back did such good job of soothing the kinks in Dilip’s neck that he had to restrain himself from wagging his tail. Quirks in body language came naturally with the ears and tail and were rather annoying to repress for the Indian, but he had an image to maintain in front of his crew. He was their pack leader after…

What an odd thought. He meant Captain, not pack leader. Better keep a watch on that kind of stray thought.

Considering the stories that went around the ship, Dilip seemed rather fortunate to have wound up with short fur. Another Indian on the crew, Ajit, had turned into a breed resembling Himalayan sheepdogs, and he kept complaining about the amount of time it took him to get washed and dried. The Captain had no such problem, having been saddled with the short furred appearance of an Indian pariah dog if his observations were correct.

And the matter of fur length was but the tip of the iceberg when he compared it to the reaction of most crewmen the day before, when Artyom had offhandedly suggested they use shampoo from a pet shop during dinner. That had caused one hell of a ruckus.

After getting dried (which in the last few days had reintroduced him to the use of hairdryers), Dilip easily slipped inside a new set of tan cargo shorts and his usual pilot shirt, after making sure the epaulettes were correctly fitted. He skipped putting on a tie, the article of clothing being extremely uncomfortable with his new large neck. 

Without the need to go out for a while, he left his shoes behind and went to make himself a fresh kettle of tea, with some loose leaves of high-quality Darjeeling he had gone to great lengths to acquire. Some on board might prefer coffee, but he had been a sucker for good tea ever since he had left India to seek out contracts in Europe.

The soft smell of brewing tea wafted up the kettle and hit the dog’s nostrils just the right way, making him release a contented sigh. He carried the kettle and an empty mug to his office, sitting down in his chair and booting up his computer.

Giving the electronics their time to boot up, the Captain briefly perused through a stack of papers he had left on his desk the day before. Nothing out of the ordinary: risk assessments for the new installations, salvage requests for the last few pieces of equipment they needed, training schedules and the lot.

On top of the stack was a paper left behind by Alejandro after they had left crewmembers the chance to come up with ideas for their new vehicle. A car dealership downtown was highlighted on a chart, with an adjoined picture of a boxy Land Rover. So, the idea of acquiring Defenders had won out against the Lada Nivas. Odd, he always assumed the Eastern Europeans would vote for the latter.

Grabbing a pen in his large paw, Dilip filled in the blanks on the requisition document. They would take two Def 90, and six Def 130, preferably with a raid kit. He added mentions for taking along the usual amount of parts before signing the document and putting it in his ‘out’ filer.

By then the computer had finished loading and Dilip quickly opened the connection with the satellite network to see if the HPI guys had gotten round drafting that contract of theirs. And lo’ and behold, after the usual two minutes of dialing the satellites, his computer pinged several times upon receiving the expected mails, one of them holding a very large attached file.

“Time to switch to legalese I guess…” The Captain muttered in distaste as he took a sip of his tea.

The file opened to reveal a document several dozen pages long detailing every aspect of any possible cooperation between his ship and the HPI in excruciating detail, including ridiculous amounts of small print. Dilip quickly went through the different parts of the document before stopping at a particular heading, his mug of tea raised halfway to his muzzle.

“Now that’s new.” He commented, reaching for his phone.

He had a few questions to ask Eko.





The month of June in this part of Europe wasn’t particularly warm, but that didn’t make it cold either: temperatures regularly stuck around the fifteen degrees mark in the morning.  There were still some fog banks from the river here and there in the area that were in the process of being quickly dissipated by the heat of the rising sun. 

Building the makeshift shooting range had been little trouble for the crew. A handful of empty shipping containers had been moved in place in a matter of minutes, and then Artyom had spent the rest of the time marking the limits with ropes and flags before setting up some plywood targets next to the dyke he had chosen.

He had made damn sure the shooting range would be pointed away from any dangerous terminal in the harbor. You never know when a stray shot ricochets off the berm and flies off to hit something dangerous.

A couple tables and a tent had been set up next to the shipping containers, as well as a whiteboard on an easel so Artyom could give his instructions clearly.

And now the dragon found himself standing with a pair of ear defenders on his head watching Nikola shoot a few rounds at the targets.

The Bulgarian raised his tan colored rifle and carefully took aim at the targets. Artyom eyed his technique critically, watching the gargoyle adjust his stance a few times before finally flipping off the safety and shooting twice at the silhouette painted on the plywood board.

A thin trail of smoke rose up from the muzzle of the weapon, accompanied by the telltale smell of burnt gunpowder in the air. Artyom didn’t miss the wince that marred Nikola’s features the moment he pulled the trigger; and neither did Sri beside him.

Nikola kept his gun pointed at the target for a few seconds before lowering it back in patrol-ready position, flicking the safety back on almost as an afterthought.

“Yeah sorry about that Artyom but that’s no shooting for me.” Niko said with a shake of his head.

“Not a problem, I kind of expected it.” He shrugged. “Think you can run overall safety while we do the instructor job?”

Niko nodded and went to set down his rifle on the table after taking care of removing its mag and the chambered round.

“How is the technique anyway? Don’t hold back, I’m not thin-skinned.” He asked.

“In all honesty?” Sri said, the hippogriff walking up to his colleague with a cigarette held in his beak. He had a raspy voice from all his smoking. “I can see where you get your ideas from but you’d be less rusty after spending fifteen years in seawater.”

“Contrarily to you both I wasn’t in a combat unit so at least I got that excuse as a defense. What did you see?”

The female hippogriff sat down on his haunches and scratched the side of his beak distractedly with a talon.

“Breath control is the biggest thing I can see. You stay too long in…” The Indonesian hesitated. “Damn, what’s the word again? Apnea I think? You stop breathing too long; that makes you start shaking instead of being more stable. Stance wise, I see you’re hesitating but I got no advice for you. Hooves feel different?”

“That they do.” Nikola said, removing his flak jacket. The jacket was only there to carry his mags since he had removed the Kevlar plates before coming. Not that they expected any attack inside the port terminal: the sailors manning the guard post made sure of that. “I can’t help but feel less stable. Where’s the coffee?”

“Inside the tent. Didn’t take milk though, Rahul wouldn’t let me.” Artyom said.

Niko walked in the tent and served himself a cup of black coffee before sitting down on a foldable chair.

“I was thinking maybe using my tail would make me more stable but…” He threw a glance at the appendage that snaked its way out of the back of his coveralls. “I really have a hard time controlling it. Not as bad as my wings, but it still feels… foreign I’d say.”

“Same goes for me. At least I manage not to get it stuck in doors but that’s about it.” Artyom said, sitting down in front of Nikola.

Sri quirked an eyebrow when both turned to stare at him expectantly.

“If you’re expecting a confession on that from me you’re gonna be disappointed.” He showed off his rump slightly. “That’s not exactly a tail, mind you. Only a crest of feathers attached to my ass. I guess I can move them and it’s probably meant for flying.” He said, moving the wings under his coveralls for emphasis. “But in either case I’m a quadruped, we don’t use the same firing position.”

“Figured one out, have you?” Artyom said.

“I think I do. Still no equivalent for firing on the move or standing, but I got a prone and a sitting position.”

“Close enough. Wanna try it now?”

“Would have done it whether you agreed or not.” Sri said, sliding a mag in his gun. “How long do we have?”

“A whole hour before the first training group arrives.” Nikola said after a quick check on his watch.

Sri went back to the firing line and sat down on his haunches. He pointed a talon at his ears to tell the other two to put on their ear defenders before pulling the cocking lever on his own rifle, a scoped SCAR like Artyom’s and Nikola’s.

Shouldering the rifle, the hippogriff leaned slightly forward, trying to balance out his positioning so he would be able to take the recoil. Behind him, his tail feathers swished in the sand, lifting up small amounts of it every time he shifted his position.

And then he flipped off the safety switch and released three shots in quick succession, all of which impacted the throat of one of the target silhouettes installed earlier by Artyom. His shoulders barely moved when he fired, the brunt of the recoil appearing to be taken by his back.

Sri frowned at the impact marks on the target, switching the cigarette in his beak from side to side. A click resounded as he put the safety back on before turning to the two sailors behind him.

“I think the zeroing on my scope needs some adjustments. Those shots were aimed at the head.” He said slowly.

“Nah it’s normal. You’re too close to the target for the range it’s set at. If you’re closer than the distance it’s zeroed at, you need to aim low, not high.” Artyom explained. “How does the technique feel?”

“Good enough to shoot above short cover.” Sri said nonchalantly. “Frankly if I need to hold the position then I’m better off going prone for the height I gain doing that. More stable too.” He then looked for a moment at his rifle. “If I’m entirely honest the sitting position doesn’t feel good for sustained fire, much less full-auto. At least that’s the way it feels for me, maybe one of the griffons could manage the increased recoil with their tail but a hippogriff would have to take it all with their back. Rifle only then, maybe a submachine gun in full auto but the MAG’s are a big no-no.”

“Good to know, you’ll be the one teaching them anyway. Want to get a few more shots off?”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather rehearse the lesson plan you’ve got. We begin with a dry run, right?”

Artyom nodded, pulling out a small notebook out of his pocket. He had written down the entire process he had planned in it, complete with the previous results the sailors had obtained when they tested them on weapon manipulations. He tossed it to Sri who snatched it out of the air with ease.

“Groups are intended to be half quadruped, half biped so we can each focus on our own type.  I divided them all in small groups we can manage with just two instructors, but I kept the more technical stuff for another day. Today’s just regular shooting with rifles, machineguns and the less-lethal weapons.”

Sri looked at the text written in the notebook, flipping idly through the thin pages.

“No contest on what you’ve written. However… I’ve never used the less-lethal launcher. FN 303, fancy modern tech that, no idea how it works.”

“Think paintball gun on steroids.” Nikola piped in. “Only word of advice: don’t try it on monsters.”

Sri and Artyom stared incredulously at the gargoyle.

“You actually went and shot one of the quarry eels with those?!”

“It was an accident.” Nikola admitted sheepishly. “I forgot I had a 303 instead of a regular pistol. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, pull out what’s in the pistol holster and shoot.”

“And?”

“Well for one the eel sent me fucking flying.”

Right then Sri burst out laughing hysterically, his laugh coming out slightly wheezing from the smoking. His cigarette fell out of his beak and in the sand of the shooting range.

“Sorry Niko but I’m just picturing the eel giving you an annoyed glare then slapping you away with its tail.”

Nikola rolled his eyes.

“Bit less funny when you take into account said slap was strong enough to bruise my ribs. Anyway, FN 303, wanna try it?” He said, pulling out his from his holster.

Artyom diplomatically steered them away from talking about Nikola’s little failure by getting one of the carbine versions of the 303 and drawing their attention to the weapon. The gun launched small balls that disintegrated upon impacting their target to cause blunt trauma. A couple boxes of ammunition they had found for them also held some paint or tear gas in the balls for added effect, but the weapon was clearly made to disperse crowds and neutralize unarmored targets… which the quarry eels certainly hadn’t been.

The 303’s were very short ranged compared to a normal weapon, and the balls didn’t travel fast at all meaning they were pretty easy to dodge if you were paying attention. Nevertheless, as the target they had chosen showed, the weapons were rather accurate and easy to aim. They also noted that even the carbine version suffered from having a very small magazine, which posed a problem since the rounds were so easy to dodge.

Tempting as it was for Nikola, he managed not to shoot a ball of tear gas at Sri who was still snickering at the gargoyle’s story with the eels.

Soon after they trained with the 303’s, the first batch of trainees turned up and they had to bring their firing to a halt and address the sailors. 





Vadim looked hesitantly at the list on his desk. It was now early in the evening and he had spent most of the day giving his first-aid lessons to various groups to the point he could almost hear himself droning about the correct procedure from how repetitive it had been. The only thing that had made the day bearable was the time he had spent on the shooting range. Not that he was particularly good at it (far from it actually, but if they ever had to broadside a barn he would be able to hit it… most of the time), but that had brightened up his day enough that he could push through the bore that basic first-aid was.

The list in front of him held a couple names, those belonging to the crewmembers that had volunteered to become his medical assistant. And now he had to pick one. And boy was he surprised when he got a look at the name on top of the list.

Boris had come as a surprise to the Officer. Vadim had always pictured the Russian in a somewhat unsavory fashion because really, there was no other way to say it: he was a complete and utter Gopnik. The Russian turned griffon had always been one of the least respectable members of the crew and Vadim often saw him as one of the reason Eastern Europeans had a bad reputation in some ports.

But the griffon must have had a change of heart at some point because he certainly didn’t behave the way he used to before the Event. And his results showed: the Russian had been extremely attentive during his lessons, and from what he had gathered the case was pretty much the same when it came to weapons training and helping around the ship. What pushed him to behave like that, he had no idea, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Vadim stared at the new photo of the Russian that was attached to his file, showing him a wide eyed goshawk front with piercing yellow eyes and a striped brown and grey pattern on his chest feathers, clashing with the dark brown feathers that covered his back and the outer side of his wings. Dilip had ordered shortly after the change that every photo in their files be updated, and since body differences were so high, he had added a complete body picture in addition to the facial one. As far as Boris was concerned, that only meant Vadim could see his feline half was that of a lion and that he was slightly shorter than him in opposition to how it had been before the change, back when the Russian used to be 1m93.

The next best sailor for the place was one of the Filipinos, a parrot apparently, but his results were nowhere near as good as those of Boris which meant Vadim didn’t really have any choice… But still, that was a hell of a surprise. Should he really give the place to a guy he had seen chug a bottle of vodka under a minute? The thought of him not really being any better didn’t cross the Ukrainian’s mind.

Vadim clicked his beak in thought. He needed someone’s opinion… someone he could trust with assessing Boris’ attitude. A light bulb practically lit up above his head.

Micha. The Pole’s name had crossed his thoughts by sheer coincidence but he had been in the afternoon shooting range group with Boris. Surely he would have a better idea about it than him. His mind made; the griffon tucked Boris’ file under a wing and left his cabin for the Officers’ lounge where Micha usually spent his free evenings; at least when Alejandro wasn’t hogging the room to watch his series.

There were only two people in the lounge when Vadim walked in. Geert and Micha were sitting at the table, playing checkers. Each of the players was sipping from his own cup of coffee, with the Pole's being decorated with the picture of a winged hussar. Both completely ignored the griffon, their mind set on beating their opponent at the game laid in front of them.

Geert was still injured from being bowled over by the wood hound earlier that week. His shoulder was free from the sling but that wasn’t the case for his hip, which was encased in a brace that kept it from moving until the articulation had recovered correctly. And that would take time if Vadim’s books had been correct: the red feathered Dutchman could look forward to hobbling around on crutches for about two months with the bracing on.

Silently, the Ukrainian slid behind the bar to grab himself a clean mug with the two other Officers still failing to notice him. A large thermos of coffee had been left by the bar, and Vadim was all too glad to tap into its reserve of precious mind fuel.

At the table, Geert was hunched over the board looking at the pieces with his injured leg splayed out to the side. The parrot brushed his large ears distractedly with a talon while he thought about his next move. And then the pieces clicked together and he stared at Micha with a gleam in his eyes.

“You’re done with that one.” He said as he grabbed one of his pieces and eliminated three of Micha’s in a row.

“I beg to differ.” Micha fired back, clicking his tongue in amusement before starting a move that cleaned the board of all but one of Geert’s pieces. Adding insult to injury, the move was only made possible by Geert’s previous capture of Micha’s pieces.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” The parrot cried out, slamming his fist on the table. “No way you could have prepared that!”

“Eh, you’re not wrong.” Micha shrugged. “I’m not that good at board games. That was pure luck.” He admitted. “Wanna finish the game?”

“No point really. I’m not coming back from that one.” Geert pushed the board away in distaste. “Damn lucker…”

“At least you got some success with checkers. Shame that doesn’t carry over to cards ‘cause God knows you’re hopeless at poker.” Vadim piped in.

Both Micha and Geert jumped in surprise, not having noticed the griffon who was sipping his coffee from behind the bar.

“Son of a bitch Vadim, we need to put a bell on ya or something.” Micha said. “How long have you been there?”

“Dunno, ‘bout two minutes or three.” Vadim said, joining them at the table. “How was your day both?”

Geert started off as he was putting the board back in its box.

“Fine I guess? I spent most of the day giving Bart a crash course on English. Good thing Dutch and English are so similar in grammar; give me a week or two and I should be able to get him to get his point across. Besides that, I tried to join in on the shooting but Artyom wouldn’t even let me shoot prone.” The parrot complained. “Didn’t miss seeing Micha nail the targets like a pro tho’, you should have seen that.”

Vadim turned a questioning glance towards the Pole.

“I guess you could say that.” Micha admitted. “Back home I used to go hunting with my gramps before he passed away. I tried some sport shooting after that for a bit but I just didn’t have time with all the sailing around.” He shrugged. “I hadn’t shot in years; guess marksmanship is like biking, you can’t forget it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, you look like you wanted to ask me something?”

The grey-falcon griffon nodded.

“Correct.” He reached under his wing with a claw and pulled out Boris’ file which he had been keeping underneath his long primary feathers. “I need your opinion on Boris.” He said, dropping the file in front of the other, bald eagle headed griffon.

“The resident Gopnik? What’s with him? Overdosed on sunflower seeds?” Geert said.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he did, but that’s not the matter at hand… err, claw that is.” He said, eyeing his taloned appendage quizzically. “After he went through my first-aid training session, he came to present me his candidature as my medical assistant.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Micha stated, looking at Vadim with wide eyes. The Ukrainian noted in passing how the green highlighted feathers around the Pole’s eyes seemed to make his irises stand out… He shook his head. How odd.

“I wish I was, but it’s all there in the file.” He said, tapping the papers with his talons.

Micha opened the file, Geert scooting over to take a look at the papers. Inside the plastic folder were every document they had to track the Russian griffon’s data, from medical reports to performance overviews as well as his CV and a couple photos. At the top of the pile were a copy of his candidature letter (written in Russian, meaning only Vadim was able to read it of all three around the table), as well as his results from the training sessions they had done since the Event.

“He got a 100% on all tests? God damn, I thought he was just a fucking idiot.” Geert commented.

“Looks like he just didn’t put his back into it before. The Apocalypse does wonders to motivation if his results are anything to go by. What were you wondering about anyway?” Micha asked.

“I just had my doubts about giving him the position is all. The guy is alright it’s just that… There is a difference between regular deck work and advanced medical care. And that’s the same guy I went on a bar crawl with in Hamburg.” Vadim explained. “I do have more than one candidate but the performance difference between Boris and the next best guy is like night and day.”

“If I may sneak in my own grain of salt, as long as his results put him ahead of the competition like that you don’t have an actual reason to refuse his candidature. For all I know he’d be justified to take it to the Captain if you say no, and I’m 100% certain Artyom would back him up.” Geert said.

“Because he’s Russian?” Micha asked.

“Because he’s Union, and Artyom’s both the boatswain and the Union rep.” Geert pointed out.

Micha shrugged.

“Fair enough. But I may have an idea that could ‘soothe your calms’ about the guy, Vadim.” The Pole said.

“Shoot, it’s not like I have any idea how to go about it.”

Micha fished out a folded piece of paper from one of his pockets and laid it out on the table. On it was a large scale map of downtown Antwerp with some highlighted destinations.

“We’re hitting a couple targets tomorrow for salvage.” He began. “Artyom’s going North around the canals to get the fleet of Defenders we decided to add to our vehicle list.” He said, tapping a talon on one part of the map that was covered in canals and bridges. “Me, I’m going south of the Central Station. There are a couple shops I need to visit, most important of all being a gunsmith. Nothing too big on my end, so I just planned for a single Unimog with a three man team. So… just come along with Boris and grill him while I do my shopping spree.” Micha offered. “You don’t have too much work tomorrow, do you?”

Vadim thought about it for a bit. He had to remove Farkas’ stitches in the infirmary, and Bart was just about ready to be discharged (or at least transferred to a proper cabin), then he had one more group to give a first-aid lesson to; but that should only really keep him busy until noon.

“What about leaving at one o’clock?” He proposed.

“Will do. You tell Boris?” Micha said, finishing his mug of coffee.

“No problem with that.” Vadim said.

The Ukrainian got up from the table and stretched out his wings. He was finding himself opening the zippers on his coveralls increasingly more often to let the appendages move freely, and they were not quite as annoying as they were in the beginning now that he was starting to get a measure of how to control them. He had gotten the open/close part down and had just figured out how to use them to hold onto something if he tucked it under the primaries, which he did with Boris’ files.

Those wings were still sensitive as all hell but he could manage.

“Might have to preen your wings a bit Vadim, you’re starting to look shaggy.” Geert commented offhandedly.

“One day when I figure it out maybe.”  The griffon said. “I’m not quite as worried about the state of my feathers as you parrots seem to be.” He added before walking out. “Good night.”

Geert turned to Micha, the parrot brushing his talons through his multicolored crest of feathers.

“I’m not fussy about my feathers, am I?”

“You kind of are. As a matter of fact he’s right about you and the rest of the parrots being… err, let’s say you’re all very mindful of your appearance.” Micha said diplomatically.

Geert frowned.

“You did spend most of our game session brushing your tail feathers with a claw. Don’t lie, I saw you.” Micha pointed out.

“Bu-“

“And Alejandro has been styling his crest as well. He’s never done that with his hair before. Admit it; you guys have developed a narcissistic streak.”

The Dutchman crossed his arms with a scowl. His sleeves had been folded up to the elbow to show off the multicolored feathers typical of a scarlet macaw.

“So what if we are?”

“Nothing really.” Micha clicked his beak. “Just making you aware your transformation may have brought on some mental changes.”

The Fourth Officer stared at Micha for a moment before letting out an annoyed trill and grabbing his crutches. He hobbled towards the door and addressed the female griffon one last time before leaving.

“Makes me wonder. If us parrots were affected mentally by the change, what’s there to say ‘bout you griffons, uh? G’night.”

To that question, Micha didn’t really have an answer.





“Ok, run that by me again, from the start this time.” Roberto said from his chair.

Still late in the evening, three men were gathered around the desk inside the secretary’s office. The place wasn’t as richly decorated as the Captain’s, and was nowhere near as roomy. Though it was by no means small, the sheer amount of filing cabinets and shelves made the room seem a lot smaller than it actually was.

The filing cabinets and impressive amount of paperwork shared their space with shelving units filled with communication equipment: battery chargers for the radios, small laptops, folding antennas and other satellite phones Roberto had pulled out of a container and prepared for any group sent away on salvaging duties. Next to them were some general electronics and coiled connecting cables, all neatly sorted by Roberto.

The desk that took central place in the room was rather simple in design, provided you didn’t pay attention to the numerous screens and electronics it had been fitted with. One electrician’s toolbox was laid against it; Roberto used it when work needed to be done on the ship’s server banks.

The Italian had been surprisingly moderate when it came to decorating his workplace: only two things really marked the place as his territory, those being a framed photo of a younger human Roberto next to a racing pilot, and one football scarf from the Juventus.

At the moment, Roberto was sitting in his chair with his crutches in his lap facing the Captain and the Chief Officer, both sat by the desk in front of the cat. He still had bandages around his head for his wounded ear, as well as a splint on both his ankle and his tail, but he was getting better.

“So we got the contract from the HPI this morning.” Dilip said.

“Which you loaded up on the server for storage, and which is the exact same that’s now lying on my desk.” Roberto said, tapping an unsheathed claw on a stack of papers for emphasis.

“And then I contacted agent Eko for clarifications regarding a certain paragraph in the contract.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m getting stuck on.” The cat said, ear twitching. “What were you getting at by ‘secondary objectives’? It’s like you’re implying we had primary objectives to begin with.”

“The primary objectives are just missions they send us a direct request for. Like the delivery for the prototypes.” Alejandro explained. “The secondary objectives are a list of specific things they want us to retrieve for which they’re willing to pay us a bonus. Which is where you come into play.” The parrot added, grabbing the papers and pulling out a specific page.

On it was a list of seemingly very different objects. Works of art, data banks, archives, scan results, even raw materials. Roberto quickly perused the list, noting that each of the listed items was paired with a number. Dilip leaned over and pointed a paw at the list.

“Those are items the HPI said they were interested in retrieving. The figures you see next to the items in the list are the value they place on them, which is paired with a… catalog of sorts, in the annexes of the contract. Long story short, we get credits with them for any item on the list we bring; which we can exchange for parts and manufactured goods. Some, like works of art and data banks have great value; others like raw materials less so-with the exception of radioactive materials but I have no intention to ever bringing them that, too risky-.” Dilip said.

“You don’t trust them with nukes?” Roberto quirked an eyebrow.

“That’s not it at all.” The Captain shook his head. “It’s just radioactive materials that are risky to carry around. It was hard to manage before the Event, so I’m not gonna have us try it with the added risks now.”

“Sounds good to me. But how does that contract concern me?”

“We need you to do some bit of research in our database. See if you can locate places we can hit for those objectives, and put up a note for what you find on the duty list.” Alejandro said and then looked at the toolbox by the desk. “And maybe if you could make a program to manage those HPI credits, maybe even one that would give an estimation of how much we can make from the various places we hit…” He twirled a talon distractedly. “Just something to manage it digitally.”

“Scusa capo, but I’m only good with hardware. If you want someone to take care of it, then ask either Micha or Aleksei; that should get you better results.” The cat apologized. “I can go look for points of interest-which might take some time-, but the program is a no-can-do.” He said, paws raised in an apologetic manner.

Dilip shook his head and stood up, soon followed by Alejandro.

“It’s no big deal. They’re both already busy with some tasks they were given but surely that program can wait. Think you can manage via paper and spreadsheets in the meantime?” He said.

“Such is my trade Captain; you can rely on it being done. I will have the contract archived and the annexes distributed to the rest of the crew by tomorrow. I don’t know how long it will take to find those points of interest but I should have at least some for Antwerp on a short notice.” The cat rubbed his shin in thought. “May I make a request?”

“By all means…” Dilip said.

“I’m not sure we have that much data available on museums and all that jazz. Most of our database is about port facilities, understandably. So if one of the teams could find some…” He hesitated. “What’s the word for a book with travel destinations in it? The ones you take so you know where to go on a city trip?”

“A travel guide?” Alejandro offered.

“That’s the one!” The black furred cat said, with a snap of his fingers. “That should give us some insight on where to find museums at least.”

“I will put up a note for some then.” The blue parrot said with a shrug. 

“Have a good night Roberto.” Dilip said with a short nod before walking out with Alejandro in tow.

Roberto took one more look at the lists in the contract. Apparently, even the Apocalypse wasn’t enough to bring down capitalism and free trade.

Good to know.





Hundreds of kilometers away from Antwerp and Amandine, there was a large building situated on the outskirts of a town. Most of the suburban buildings in the area were short, rarely reaching higher than two stories, and colorful. A lot of vegetation had been planted to decorate the area, with numerous trees breaking up the landscape as well as flower beds by the side of the roads. There was a park close by, with a decently sized pond. That town was modern, and rather well off from what the decorations could tell.

The building, a large stone structure built in the early eighties, had several antennas poking out of its roof. It was surrounded by about half a dozen small wind turbines, placed there to provide it with backup power in case of emergency. It was built with an entirely practical approach, unlike the better looking houses in its vicinity, and that made it a rather foreboding object to look at. This wasn’t helped by the fact the grounds of the building were hidden from sight by a thick hedge and some tall wire fences ensuring it couldn’t be spied on from the road.

Few cars were present on the parking in front of the building. There hadn’t been many people present at the moment of the Event, save for those working on the night shift.

In the dim lighting of the late evening, a white worn-out Toyota suddenly appeared out of thin air in the middle of the parking. Its sole occupant was a small equine with a dark purple coat of fur and a pair of bat-like wings. The little creature was tangled in some oversized clothes and looked utterly confused, staring for a solid three minutes at its hooves through a pair of yellow slitted eyes before finally uttering some words in a high pitched voice.

“Hvad fanden?”
> Chapter 18: Streets of Antwerp
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of the 5th of June saw a convoy of trucks leave Amandine in the direction of the city’s commercial districts. Led by Artyom and Angelo in a hooklift truck equipped with a flatbed, the column of vehicles left early in the morning with the intention of obtaining the Defenders they suspected would be found somewhere around the vast amount of docklands and warehouses surrounding the city. They were soon followed by one lone tanker truck leaving to get some extra diesel for the generators (the refill wasn’t necessary per se, but the Captain wanted to keep the tanks topped off whenever possible).

Despite Micha and Vadim’s group not leaving until noon, those ‘expeditions’ still left little in the way of personnel on board of the ship, and only a few crewmembers that weren’t either keeping watch or working on finishing the workshop were able to enjoy some free time. Those few guys could have gone out on the docks to explore the terminal some more and check out some shipping containers, but the arrival of a dense cloud cover and constant drizzle pushed them to stay inside instead. 

A single hippogriff could be seen smoking a cigarette by the funnel, and the constant sound of grinding and welding torches was coming out of the open ramps. Both Schmitt and Alejandro were overseeing the works, with the orange scaled dragon being in the process of inspecting the state of some welds on one of the newly installed bulkheads.

On the other side of the car deck they were converting, Alejandro was looking at the piled materials they were going to use for the next part of the building process, particularly the dismantled truck and car lifts they were going to weld in place later in the afternoon.

Work was advancing at a steady pace since they had arrived in Antwerp: a part of the deck had been separated to create a new compartment in which they had already installed machining equipment. The modifications to the ventilation system were complete and they only really had to finish the armory and vehicle repair bay before moving on to the firefighting installations.

Putting the workshop directly underneath the accommodation would have been impossible without removing vehicle access to the ship via the stern ramp, so they had had to move the desired place for the workshop further towards the bow of the ship. It was still possible to get there without passing through the car decks (a thing the Captain was very partial on doing while at sea unless they turned on the ventilation fans, since fumes in the holds were a constant risk) by using one of the long hallways than ran through the entire length of the ship. Said hallways were present on either side of the vessel and were divided at regular intervals by watertight doors.

Using one of the two upper decks would have been a bad idea considering they were open to the elements, so they set to building the workshop on the first entirely protected deck of the ship. Moving it deeper would have been possible, but they found it more convenient to leave it above the waterline and on the same deck as the external ramps. That would make it simpler if they ever had to tow a damaged vehicle to the repair bay.

Obviously the modifications had resulted in a slight loss of cargo capacity, but even with that they still had plenty of deck room to use to store trailers, vehicles and shipping containers. If they went from a capacity of 4000 CEU to about 3600… well it wasn’t such a big deal. As long as they didn’t try to haul an entire terminal worth of containers, they would have plenty of room for the equipment they needed while still retaining more than enough cargo capacity.

Alejandro stopped to direct one crewmember-a sphinx- to haul a roll of insulation foil to the next bulkhead. The leonine creature –Mohammed he was called, the ship’s sole Tunisian- nodded before grabbing the rolls in that telekinesis field sphinxes had control of to make up for their lack of hands. The Spaniard had no idea how it worked, and he wasn’t about to start questioning it.

Sphinxes were peculiar creatures to look at. Their body shape was clearly telling any observer ‘lion’ at first glance, but then came the wings (which, granted, weren’t really visible underneath the nomex coveralls) and their head. From what he had observed on Farkas, Alejandro had deduced that even females (lionesses maybe?) had a mane on their head which bore an uncanny mix of feline and humanoid features. The coloring was another odd part. Alejandro had never heard of a purple furred lion, yet here was a purple colored Mohammed working close by. The other two sphinxes on the crew had a more tame fur color… but their mane made up for it in spades, with the Chief Steward’s being dark blue. All in all, they made it hard to figure out a pattern.

Size wise they were rather large, though not ridiculously so. They were not as big as actual lions that much was certain: they must have been mid-range in size, somewhere between the famed big cats and a large wolf. Certainly bigger than humans, and much bigger than the parrots and griffons on the crew. Only the fact they were walking on all fours would have led someone (someone bipedal he might add, a quadruped would not make that mistake) to believe they were small.

“Mohammed, can you move that stack of welded wire panels to the site of the armory? They need the whole pallet to finish the cages.” Alejandro said, pointing a talon towards the construction materials.

“Na’am sir.” The Tunisian answered with a sharp nod, moving over to the stack.

The site for the armory had been put towards the back of the workshop, and they had made damn sure the place would be protected by several compartments. Maximum safety and security would be needed considering the sheer amount of weapons they had picked up. This would be helped by the new security cameras and magnetic locks they had retrieved from a warehouse in Zeebrugge before coming to Antwerp.

They had designed the future armory so that it was protected by a first bulkhead for which they used triple layered steel plates totaling 15 millimeters of protection. Accesses would be available both on port and starboard via a set of hydraulically powered watertight doors that could be controlled from the bridge or the engine room (a design they had copied from the ship’s initial watertight doors), or opened using a four-digit code (as long as the master controls on the bridge allowed it).

Further protections would be installed inside by putting the weapon racks inside several reinforced walk-in cages. They didn’t put digital codes or magnetic locks on these (not that they couldn’t, but such measures would have bordered the excessive), instead opting for regular locks.

The inside of the armory was scheduled to be fitted with the gunsmith workbenches and tools they had retrieved from the navy base in Zeebrugge, as well as being used to store all their weapon related gear (like the flak jackets) with the exception of grenades and ammunition which were stored in a container on the main deck.

Not that the ammo wasn’t secure, far from it: measures had been taken to install firefighting installations to the ammo containers, as well as security features. The reason they had put it in a more exposed area as it were was in case of fire. They’d rather have the explosives and gunpowder blow up outside the ship and torch the deck than ripping a hole in the hull.

“Chief?” Mohammed asked, the sphinx coming up behind Alejandro. “Panels in place, what’s next?”

Alejandro’s eyes flicked to some large tubes that ran across the ceiling. They passed through holes pierced in the steel beams of the ship’s structure, covering all areas of the vessel. Their purpose was to pass wires and pipes from one compartment to another.

“How good is your telekinesis control?” The parrot asked.

“Decent I guess.” The sphinx rolled his shoulders in the closest approximation of a shrug he could achieve. 

“Think you can pass the new wiring through to the workshop? I’m not asking you to make the connection, just place it so that it’s ready when the electrician from engineering moves on to it.” He said, motioning with his large beak in the direction of some spools of wire. “The tubes are already in place, and the path is marked on the plans right by Schmitt.”

“Will do.” The sphinx started to walk away before turning back towards his superior. “How do I know which goes where?”

“Easy.” Alejandro said, crossing his arms. “The spools are already measured and marked with a number each. You just have to match it with its equivalent on the plan and then you got the path it’s supposed to follow. Sounds good?”

“Yes sir.” Mohammed nodded before he walked off to get a look at the plans.

With the Tunisian busy with a new task, Alejandro flipped open one of his pockets and pulled out the task list he had prepared for the day. Busy as ever, he noted, but at least the end was in sight for the modifications… until they came up with something new to add to the ship that is. The list went back inside his pocket with the Spaniard releasing a tired sigh.

Modifying a ship like that wasn’t too foreign too him, he did work a stint as inspector on a dry dock for a couple years after all. Still, he had left that job to work full-time at sea for a reason.

The Spaniard meandered over to a crate filled with sprinkler heads and pipe connectors. He stopped in his walk to stare at the crate for a few seconds before storming off in the opposite direction.

“¡Joder! I forgot the pipes for the sprinklers.” He said, following the declaration with a longer stream of curses both in English and Spanish.

The two nearby welders stopped briefly to watch their superior storm off like that. The first one, a Filipino that had turned into a parrot (a golden parakeet) gave his colleague a questioning glance. The other, a hippogriff, just shrugged and lowered his welding mask before getting back to work.

Alejandro did that all the time anyway. What’s new with him running around fixing things last minute? Plus, as long as the Spaniard was running after parts he wasn’t breathing over their neck. He just didn’t need to know they still had about eight hours before the pipes would even be needed.





The beeping from Bart’s heart monitor reverberated through the infirmary as Vadim did his last checks on the unicorn’s health.

There were four people in the infirmary at the moment: Vadim, who was checking out the progress on Bart’s wounds; Geert, who was quietly observing from the back and giving translations when necessary, and lastly Farkas. The Chief Steward laid belly down on one of the beds, awaiting his turn for Vadim to remove his stitches.

The Ukrainian griffon was humming as he took the sky-blue furred unicorn’s parameters and compared them to the ones he had written down in his file the last few days. Steady increase in blood pressure, good. He was recovering from the blood loss. Temperature… plateaued after a while and stable. Vadim had no idea what he was supposed to see on the electrocardiogram but as long as it was steady, he supposed it was good. Most of the observations were guesswork and comparison with human parameters which most likely wasn’t the best of ideas, but he didn’t have a healthy patient to compare the unicorn to.

Vadim idly contemplated gathering parameters from certain members of the crew to get an idea of what he should see on healthy individuals of a certain species. Might be a good idea, but that would have to wait until he processed more important things like the blood type problem.

He had done a quick test on a sample of the unicorn’s blood. What came out was a completely different type from human blood, yet there was hope because it contained markers he had seen on other species like the hippogriffs and the gargoyles. He would have to test compatibility between those; maybe that would confirm his idea of it being a new blood type. For now he would just keep calling it group C until he got a confirmation.

But that pointed to another… odd matter. He was no medical expert but he knew individuals of a same species didn’t necessarily have the same blood type. On the other hand, the results he had obtained from sampling the entire crew told him the exact opposite: all griffons were A-type, as well as the parrots. The dogs and cats all had B-type blood, and the hippogriff and gargoyles had AC and BC blood respectively. All negative type too. Mind boggling really, but he’d rather trust his observations than assumptions made from reading his medical encyclopedia (which did it a disservice considering how bloody helpful that thing was).

Moving on to examining the wounds, Vadim was pleased to see the numerous cuts the unicorn had received from broken glass were scabbed over, and that the deep slash the wood hounds had inflicted on his neck was slowly starting to close. The edges of the cut were clean, with all the stitches solidly in place as far as he could see under the bandages. He prodded the wound with a gloved claw, making sure that his patient moving would not reopen it. Seeing it wasn’t the case, the griffon gave a satisfied snort before reapplying a layer of disinfectant and replacing the bandages.

“Well, it’s all good for you.” Vadim said. “Just let me unplug the IV’s and monitors and then you’ll be on your way.”

There was a pause where Geert translated the sentence for Bart.

“So what will I do next?” The Belgian asked.

“You will be moved to a regular cabin.” Vadim answered after hearing Geert’s translation. “Farkas here will show you your room when I get done with his stitches. I think we already put your stuff in one of the spare cabins, correct Farkas?” The griffon said, motioning towards the sphinx with his beak.

“We have.” The Chief Steward said. “It’s cabin 15, one floor up. You’ll share a bathroom with Nguyen, shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“That’s all good I guess, but what does that make of me once I’m completely recovered?” The unicorn asked.

“Remember when you woke up and asked about joining the crew? I brought it up with the Captain. He said you could stay as long as we could find some use for you. I told him you could make a great guard at least. Do you have any technical skill by any chance?” Geert jumped in.

“I know my way around weapons I guess.” The unicorn said, but then he brought up a hoof for the parrot to see. “But regardless of whether or not I can fix guns, I don’t think I’m suited for fine manipulations at the moment.”

To that, Geert’s answer was to turn towards Farkas and ask him to levitate something.

“It may be a stretch, but the only guys we have on the crew that lack digits are the sphinxes, and they make up for it by using that telekinesis.” Geert said. “I think it’s worth a shot to check if you can do it as well.”

The unicorn looked at the cardboard box Farkas was floating around in his telekinesis field in bewilderment. Vadim empathized with the guy, it’s not every day you see someone defy the laws of physics in such a manner. But he had to put limits to the practice of sorcery inside his infirmary.

“Guys, I hate to be the stick-in-the-mud of the crew but please keep your Hogwarts-esque shenanigans to a place that’s not holding fragile gear like my infirmary.” He said before pulling out a plastic bag from a cabinet. “As for you, Bart, most of your clothes are already in your cabin but I took the liberty of grabbing something for you to be somewhat decent before you get there.”

The bag contained an olive green wool sweater and a pair of elastic sport shorts. The smallest pieces of attire the griffon could find that would fit the unicorn before he got the time to adjust some clothes. The sweater still bore the Corporal’s ranks on the epaulettes, those being two white chevrons that contrasted with the wool’s color.

Funnily enough the wool was the same color as the hair on his mane and tail.

“Thanks doc.” Bart said, accepting the bag and tearing off his hospital gown. The white piece of cloth landed on the side of his bed in a heap. Geert didn’t translate for Vadim; the Ukrainian hated being called that anyway. Something about not being an actual doctor.

Geert had to help the military guy put on his clothes. Bart’s lack of experience with his hooves made sure the Belgian had a hard time getting anything done with them, which was not helped by him having to avoid putting stress on the stitches on his neck.

Meanwhile, the griffon had rolled his stool over to Farkas’ bed. He put on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves to avoid contaminating his patient before leaning over the sphinx’s wounds.

“Been taking your antibiotics as planned?” Vadim asked.

“Just the usual. I take my pills in the morning, I take them in the evening, and I make sure my bandages are clean. I know the drill.”

“Any pain?” Vadim was already peeling off the bandages.

“Not really. I take a paracetamol once in a while but that’s just me stressing the wounds because I move around too much.”

Starting with the gash on the sphinx’s paw, the griffon was pleased to see the wound had closed up nicely. His biggest worry of fur getting inside the wound turned out to be unfounded, though he had to blame his lack of experience on the scar being a bit too rough looking. Now to remove the sutures…

Having had what he would later call an ‘innovative’ idea, the griffon had only packed a pair of tweezers for the removal. The tool he would use to cut the suture wire? His talons.

Now, it was easy to notice for Vadim after his transformation that griffons as a species were gifted with wickedly sharp talons, much more so than those of hippogriffs. Generally speaking, that was a disadvantage that made using delicate equipment harder unless said talons were trimmed regularly. Considering there was no real reason justifying having permanent knives affixed to their hands, most of the griffons on the crew had thus resolved themselves to trimming them at regular intervals.

Vadim did that too, but he had also gone one step further in his thinking. The night after he was transformed, the griffon had decided to keep one sharp talon on each claw. To keep them from damaging stuff when he didn’t mean to, Vadim had wrapped some rubber tape around them which he could tear off when the occasion presented itself.

The fact that he kept a knife on his person at all times anyway didn’t cross his mind.

The Officer ripped off the tip of the finger on his nitrile glove, revealing the wrapped talon. A second later, the tape came off as well and he applied a generous dose of disinfectant on his talon.

“What are you gonna do with that?” Farkas asked, eyeing the talon warily.

“I’m making use of the tools that this new body provides me dear Steward.” The griffon said, puffing up the grey feathers on his chest.

Before his patient had the time to flinch or retreat, he slipped a talon under the wire, cutting it with little resistance meeting the sharp bit of keratin. A twirl of his tweezers later and the wire was extracted from the Greek’s flesh and tossed in the trash.

“See? No trouble at all. If anything it’s easier to use than scissors.” The griffon stopped to eye the wound with his sharp eyes. “And from the looks of it the wound is sealed enough that I can remove the rest as well without it breaking open. Now if you would please relax you big baby.”

Removing the rest of the wire posed no more trouble than the first bit. The sphinx’s wounds would result in scars on his paw and his head, but his fur looked thick enough to hide the scar tissue and preserve his good looks. Vadim proceeded to wrap the scarred over wounds under some bandages before straightening up, his work finished.

“By the way Farkas, how’s it going mentally? I know most of the guys turned gals on the crew have been sticking with each other to cope but I don’t see you socializing much.” Vadim tried.

The Greek sphinx turned his head to address the griffon a cold stare that made the feathers on the back of his neck stand up.

“Schmitt and I have been keeping tabs on the situation of the females on this crew.” He said coldly, his earlier demeanor now gone. “You needn’t worry about it; it’s perfectly under control, Zinoviya.” 

Farkas stepped off the bed slowly before making his way to the door. He turned to Geert halfway through the door.

“I’ll be in the cafeteria.” He said before leaving with a huff.

There were a full twelve seconds of silence before Vadim finally spoke up.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked in confusion.

“Not that I know of. It’s just him in particular.” Geert said with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother yourself with it; I’ll just bring it up with Schmitt later. Can’t say that was unexpected tho’.”

“What do you mean ‘not unexpected’?”

“It’s a bit hard to tell with him because he hides it so well but he’s been distancing himself as time passes.” Geert shrugged. “Of all the close relations he has on board, there’s only Schmitt that’s been gender bent. The rest? Alejandro, the Captain; friends indeed but not so close that he could talk to them freely about it.”

Vadim winced. Maybe pushing on with work like they did was just delaying the problem and not actually addressing it. He took a look at the clock in the room. Half past noon.

“I don’t have time to deal with this right now. I only got half an hour to grab a bite of something before I leave with Micha, and I still got to tidy up the infirmary…” Vadim said, trailing off.

“Then let me help.” Geert offered. “Go to the cafeteria, I’m not as busy as you are, can’t be that hard to shelve medical supplies uh?”

The griffon hesitated for a bit, staring at the parrot that was sitting on Bart’s bed before shaking his head in resignation.

“Alright, just be careful with the gear. It’s fragile. The tweezers and tools go in the sink, just put them in a tray filled with disinfectant.” He said, stowing his stool under one of the beds. “You’ll remember to bring up Farkas’ case to Schmitt?”

“Don’t worry, I will.” The parrot said with a dismissive wave. “Now shoo, you’re gonna be late at this rate.”

“Yeah, right. Uh, thanks for that and…” He pointed a talon towards Bart. “Mind the wound; I don’t wanna redo those sutures, copy?”

“We get it, now git before I change my mind.” Geert said, one claw pointing towards the door.





Half an hour and a quick stop at the ship’s vault later, Vadim was coming down the stairs next to the stern ramp, ready to leave. He had made some adjustments to the layout of the pouches on his flak jacket after having had the chance to try out shooting the day before. The new layout gave him a better access to his mags and shifted the less essential pouches (like the one in which he kept loose rounds) to his back. The fit still wasn’t ideal and would remain that way until he took the time to tailor the jacket to his new form, but the ergonomics were miles ahead of what he had used when he had raided the clinic in Zeebrugge.

Boris had already rolled one of the unimogs out of the holds (one of the olive green ones) and was in the process of mounting one of their machineguns to what looked like a ring mount.

“Didn’t know these could mount a gun…” He mused as he approached the vehicle.

“I know right?” The Russian said, having heard his superior. “At first glance I thought these were just made for extra lights and maybe a winch or an external roll cage but then I noticed the hatch in the ceiling of the cabin. They’re made to fit MAG’s to boot… which isn’t really a surprise come to think of it. We did get the mogs and the guns from the same base.”

Saying that, he finished securing the gun to the ring and jumped off the vehicle, landing neatly on all fours.

“I packed four belts for it, one’s already loaded on the gun, and the others are in the cabin. If we keep that, plus our rifles and pistols we should be fine I think, ladno?”

“Fine by me, I don’t have any less-lethal on me though.” Vadim said, rolling his shoulders to emphasize the FNC slung across his back as well as the pistol holster he had put on his offhand shoulder.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that.” Micha’s voice came from the back of the truck. “I got a 303 pistol myself, if that’s even a thing we’re gonna need.”

The female griffon came walking around the truck, already clad in proper gear and with one of the ship’s few SCAR’s slung across his back (his results on the range the day before justified him getting one over other crewmembers). Tucked under his flak jacket was a map of the city he had been inspecting prior to Vadim’s arrival.

“How was lunch?” Micha asked politely.

“Decent. Had to hurry a bit because I got held up in the infirmary but at least Nguyen is cooking things that aren’t necessarily Asian now.”

“Hmm, maybe one day I’ll convince him to make pierogi for a change. Been years since I had some.” Micha commented. Vadim noted in passing that the bald-eagle griffon wasn’t deepening his voice as hard as he used to. “You filled the tank yet Boris?”

“Da.”

Having already planned the trip on the map, Micha took the wheel after programming the planned address in their GPS. Vadim took the seat in the centre of the cabin, with Boris taking the last one just beneath the hatch for the machinegun. After asking the approval for the trip to the bridge via radio, they finally rolled down the ramp and drove out of the harbor terminal.

The two sailors left at the checkpoint waved at them when they passed, and then they were on the road. The distance to downtown Antwerp may have been close as the crow flies (and none of the griffons in the group could), but the design of the extensive port installations was complicated to get out of due to the many artificial waterways that had been dug into the banks of the river, creating a literal maze of locks and bridges. The GPS made them take numerous turns to go around other terminals and refineries. While the port did have a highway system, it was unfortunately leading out of the town (logical in a sense, few cities would want a continuous stream of lorries passing downtown).

After a good half-hour of driving, they broke away from the port and finally drove into the city proper. The particularity with the Scheldt River and Antwerp was that there were no bridges built over it, only tunnels. The sailors’ green mog emerged out of the tunnel into a city they were more or less familiar with, having already stopped there a few times in the past (though if they were entirely honest about it they had more experience with its red light district than its churches).

Before the Event, Antwerp had been a rather well off city, and most of all it was an old city. Modern glass buildings shared the streets with centuries-old houses, and large avenues were just as likely to be found as the twists and turns of old paved streets typically found in European cities. Along the banks of the river, they could see a castle sharing the space with the modern control tower of the harbor authority. All in all, a city that had seen its fair share of history, which made it a shame that it was now completely abandoned and left to deteriorate like that. Almost two weeks after the Event, the city was still almost pristine save for small signs like overgrown flower trays and swarms of flies coming from food shops and restaurants.

The bigger concern the crew had with going downtown was the zoo that was placed in the very centre of the town, next to the Central Station. Vadim would have liked to take a peek at the iconic building; unfortunately he didn’t fancy getting devoured by escaped lions. Sure they could have gone there and shot the critters, but what would be the point in doing that? The animals didn’t deserve an execution like that. Micha made a point of avoiding the area by taking the smaller, narrower streets instead of the avenues that focused around the station like wheel spokes around a hub.

Vadim turned his focus away from looking at the passing buildings and to the Russian griffon beside him. Boris was idly flicking the control of the gas valve on his rifle back and forth.

“So Boris…” Vadim started. “I saw your name on the volunteer list for the medical assistant position yesterday. I must say, I was rather surprised. Care to explain?”

“Uh?” The goshawk took a second to realize his superior had asked him a question. “Yeah, I did volunteer. What’s with that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Coming from you, I’d call that odd.” Vadim continued before Boris got any chance to open his beak and retort to that. “Before that whole Apocalypse thing got started your performance reports were noticeably lower. Not bad per se, but I’m curious as to what’s gotten into you since we all grew a pair of wings?”

Boris quirked a feathery brow at that remark.

“Look Vadim, I know you think I’m some sort of backwards moron.”

“I don-“

“Yes you do.” The Russian frowned. “And up until now I never bothered to correct you ‘bout it ‘cause that meant my boss wasn’t gonna start laying more work on me for nothin’. There was no reason behind getting any better, and as long as you thought that way… well, it was all the better for me.”

“So the gopnik behavior was just a gig?” Micha butted in, eyes still focused on the road.

“Performances are met and I maximize my free time. I just wasn’t interested in working overtime. Not worth it at the time.” Boris explained.

“So it takes the fucking Apocalypse to get you off your ass? Neat, now that I know what to do next time then. I’ll just… end the world as we know it, no biggie.” Vadim drawled. “You’re still a gopnik in my books tho’.”

Boris let out a snort out of his beak nostrils.

“Woe is me; my superior thinks I’m an idiot.” The goshawk rolled his eyes. “You’re saying that like you’re any better. Surprise surprise, last time I checked we went on bar crawls together. Wonder what that makes of you.”

“Unlike you I can muster some class when necessary and I’ve proven it in the past, whereas I only have your word to go by that you’re more than you let on.” Vadim gestured vaguely with his claw. “So by all means Boris, show us how wrong we are.” He taunted.

“’cause the results I got on the last few tests weren’t enough?” Vadim could see the smirk on the Russian’s beak. “Go ahead, give me the position, doc, you won’t regret it.”

“First, don’t call me that, ever.” Vadim glared at the smirking griffon. “Second, you can consider yourself on trial for the position, mudak, but if I ever see you straying one single step to the side, you’ll be wishing the world wasn’t as fucked up ‘cause I’ll whoop your ass.”

Vadim then held up his claw for the Russian to shake. His smirk not leaving his beak, the other griffon took it and squeezed. Hard.

“I’m sure you will, sir.” The sarcasm on the last word was palpable.

“You guys done with the dick measuring contest?” Micha interrupted.

“Hey! We’re no-“Boris attempted before Micha slammed his paw on the brakes.

Both Boris and Vadim slammed their heads against the dashboard and erupted in profanities; the former in Russian, the latter in Ukrainian. While both males were picking themselves up from the sudden stop, Micha turned to them with a stern look on his face.

“Now listen up both of you. As the Second Officer and, need I remind you, your superior to you both, I will not allow that kind of behavior as long as I hold that position.” The Pole pointed an accusatory talon at Vadim. “You do not have the right to threaten him in such a manner, regardless of whether you’re actually going to do it or not and you…” The talon switched target to point towards the Russian next to Vadim “…Need to get off your high horse as well. If you think you’re too good to ‘reveal your hidden talent’ to the rest of the crew then you can fuck right off.” The Pole clicked his beak once. “I’m not going to threaten to beat you up, but be certain of this: now that the cat’s out of the bag about your actual capabilities, I’ll be very keen on looking at the progress of your performance reports, this time without you fooling us, zrozumiano?”

Both griffons nodded frantically.

“I swear Micha, those were just hollow insults. We do that all the time.” The grey falcon griffon turned to the Russian by his side. “Don’t we?”

Boris gave another nod.

“Don’t know, don’t care. No threatening your subordinates with physical harm on my watch. Insults I can live with, but legit threats?” He shook his head. “Keep that to bars and free time if you think it’s necessary, but please, don’t do that on duty Vadim. The Apocalypse is no reason to start behaving like criminals.”

“Will do, I promise.” The griffon said immediately.

The Pole stared at the two other griffons for a few seconds before the corners of his beak shifted upwards in a smile (and how their beaks could be that expressive, Vadim had no idea).

“Much better. We good?” He asked, claw hovering over the gear stick. “Target ain’t much further from here.”

“Sure, we good.” Boris said. Then he leaned over towards Vadim.

“What does zrozumiano mean anyway?” He asked in a whisper.

“Understood. It’s Polish.” The Ukrainian whispered back.

A few minutes later, their truck reached a small paved square surrounded by tall buildings made out of bricks and brownstone. There was a small fenced basketball court in the centre next to some benches. A ring of trees around the square provided shelter from the constant drizzle that pelted down on the city. The trees’ shade, coupled with the grey cloudy sky above gave the area an eerie, gloom filled atmosphere that wasn’t helped by the oppressive feeling the buildings were giving.  A couple cars were parked around the area, having been unoccupied at the moment of the Event. From the decorations on the buildings and the car brands, Vadim could see the inhabitants certainly hadn’t been threatened by poverty.

There were a few small sized shops around the square, most of which used to sell antiques, as well as a couple art galleries. The one that stood out from the rest was their target: a gunsmith with a lever action rifle sign hanging above the storefront. Micha stopped the truck right in front of the shop, not caring one bit about designated parking areas.

There were a couple hunting rifles and trophies on display visible through the front window, each held up by a carefully crafted wooden support. What little they could see inside the shop showed more in the back, but now came the matter of entering the secure building. Not helping the matter was the fact the alarm was probably still on: the city had a vast array of wind turbines that kept electricity running despite the shutdown of the nuclear plant, a fact that had just as many ups as it had downs.

“Well that’s all good Officers but I don’t think you actually came expecting to bash the door open with a hammer.” Boris said, noting that Micha did indeed have a hammer on his flak jacket.

“Nah.” The Pole pointed at the apartment windows just above the shop. “I’m thinking vertically.”

The apartment was just one floor above the storefront, but the architecture style of the neighbourhood was made with some pretty tall floors. There were lead gutter pipes on either side of the building that ran down the building’s facade, each burping out a constant stream of water from the rain.

“Last I checked none of us had figured out how to fly yet.” Boris said. “You can’t be thinking ‘bout climbing those pipes?”

“Watch and learn, Ruskie.” The female griffon said.

Micha then shuffled past Vadim, his tail brushing against the Ukrainian’s side and sending a tremor up his spine, his tail going rigid for a second. Vadim got a weird look on his face before shaking his head. Unaware of this, the Pole approached the gutter and took off his safety shoes before grasping the pipe with both claws. Looking up, he saw that most of the wall up to the first floor was made of bricks. Good he thought as he flexed his paw pads, unsheathing the sharp claws on his feline legs.

The other two sailors watched flabbergasted as the Pole started slowly climbing up the facade using the pipe. As he went up the wall, they saw how he was using his paws’ claws to grip onto the wall and hold himself up while he used his forelimbs to pull himself higher. Micha seemed to have a bit of a difficulty doing it, but he eventually reached the first floor without falling and climbed on the windowsill. He pulled out his hammer and brought it down against the apartment’s window, shattering it and opening the way for him to get in.

A few minutes later, a rustling sound came from behind the shop’s door and out came Micha with a smug smile on his beak. Neither Boris nor Vadim entertained the Pole with a comment, entering the shop silently while Micha went to retrieve his shoes.

The shop was, admittedly, small: a single counter presided over the room with a discrete door leading towards the back and into the workshop part. Most of the space inside was occupied by glass display cases that showed a large choice of hunting and sport rifles, optics and ammunition boxes but not much of anything else. Pistols were noticeably few in choice, a mark of the country’s hard stance on self-defence weapons. A single AR15 was displayed in a reinforced glass case, fully kitted out with accessories. Those were famously hard to obtain in Western Europe. An interesting sight, but of no use to them since they already had better rifles of their own, those with selective fire and full auto.

Micha came out of the back of the shop with a travel case cradled under a foreleg and a huge smile on his beak. Noticing Vadim’s inquisitive stare, the bald eagle griffon set down the case and opened it.

Inside the case were a scoped hunting rifle and a few spare mags, held in place by foam cut-outs. The rifle was a bolt action, with a beautifully crafted varnished wooden stock. A folded bipod occupied another spot inside the case, ready to be fitted on the rifle.

“It’s a Sako 85. I always wanted one in the past, they’re damn accurate and the handling is just lovely. I mean... look at that stock! Gorgeous I tell ya, these Finns know how to make good rifles.”

Vadim nodded passively.

“What does it shoot?”

“.308, so it’s compatible with the 7.62 we have on board, though the 7.62 is rated at a lower pressure.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about with pressure but as long as you think it’s fine, I’m gonna trust you.” He waved a claw around, designating the whole shop. “What do you want us to take?”

“No use for the hunting rifles beside mine, military weapons are just better for what we do. The Sako is just a ‘gift’ for myself, so to speak. There are plenty of tools I wish to take in the back on the other hand, so I say we pack as many optics and accessories as we can, then the tools. I saw a reloading bench and plenty of primers and powder for .223 and .308, and there are also some spare picatinny rails which I think we can attempt mounting on the FNC’s. That’s about all we need here.” Micha stopped to think for a bit. “While you’re at it take some .38 too, for the Captain’s revolver. We didn’t find any of that at the base so the supply is kinda low.”

“Tools, accessories, .38, primers, got it.” Vadim nodded. “You heard that Boris?”

The goshawk griffon just moved towards the back and started picking up the gear Micha demanded.

All in all it didn’t take long for them to acquire what they needed from the shop. In about an hour they were already out and moving towards their next objective. Micha’s new rifle had taken a place in the back of the truck’s cabin, its case tucked between the seats and the back of the cabin.

They hit a couple more objectives that day, the most relevant of which were the libraries of both the university and the local maritime academy. Both yielded good results as far as intel was concerned, but they still found themselves forced to raid a book shop by the marina to get the travel guides they wanted to complete data from the university’s directory.

One last thing of notice was what they discovered as they were going to retrieve some specific high end computer parts that had been put on the salvage list (by whom, they didn’t know nor care). They had just raided a sewing shop and a couple clothing stores just for the heck of it and were following their chart to a computer store when Boris motioned for Micha to stop the truck.

The street they were following was halfway closed by works that had been underway before the Event hit. Boris got off the truck and approached a patch of muddy ground next to a cement mixer. Vadim saw him stare at something on the ground and decided to take a look himself. Still very much with the mindset of a bipedal human, Vadim wasn’t particularly fond of walking in the mud with his claws (even though he had gloves on) but alas, such was the life of a quadruped.

A couple of footprints were set in the sand among puddles of rainwater. Very large footprints that were oddly mismatched. Judging from their size and depth, the creature that had made them must have been about as big as a large buffalo, maybe bigger.

Except that unlike those of buffalos, the prints weren’t hooves... at least half of them weren’t, even though they clearly belonged to the same creature: some were distinctly feline while the rest looked more like goat hoof prints.

“Monster?” Vadim asked.

“Most likely.” Boris nodded before raising his head, eyes scanning the area. “Have you seen one of these demonic circles in the area?”

“This city is too much of a maze to find it.” Vadim replied with a shake of his head. “I don’t like this, let’s hurry with the computer shop and go back to the ship.”

Both griffons hurried back to the truck. Vadim quickly used the truck’s radio and switched it to the ship’s frequency in order to warn everyone about the potential risk they had discovered in town. Looking at their map, the Ukrainian scribbled down the location of the prints and their general direction –the zoo apparently, not much of a surprise there-.

They didn’t encounter a monster that day, but the other group (the one busy with getting them the Land Rovers) reported hearing a lot of roars coming from the zoo.





One day earlier

Getting out of the car had been much harder than it had any right to be, and the time it took her to get out wasn’t helped by her having a full blown panic attack upon discovering the extent of the changes her body had undergone. It took her half an hour of happy thoughts and deep breaths to finally manage to calm down.

The hooves prevented her to work the latch on her car’s door which had left her with only one choice.

“Sorry mom.” She had said before hitting the window with one of her hooves. It pained her to damage the car her mother had gifted her like that but she had no choice. The little Toyota had been her faithful companion ever since she had got her license a few years back... but extreme situations lead to extreme solutions.

The window shattered easily under the impact and made the girl-turned-mare aware of one more change she hadn’t noticed yet. Her hearing, which had improved significantly. The crashing noise of the hoof against the glass was enough to make hear ears ring. She pressed her hooves against her large ears, letting out a soft whimper.

The transformation had shrunk her, a lot. Fortunately that made escaping her seat belt and clambering out of the car rather easy. The little equine landed roughly on the asphalt, bruising her shoulder slightly, but she was free.

She tried to get up on her legs but failed miserably. A look at her body to assess the ‘damage’ told her she was some now kind of tiny horse, and naked. Her clothes had fallen off her body when she escaped the car, now way too large for her small frame. Skipping a more thorough inspection of her body, she decided to stick to moving on four legs since that appeared to be what that body was designed for.

Rising up on trembling legs, the mare managed to slowly take her first steps in the direction of the building she had been about to leave before she woke up as a tiny horse (a pony? Probably a pony). The blades of the nearby wind turbines told her the building must have power but... She stopped to look at the sky. It was much brighter than when she had left. Not in the morning... it rather looked like it was in the evening. Had she been gone a whole day? That had felt like the blink of an eye to her, except maybe for a brief flash that had preceded the disappearance.

One of the large fluffy ears on her head twitched and pointed in a direction. She turned her head to follow and stared at the antennas on top of the building in front of her. Faintly, she could hear a beeping noise coming from them.

But that was impossible! Her mind instantly recognised the noise as the signal the antennas were supposed to emit at regular intervals, on MF frequencies. She wasn’t supposed to hear that!

Disregarding the oddity of her newfound audition, the mare walked over to the automatic doors leading inside to the building’s lobby. The place was exactly like when she had left it, barring a very fine layer of dust. She didn’t expect anyone to man the entrance desk at such an hour but... she should have at least heard something coming from the offices or the rec room. Slowly, she started to go deeper inside. All lights were off inside the building, but the whirr of ventilation told her power was still running. On the bright side, her eyes didn’t have any trouble adjusting to the darkness.

She stopped for a second when she saw her reflection appear on a window. Staring back at her was a very short pony. She would barely reach waist height next to a normal human being. She had large yellow slitted eyes that gleamed in the darkness of the building. The eyes were affixed to an equine head with a small muzzle from which two cute little fangs poked out, and fluffy mobile ears that swivelled around to track incoming noises. Her mane was white with a single blue stripe running down its centre, which made a stark contrast with her dark purple coat of fur. She also had a tail, with the exact same color and stripe as her mane. Both had messy hair that stood out at odd angles and frizzy ends, making it look like as if she had a permanent bed head. She could live with that, her hair hadn’t been much better before the change, though at least the color didn’t make her look like a Punk wannabe then.

“Well shit… I’m fucking adorable.” The mare muttered under her breath.

Stranger even than the fact she had somehow turned into a miniature pony, was the pair of bat-like wings neatly folded on her sides. She tried to no avail to move them and, failing that, touched them with a tentative hoof.

Bad idea.

The touch of a hoof against the new appendages sent an electric shock coursing through nerve endings she never knew she had and made her fall over with a cute squeal.

The act of falling over made her notice one last thing about her new appearance: on both sides of her rump were identical marks that reminded her of cattle brands.  She recognized the symbol as a wave graph and noted that it appeared to be imprinted on both her fur and the skin beneath it.

The mare shook her head and stood back up. Maybe now wasn’t the ideal time to explore the extent of the changes. She needed to figure out what had happened, stat.

Exploring the building at her slow, hesitant pace revealed she was the only one left here. The guys from the night shift had all but disappeared without a trace. She tried to search the locker room for any possible clue, which showed her that the bags belonging to the guys on the night shift were still there. Either they hadn’t taken them when they left… or they didn’t leave at all.

That evening, the little batpony laid down to sleep on a couch in the rec room, her mind filled with dread and unanswered questions.
> Chapter 19: A Matter of Pride
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few days passed relatively calmly on Amandine. While the situation downtown appeared to be heating up, with roars becoming increasingly more frequent at night and prints being commonly found in the vicinity of the station; not much else was noticed around the docks. It was assumed by the crew that the animals didn’t dare cross the tunnels to the harbor side of the city.

On the plus side, they eventually managed to finish the works on board two days after the retrieval of the Defenders. The brand new workshop was immediately put to use by shoving their Land Rovers there for modifications. It varied from vehicle to vehicle but generally speaking they stuck to equipping them with roll cages, extra headlights and winches. It wasn’t particularly hard, but retrofitting a fleet of eight 4x4 took time and manpower they’d rather spend elsewhere.

Another extremely reassuring innovation that occurred on board was when Aleksei turned up one day in the Captain’s office in the middle of a meeting with Schmitt and Alejandro to present them his first prototype of gas mask for their SCBA’s. It had taken him some time to make it since he had to figure out ‘one size fits all’ ergonomics and work with fireproof materials, but the conversion kit to retrofit masks to creature standards was finally ready. Admittedly they weren’t perfect: users had to tighten them really hard to avoid their fur (or feathers) causing air to leak out, but they’d rather have a bad mask than none at all. Dilip immediately approved the installation of a 3D printer and molds inside the workshop so that the hippogriff could move on to making more of them before dismissing Aleksei. That was a rather nice turn of events to start the day…

The Captain turned back towards his department heads once the hippogriff left the room.

“Where were we, now?”

“Farkas.” Schmitt stated. The orange scaled (the color came across as odd since it was exactly the same tone as the fabric on the Chief Engineer’s coveralls) female dragon had his arms crossed against his chest and a concerned look on his muzzle.

“Ah yes.” Dilip glanced down at a small pile of papers on his desk. “I’ve been getting some concerning reports about his status, which is odd: whenever I speak with him he sounds just fine. What about you two?”

“Exactly the same on my side but there is one little thing…” Alejandro said, waggling a claw. “We gotta remember the guy never talked much about himself before the change. But even then that was more than now.”

“Hence why I think he’s hiding something from us specifically.” Schmitt said.

Dilip quirked a furry brow at the dragon.

“I don’t mean something physical.” Schmitt quickly corrected himself. “I mean that he hasn’t been as forthcoming about his change as others have been. As the department head for catering, we’ve always worked closely with him. Hell, I’d even call him a friend. My opinion would be that he’s been trying to lick his metaphorical wounds on his own so that we wouldn’t be worried…”

“As retarded as it sounds, it pretty much fits his character.” Alejandro said.

“Not helping, Alej’.” Dilip said. “Any suggestion?”

“Well, talking to him ‘bout it explicitly would be one, obviously. All of us too, when it’s only me asking the questions he just deflects them back to me as usual.” Schmitt shrugged.

A gleam then appeared in the Captain’s eyes.

“I may have an idea. How long has it been since we all had dinner together in my cabin?”

“Dunno. Three weeks to one month, maybe?” Alejandro hesitated.

“Then we got a plan. After lunch I will go see Rahul and ask him to make us dinner in my cabin tonight. Then we can deal with the Farkas issue, does that solution suit you both?” Dilip said.

“Aye.” Both answered.

Dilip wrote down a note to remember to do it before moving on to the next subject. He pulled out a sheet of paper, written by Roberto, on which the cat had written down the position of the most valuable pieces of art in the city. For a couple minutes they went on about planning one expedition to retrieve as much of them as possible so they could maximize their extra credits with the HPI before Alejandro looked at the clock and held up a claw to stop the Captain in his tracks.

“Not that the art pieces aren’t important but I had planned for our newest crewmember to come give us some input on a matter I think needs to be addressed.” He said.

“Corporal De Mesmaeker you mean? The unicorn? What do you need him for?” Dilip asked.

“Simple. I took a look at our ammo supply and while we’re overloaded on regular rounds like 9mm, 5.56 and 7.62; we’re sorely lacking on rarer types like 5.7 and the disintegrating rounds for our 303’s.”

“And how exactly is it important?” Dilip said, one of his ears tilting down.

“Turns out the 303’s are ideal for the more dynamic parts of live-fire training. I talked to Artyom about it and all of the vets agree they’d rather do it with less-lethal rounds than live ammo. As for the 5.7, it’s armor-piercing, which should be useful against monsters. At least we think it should be…” The macaw trailed off.

“And the Corporal would know where to get more.”

“I’m certain he would. We’re in his home country and he’s military; he’d know where the bases are.”

“Fine then.” Dilip shrugged, pushing the notes on the art retrieval expedition aside for later. He wanted to go on that particular expedition himself for a change, maybe with Farkas too. His ears twitched as he heard movement behind the door. “I think our local specialist has arrived. Come on in!” The Captain said.

The doorknob then lit up with a dull green glow before opening slowly. In came the Belgian unicorn, still injured but now mobile. As the door stopped moving, the glow that had been surrounding his horn disappeared.

Turns out unicorns use their horn for telekinesis contrarily to the sphinxes that use… something they had yet to figure out.

Bart’s gait was slow and careful, showing he had yet to become fully accustomed to walking on all fours. Between the moment he had been released from the infirmary a few days earlier and his arrival in this office, someone had adjusted a set of coveralls to fit his small frame. Above the orange clothing, the unicorn still wore his military wool sweater with his ranks on the shoulders. Below the clothing, all sailors were able to see the bandages that protected his neck wound.

The look on his features didn’t match his stance, at all. Unlike the careful and (if Dilip was honest about it) hesitant approach, the Corporal bore a determined no-nonsense look on his muzzle. Said look was a bit unsettling considering it was coming from a dog-sized blue-furred unicorn but Dilip managed to take it in stride.

Geert followed in Bart’s steps, the scarlet macaw coming in on his crutches and immediately sitting down with a weary sigh in one of the seats. Schmitt almost reprimanded the young Officer for taking a seat without being offered one but a quick look from Dilip stopped him. He was injured already, no need to force him to stick to protocol like that.

Bart stopped a few steps short of the Captain’s desk and leveled his large eyes at the dog in the armchair.

“Greetings Captain.” The Belgian’s accent was very thick and his pacing slow but at least it was possible to understand him. “Ik come here voor the briefing.” He hesitated for a few seconds before adding: “Have you questions?”

The words were arranged a bit oddly but at least the unicorn got his point across. Dilip threw a quick glance towards Geert to check if the macaw was ready to do the translation for him. His Fourth Officer noticed and gave a subtle nod before Dilip brought his attention back to Bart.

“Hello to you too, Corporal. I’m pleased to see you out and about. You may take a seat.” The dog said, keeping his pace slow so the Belgian could at least get the gist of what he was saying and pointing an open paw towards a seat next to Geert.

Not needing a translation for that, the unicorn nodded and went to sit down next to the parrot. Once he was seated, Dilip explained the situation to Geert and asked him if the Corporal knew of a place where they could acquire the ammunition they wanted.

Once he got the translation, the unicorn closed his eyes for a second before giving a quick nod.

“It’s possible. If you already took the ammo in Zeebrugge then the closest base would be in the province of Limburg, about 50km east of here in the middle of the countryside. I’m afraid that’s the closest base available since the army sold its barracks in Antwerp; but it should hold a lot of ammo. It’s the biggest military range in the country.” Bart said.

“That makes it a worthwhile target then.” Dilip nodded after Geert repeated it in English. “Corporal, may I ask you to accompany and guide a team there? I won’t require you to do any heavy lifting but my sailors sure could use your guidance.”

Bart was a bit hesitant at leading a bunch of foreigners inside one of the most important bases of his country’s army, but Geert managed to convince him by pointing out they had already taken plenty of material from the navy base in Zeebrugge anyway. Eventually, an agreement was reached that the sailors would only take the ammo and some pieces from the regimental museum Bart wished to take. The rest: vehicles, equipment, data… would be left for other survivors to find. Not much of a problem for Dilip considering they already had most of the gear they needed anyway.

“I’m quite curious as to why you would want to take those museum pieces. Aren’t you navy?”

The unicorn got a surprised look on his face and quickly corrected the Captain.

“Sir I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m from the Bevrijding battalion, mechanized infantry. I was on the K9 squadron before my antics got me moved off to guard a navy base.” And boy did that sting when his superiors forced him to sign his transfer order right after demoting him to Corporal. “The base you’re asking me to guide you to is the one I spent most of my career at. I just… don’t want to let my unit be forgotten, even if I’m the only one left after this Apocalypse.”

  Maybe he owed the Captain more details about what had caused him to wind up in Zeebrugge. Then again, the Indian didn’t ask for more details and if his experience with Officers was anything to go by, he didn’t want to know.

“My mistake then.” Dilip apologized. “I know how you army folks are with regimental culture so that’s a fair request.” He then stopped to grab a sheet of paper on which he started jotting down notes.

“De Vries.” The Captain said, not looking up. “Expedition’s scheduled for tomorrow morning. I want a team roster and vehicle request no later than three in the afternoon, copy? You and De Mesmaeker are already on the roster, but since you’re both injured that’ll be a complete team in addition to you.”

“Understood sir. Anything else?”

The Captain paused and looked up at Schmitt for a second.

“Yes, come to think of it the guys from engineering have been stuck working on the modifications for a while. Prioritize them on your roster so they get some fresh air. Dismissed.”

The parrot nodded and stood up slowly, grabbing his crutches. He beckoned for Bart to follow and both Dutch-speakers left the office quietly. Dilip then turned to Alejandro.

“So that’s your ammo situation done with Alej’. Satisfied?”

“I’d say.” The hyacinth macaw shrugged. “Can I go with them?” He tried.

“I’m sorry but that’s a flat no.” Dilip said. “I need you to watch the ship while I’m gone tomorrow.”

“Gone where?” Schmitt asked.

“I don’t know if you both have noticed but unlike you I have yet to step off the ship since that whole ordeal begun. Unless I lost count it’s been three months since I last walked ashore.”

“What? Really? Not even in Zeebrugge?” Schmitt asked incredulously.

Dilip shook his head.

“I guess that’s fair then.” Alejandro said, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t mean that I like it but…”

“I’ll break open some Port wine for dinner tonight.” Dilip added with a small crease on the corners of his muzzle.

“Did I say I didn’t like it? I meant… what an excellent idea Captain.” The Spaniard corrected himself.

“Alcoholic…” Schmitt muttered, though he was bad at hiding his smile.

“I’m not alcoholic.” The parrot put a claw against his chest in mock offense, his crest feathers raised. “I just need alcohol to properly function in my day to day tasks.”

Dilip just rolled his eyes. There go his hopes of finishing his expedition planning early.





By all accounts, the dinner with Farkas and the department heads went rather well. The carnivores got a serving of the Angus beef Dilip kept in storage for special occasions while Alejandro was given a plate of vegetarian coconut curry (he was still sulking about not being able to eat the Angus but extra wine managed to raise his spirits). Dilip eating beef might have seemed weird, considering he was Hindu; but the Captain had an admittedly bad track record when it came to following his own religion's traditions (not that the rest of them were any better, really). For the better part of the evening, they exchanged pleasantries and some dark jokes about the recent events and the reaction of certain members of the crew.

By the time Rahul came back to get their empty plates, the group had already discussed much of what they wanted to talk about, including varying opinions about their… commercial partnership (if it could be called that) with the HPI.

“I tell you, those guys may be useful but I wouldn’t trust them as far as I can piss!” Alejandro firmly declared. “You told us yourself Dilip; they spent the better part of their existence as a secret organization. What makes you think they’re not already working things behind our backs?”

“They probably are.” Dilip conceded. “But I don’t see anybody else on the horizon so it’s not like we have much of a choice. I agree we shouldn’t put too much trust into them, but I’m genuinely confident in their willingness to work with us. They have their back against the wall after all.”

“Or so they said.” Farkas countered.

“The facility in France looked like good enough of a proof to me.” Schmitt said. “But yeah, I’ll give that to you Alej’, no underground group like theirs should be fully trusted. Still…” The dragon snapped his claws. “We do need their services as much as they need ours. They’re probably looking into ways to avoid having to rely on us…”

“… So we should do that as well.” Farkas cut him off.

“Exactly!” Schmitt let out a small puff of smoke that drifted out of the cabin’s open window. “Surely we can eventually secure the tools to make the parts ourselves.”

“Parts are one thing, but what do you make of fuel?” Dilip politely put forth.

“Been looking into that actually.” The dragon said. “I’ve got notes on my computer about it, ideas to recycle fuel, manuals on how to man a refinery. I’ll be honest, I’ve never worked for the oil or offshore industry so that will take time but I got one thing out of it for sure.”

“And what would that be?” Dilip asked.

“That we have about six months before fuel stored in shore tanks ‘spoils’, if such a term can be used for oil.”

All occupants of the room turned to stare at the dragon who didn’t seem too concerned about the bombshell he had so casually dropped on the conversation. Schmitt casually served himself a new glass of wine, not looking up at the utterly flabbergasted face of Dilip.

“That’s… extremely important.” Alejandro stated slowly, looking back and forth between the Chief Engineer and the Captain. “How come you seem so unconcerned about the situation?”

“That I want to know indeed.” Farkas added. “Lack of fuel could eventually force us to abandon the ship and the position of strength she gives us. That’s a game changer.”

“Simple.” The orange dragon said. He took a sip of his wine before raising two claws. “One: we got six months before that becomes an actual problem. Two, I already have a bunch of ideas to work on before we reach that deadline.” He waggled his claw a bit to show his hesitation. “I’ll be honest, said plans are just in the early draft stage and I might need more data to put them into action but then again… six months. No worries.”

“That’s a whole lot of talking about the plans without telling us what they’re actually about.” Alejandro said.

“Right, sorry.” The dragon shook his head and took another sip of his glass. “Damn, that wine is really good, where’s it from?” He said, looking at his glass in wonder.

“Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. It’s Italian; I kept the Port for dessert. Back to the subject, please?” Dilip said, tapping a digit on the table impatiently.

“My bad. I get carried away like that sometimes.” Schmitt sheepishly apologized. “Thing is: I got one ‘simple’ project…” The dragon made some air quotes as he said ‘simple’. “… In which we make our own fuel from crude oil found in storage at any petrochemical complex. Disadvantage would be that none of us has a fucking clue how to make a refinery work and it would take a hell of a lot of time to make enough fuel to fill our tanks in their entirety.”

“I can imagine…” Alejandro drawled before Farkas shushed him.

“Idea number two…” Schmitt continued after throwing a glance in Alejandro’s direction. “… Would be to find out ways to recondition the spoiled fuel we find. I suspect it can be done via chemicals but that’s really the solution I’d have to look the most into.”

“Complicated uh?” Farkas said.

“I’d say. Ideally I’d find some ways to upgrade Amandine’s oil filters or make a new filtering station from scratch, maybe even with an entirely mechanical system so we don’t have to find or make the chemicals but…” The Luxembourgian lowered his head. “I haven’t had the time to look into it yet. That idea could go a lot of ways before I’m done with it, and I’ll need some information on petrochemistry, study the effects on different grades of oil and make a detailed report on the filtration and purification standards we will need to avoid damaging the engine. All in all… I got my fair share of work ahead of me.”

“And you think you can manage?” Dilip asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That at least I’m certain of. The only problem would be the time it’ll take to get it done but then again…” He shrugged. “Six months, as I said.”

“That at least is reassuring.” Alejandro conceded before allowing a smile to briefly appear on his beak. “Oil issues aside, have you all heard about that little bet about Vadim and Micha that’s going around the ship?”

For a couple minutes the group fell into casual discussions about the antics of the crew and the growing poll that had been made around the two Eastern European Officers. At this point, even the Captain had to concede he had his own stakes in the poll (and pretty much everyone except for the two griffons had by then). Indeed, it was a sizeable pile of liquor and cigars that would await those that had placed their bets correctly.

Diplomatically, Dilip waited until the Chief Cook brought in the platter cheese that preceded their dessert before finally deciding to rip off the scab, so to speak. He threw a furtive glance towards Schmitt and Alejandro while Farkas was taking a sip of his wine (the sphinx was already on his sixth glass); earning a soft nod from both.

The Captain mustered his courage and let out a polite cough to draw Farkas’ attention. The Greek set down his glass with his telekinesis and raised an eyebrow at the dog. Slowly, Dilip dropped his arms in his lap and leaned back in his seat.

“There is something we have to talk to you about Farkas. All three of us that is.” He began. “These last few days we’ve all been receiving some… concerning reports about your behavior.”

He stopped for a second to give the Chief Steward a chance to respond. He didn’t, so he carried on.

“I’m not saying this as a reprimand because I’m not going to berate you about a few ruffled feathers, no pun intended. We all have a thick skin on this ship anyway… But the changes we have all undergone force me to pay particular concern to my shipmates’ behavior, which is one of the reasons why we’re gathered this evening.”

“Oh, so I’m supposedly a risky member now?” Farkas snapped.

“Let’s see…” Alejandro said. “Evasive, irritable, short-tempered.” He listed, punctuating each word with a tap of his claw on the table. “That’s not the Farkas we know.”

“I second that. So what’s going on with you?” Schmitt asked.

The sphinx frowned and threw a glare at the dragon who met it with a flat stare.

“Farkas, I’m not accusing you of anything wrong.” Schmitt said. “But I’ve seen every member of this crew reach out to another, talk about the situation, if only to relieve the pressure. Every member, except you.”

“I’ve helped with the other gender-bent crewmembers!” Farkas defended himself.

“So have I.” The female dragon stated calmly. “The difference? I had someone to talk to regarding my own issues. I have yet to hear about you doing that.”

“What if I don’t need to talk about it?” The sphinx countered, his ears twitching in irritation.

Schmitt snorted, a small puff of black smoke escaping his nostrils.

“My ass you don’t.” He said, crossing his arms and staring directly in the sphinx’s eyes.

Both of the female crewmembers stared each other down for what felt like a minute. Schmitt’s tail was swishing back and forth behind him while the sphinx on the other side of the table had his ears flattened against his skull. Alejandro gave the Captain an awkward glance before Farkas finally backed down.

“Entáxei, you may be right.” He said, deflating. “Doesn’t change the fact there are better things to do than addressing trivial matters like that.”

“Yeah you say it’s trivial until everybody is so unhinged from stress that the crew tears itself apart.” Alejandro said. “Don’t dismiss mental issues because they’re harder to notice, and most of all don’t dismiss them if it’s about you.”

“As he said.” Dilip nodded towards the Spaniard. “Now, care to tell us what’s been on your mind all this time? Family?”

“I wish it was only that.” He snorted. “I’ll give you that, I do worry about them a bit but my son turned 18 recently and my wife is used to me being absent most of the time. Granted that doesn’t really justify me leaving them in the middle of the Apocalypse but I didn’t get the choice anyway.”

“So what’s actually on your mind?”

“How about you serve us that Port wine of yours, and then I’ll tell you?”

Dilip just rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle from a cabinet before serving everyone a glass. Farkas swirled the liquid in his glass before taking his first sip and letting out a contented sigh.

“Better?” Dilip asked.

“Yeah, nothing like alcohol to get the words rolling off the tongue.” The sphinx shuffled a bit in his seat, which was a bit small for his large frame despite being the biggest Dilip had available. He had to sit on his haunches in it, which made it look like some sort of stool. 

“’bout this problem then…” The sphinx flushed a bit. “It’s err… mostly sexual to be honest.”

Dilip raised an eyebrow but didn’t laugh.

“See, I first thought that maybe to cope with the stress I could do the usual…” He lowered his voice. “Jack off to some porn, and then it’s all better.”

From his seat, Schmitt sent both the Captain and Alejandro a warning glance. Don’t interrupt, the Greek was finally spilling the beans.

“Well, at first I was a bit curious; and honestly, what dude wouldn’t be? Try out the grass on the other side, eh.” He chuckled weakly and stopped to take another sip of his glass. “So once I got the telekinesis figured out, I loaded up some vids from the ship’s server on my laptop. Nothing special, pretty mild girl on girl stuff actually. Getting the… tools was the hardest part but you needn’t know the details.” From the inflection he put on the word, nobody had any doubt what he actually meant by tool. Nor did the Captain want to imagine his Chief Steward like that.

“I’m dreading to hear where it’s going.” Schmitt commented.

“Well I dunno about you Schmitt, but as for me… well apparently I’m heterosexual.”

“So nothing has changed?” Alejandro asked, the blue parrot having a weird look on his beak.

“No Alej’, I meant I’m heterosexual.” The sphinx repeated.

“Oh.” It then dawned to the Chief Officer.

“Also I think I’m a furry.” Farkas added.

Dilip spat out his wine.





Finding the base on the next day was no trouble at all thanks to Bart’s guidance. They had only taken two vehicles for that expedition since they didn’t expect to have to transport too much ammo. That was reason one for them only taking a Defender (a type 130, the very first to come out of the workshop with its modifications completed) and a mog; reason number two was that most of the personnel and vehicles had been requisitioned by the Captain for his art retrieval in downtown Antwerp.

Since they were both injured, Geert and Bart had had to find some crewmembers to accompany them to the base. Angelo had been the first to volunteer. Before Geert even got the chance to ask the Greek if he wanted to come along, the minotaur had practically barged in his cabin to tell him he was coming.

The guy sure liked going on expeditions it seemed…

The minotaur was now sitting in the mog leading their two-vehicle convoy, with one of the Filipinos as the driver. Carlos, the electrician from engineering that had turned into a sulphur-crested cockatoo after the Event. Geert didn’t know him that well beyond the fact that he and Vadim got along relatively well and that he liked fiddling around with electronics (to the point where Alejandro had once had to put his foot down to get the guy to stop messing around with the bridge controls).

The last member of their group was Ajit, an Indian that had turned into a Himalayan sheepdog. The guy was a deck rating and, at 21, one of the youngest members of the crew. He was a relatively friendly guy that Geert might even call a friend. Then again, everyone could claim that title with the cheerful Indian: he always went out of his way to make people feel comfortable and make friends. 

Ajit was currently steering the Defender in which both Geert and Bart were seated. The version of the 4x4 they were riding in had a double cab for up to five passenger and a small cargo bay covered by canvas in the back. The interior of the matte silver painted vehicle was rather roomy, which had allowed Geert to fit all the radio equipment they needed on the dashboard.

The route to the base was fairly simple on the first stretches of road. They only needed to exit the city’s grid and take a highway due east following a canal. Much like Angelo had observed on his trip to the HPI facility, the country was completely devoid of human activity. By then, it didn’t really surprise them anymore, though some intelligent life would have been welcome.

Bart had Ajit take the lead of the convoy when they started to approach their destination, pointing a highway exit to the Indian sailor who happily obliged.

The area was a bizarre mix of mining history and more modern investments mixed all together in a haphazard manner: Geert could see the tall heaps of rocks and sediments associated with the mining activity and coal industry that took place there in the 19th century, as well as the abandoned infrastructure that came with these. The heaps, covered in bushes and small trees, towered above newer fancy suburbs and high tech buildings that belonged to a growing tech sector that would never get to achieve its expectations.

Urban planners in this area must have stolen some weed from their Dutch neighbors because not even Bart (who was more familiar with the area) could make sense of how this hodgepodge of dissimilar development was supposed to create a functional community. The Belgian pointed the convoy in a direction and they exited the more developed part of the region to dive even deeper into the countryside.

Flat as Flanders will always be, the area was littered with sand drifts and thin woods that were mostly composed of Mediterranean breeds of pine as well as birches; with the ground being covered with dry grass and small ferns. The area looked utterly out of place in Western Europe with the desert and savanna vibes it somehow managed to give off. Angelo even let out a comment about it on the radio, uncertain as to how they could find an area like that at this latitude.

“It’s normal for the area.” Bart explained. “That’s also the reason why they put the base there. The soil is very poor and there are next to no minerals underground so nobody wanted it. Best place to put a base for the army then. And the sand…” The unicorn sighed wistfully “… I remember the sheer amount of foxholes I had to dig in that ground during my career for the sake of training, all the way from basic training to last year.” The unicorn looked up at the road ahead of them. “Take next left.” He said in English.

The two vehicles came out of the woods to face one last stretch of five hundred meters of exposed roads before reaching a tall fenced compound. The base.

Stopping their convoy in front of the guard post, Bart and Geert quickly dismounted to go open the fence. Behind them in the mog, Angelo opened the ceiling hatch of the cabin and took control of the machinegun in case anything popped up.

Both of the Dutch speakers were still very much injured, but they had enough mobility between the two of them to get to the guard post, only slowed down by Geert hobbling about on his crutches. Coming up to a panel next to the guard post, Bart used his telekinesis to open a pouch on his flak jacket (which, in his case, was really just a converted set of K9 armor) and flash his military ID against an exposed scanner. The gate in the fence slid open with a soft whirr.

“Much as I loathe ecologists for being pompous twats, I gotta give it to them that having a large amount of green energy powering the country can be useful during a doomsday event.” The unicorn commented, trotting back to their truck.

“What? You mean they don’t even leave the military be in this country?”

“Nah, they loved to pester High Command about the silliest shit. Worst of all being measures against pollution caused by K9 units.”

“You’re shitting me.” Geert said incredulously.

“I wish.” The unicorn opened his door and crawled back inside the Defender. “Get in; I wanna have time to explore the regimental museum after we get the ammo.”

With the Belgian’s help, getting the mog loaded with crates of ammo wasn’t too hard. If anything, getting to the bunkers where they were stored was the hardest part in the whole thing since they were built in a fenced off part of the compound, but even that problem was made nonexistent by their bit of ‘insider knowledge’. Soon enough, Bart had the now loaded convoy follow directions towards the location of the museum. The mog was now considerably slower because of the tens of thousands of rounds it had loaded in its cargo bay (and that had better last them for a while).

They dismounted once again in front of a nondescript brick building next to the main entrance of the base. Only a small plaque next to the door told of its purpose, indicating the museum was more of a converted warehouse rather than a fully fledged dedicated building.

They left Ajit and Carlos with the vehicles, Angelo deciding to come inside with them. The interior of the museum was nothing particularly grand, having been made more with the intent of being visited by military personnel than civilians. Trophies and medals belonging to the different units attached to the base were showcased all over the place, some dating back to the late 1800’s. Behind the two Dutch-speakers, Angelo whistled in awe.

“Damn, you guys had quite the hoarding streak going on didn’t you?” He commented, looking at a glass casing containing memories of campaigns fought long ago.

Bart didn’t answer the minotaur, instead making a beeline towards the back of the museum where the regimental colors were stored for later use in parades. The blue-furred unicorn stopped to stare at his flag, a forlorn look on his muzzle.

“You miss them?” Bart asked, coming up behind the stallion.

“I’m 46 De Vries. For my entire career I’ve been in the military, always with the same unit, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t grown attached.” He shook his head. “What I did before the Event occurred, I’m not proud of and they were justified to send me guard a navy base to cool off. But I’m still one of them and the memory’s got to live on.”

With that he gently grabbed the flag in his telekinesis and folded it before tucking it in a pouch on the back of his K9 armor. The unicorn brought out a small letter he had written to explain what had happened to the flag in case survivors came here after them and placed it in plain sight. He then turned his head towards the Dutch parrot with a small smile on his muzzle.

“Now that’s dealt with let me show you some little collection we were quite proud of.” He quickly switched to English. “Angelo, come please. Iets interesting here.” He called the minotaur.

The Corporal led both sailors to an enclosed part of the museum, which he opened by quickly typing a code on a digital pad. Once he pushed the door open, both Geert and Angelo’s jaw (or lower mandible in Geert’s case) hit the floor.

The room was decorated with antique weapons, as well as more modern ones from basically every country the unit had ever visited. Alongside the weapons were headgear, caps and berets from an even more impressive amount of countries, some even going as far as Asia. But the most impressive item in the room wasn’t actually a gun or a cap: it was a sword.

Or saber, rather. The thing was a fairly short navy-style saber, lavishly decorated with engravings all over. Its scabbard was carved out of ivory and had its pieces held in place by bits of silver. The most notable feature about it was the very large pink diamond on its pommel, held in place by a carved silver hand that was grasping it tightly.

“Trophies?”

“Ja” Bart nodded. “Some honest.” He hesitated. “Some err… gestolen. Or won in bets.”

Geert decided not to question it too much and instead calmly approached the sabre.

“Bart what is this thing?” He was getting some odd vibes from the item.

“The Congo Sword is what we call it, though some of the more politically inclined personnel on the base liked to call it the ‘Hearth of Darkness’. Back in the time of Leopold II’s reign, it used to belong to the Administrator-General of the Congo Free State before the whole humanitarian incident came to light. The guy had it made with local materials he taxed off of concessions. The thing is, the sword was lost for years when the guy went to prison for what he did. Some paracommandos found it in Stanleyville during operation Red Dragon in ’64 after the whole decolonization, civil war and hostage situation took place.”

“Hold on, I thought this base was for infantry, not paratroopers.”

“It is. The paras didn’t say shit to the government about finding the sword. It’s just too politically charged, they would have ordered it to be destroyed. So they put it in their museum.”

“And your colleagues stole it?” Geert asked, kneeling in front of the sword’s case to observe it more closely. Looking at the gem in the pommel gave him a slight feeling of dread deep in his gut.

“Won it in a fair challenge during a drill in West Germany.” Bart corrected him. “I say, it’d be a shame to just leave it there to rust.” He waved a hoof around. “This room of the museum is kind of a secret, almost nobody knows about it except for the highest ranking officers and the Old Guard like me.”

  So that’s how they wound up taking the sword from its case. The weapon found its way secured on the back of Bart’s flak jacket, the unicorn showing great care in handling this kernel of his country’s history, bad as it may be.

The unicorn went to leave before stopping upon taking a look at the berets in the room. As an afterthought, he grabbed a brown beret with the markings of his unit to replace his former which had been forever stained by blood.

“Say Geert, what nations are the vets on the ship from?”

“One is ex-VDV, one from the Bulgarian army and the last one from the Indonesian navy. Why? Are those in this collection?”

Two berets, one blue, the other red found their way inside the unicorn’s flak jacket.

“Nothing for Indonesia but they might appreciate the gift as a token of goodwill.” Bart said before leaving the room.

Soon after that, the two vehicles in the convoy drove back towards Antwerp, their task accomplished.

“You know, nobody would ever expect the Belgians to have that kind of skeletons hiding in their closet.” Geert commented once they were in their truck.

“Wanna talk about Indonesia uh, Dutchie?”

“Fuck off.”





“Ever stopped to think about the development of arts Farkas? How generations of artists built up their work on the shoulders of their masters to reach increasing levels of skill? Doesn’t that make you marvel at those paintings?” Dilip said.

“Sounds like you’re just trying to avoid thinking about what was said yesterday.”

“That too.” The dog shook his head. He had in no way expected to wind up seeing his Chief Steward in such a manner. “Doesn’t put a halt to my appreciation of fine arts though.”

They were inside of a museum in Antwerp. Rubens’ house to be exact, which led to Dilip now standing in front of that same artist’s self-portrait. The dog was still clad in his usual mix of a pilot shirt and cargo shorts, but this time he had added a flak jacket to the mix. His .38 revolver was strapped to his hip, as well as a holstered bayonet. Beyond that, the Captain relied on his crew to do the fighting.

After all, a proper Officer shouldn’t get caught fighting. That’s what he had his retinue of shipmates for.

Just behind him was Farkas, the sphinx having agreed to come along on Dilip’s ‘artful’ outing. The sphinx did have a rifle along, but he was rather lacking in the field of accuracy because he couldn’t sight his rifle properly while holding it in his telekinesis. They were the only two currently inside the building, the rest of their companions being busy outside loading paintings on their trucks. They had taken two refrigerated containers with atmospheric control in order to preserve the paintings as best as they could, but said controls had yet to be set to the proper values.

“So you’re not gonna say anything about yesterday’s dinner?” Farkas asked.

“For fuck sake, my Chief Steward’s sexuality is not something I ever wished to delve into.” Dilip cried out in exasperation. “For all I care you go jack off to Simba in the goddamn Lion King and I’d still be able to look you in the eyes.” He noted a gleam in the sphinx’s eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to try.”

“Totally am.”

The dog let out a tired whine, ears drooping much to Farkas’ amusement.

They were interrupted by Artyom walking in with a folder held in his claws. The blue dragon didn’t appear to have overheard what they were talking about (thank God for small mercies) and just went to give the folder to Dilip.

“Storage parameters for the paintings. Better scan them once we’re back and archive the documents. I already set up the containers to the prescribed humidity and temperature so…” He nodded his head towards the self-portrait. “… We just have to load that last one then it’s on to the next museum.”

“Excellent. You may proceed.” The Captain told the Boatswain before turning away from the painting. “Where is our next target again?” He asked Farkas.

“Close to the Jewish district. Modern art gallery I think.”

“Not something I have much appreciation for then.” The Captain snorted. “Still, we do get paid by the HPI so that’s still worth it.”

“There’s a bit of a hick though…”

Dilip raised an eyebrow and motioned with his paw for the sphinx to continue.

“The Jewish district is basically next to the Central Station.”

“And by association the zoo. Great, now we finally get to tackle that issue.” Dilip drawled as he slowly made his way out of the museum, Farkas trailing behind him and Artyom further behind. The dragon cradled the self-portrait as if it were a newborn.

The three sailors came out of the building to face a column of four vehicles. Two of their hooklift trucks (each of them carrying a refrigerated container) were directly in front of them. They had already hit a couple places earlier that day so they were starting to fill them up nicely.

Two unimogs covered the front and back of the column, ready to tackle any critter or monster that could possibly turn up within the boundaries of the city. If anything threatened the shipmates of the sailors manning the machineguns on the trucks, it would be met with a hail of supersonic lead.

Artyom stowed the last painting and walked back to the rear mog to take his place at the wheel while Farkas and Dilip made their way to the front of the convoy. The Captain bade his goodbyes to the ornate Renaissance building of the museum before getting into his truck and ordering the driver to steer them towards their next objective.

Keeping a sedate pace to avoid getting into an accident in the narrow paved streets, the convoy moved on East towards the station. Wary of the roars they had heard coming from the area, every sailor in the group kept his head on a swivel, eyes looking everywhere for the tiniest hint of movement. Despite their wariness, the city remained still, which only served to increase the tension as they drove ever closer to the zoo.

Minutes later the convoy reached the large, open square next to the Central Station. The bus and tram terminals that bordered it were devoid of any activity, the fountains that enshrined the outskirts of the station dry and the normally bustling heart of the city… dead.

The station’s building was a mix of late 19th century French architecture at its base, with pale brown stonework framing large windows; before it rose at the top in a cupola of riveted steel beams and small glass panels covering the quays that would make a Steampunk fan drool. Dilip was almost tempted to step off his truck to take a closer look.

Almost.

On one end of the square they could see both the main threat to their expedition as well as their goal: the entrance booths to the zoo, marked by two large bronze eagle statues; and a few dozen meters next to them was the street leading to the Jewish quarter. They could even spot the bulbous tower of the synagogue from their end of the square.

Bad thing was, they could clearly see the gates to the zoo had been busted open.

“Sir, do we go on and hope the animals vacated the zoo?” The parrot driving Dilip’s truck asked.

“Not exactly. I got a plan.” He said before grabbing a walkie-talkie on the dashboard. “Captain to rear mog, do you hear me? Over.” He asked.

“Loud and clear Captain, what’s the matter? Over.” Artyom answered.

“I need you to move your truck so you can cover the zoo entrance with your machinegun. I want to close those gates, keep what’s still inside there for what it’s worth. Over.”

The Russian answered with a curt ‘roger over’ before his truck rumbled slowly to the front of the convoy, coming to a halt next to Dilip’s.

“Okay, now to find a volunteer to close those gates…” Dilip mused.

“I will.” Farkas said immediately, surprising the Captain.

“You don’t have to. I wasn’t asking you in particular.”

“Too late, ‘was gonna volunteer anyway.” The sphinx said, not allowing the Captain to answer before he stepped off the vehicle. In passing he grabbed a spare walkie-talkie from the dashboard in his telekinesis and plugged it to an earpiece which went in his large ear.

“Farkas, are you absolutely certain you want to do that? It’s still risky. Over.” The Captain said over the comms.

“Relax, I can close the gates from further way than any of you could with my telekinesis. Out.” Farkas said, walking in the direction of the ticket booths.

Behind him he could see that both unimogs had their guns manned and ready to provide him with some cover fire if any predator turned up. Not the slightest bit worried, the female sphinx padded over to the gates.

Around him he could see more details of the station square and the zoo entrance. There were a couple metro entrances here and there, as well as vehicle ramps leading to parking spaces underneath the station. A gentle breeze pushed a crumpled newspaper past him, the piece of garbage coming from a tipped over trashcan next to a metro entrance.

The imposing bronze statues marking the zoo’s entrance had been built over the ticket booths. A large brass plate fitted over the fences proudly displayed the words ‘Dierentuin/Jardin zoologique’, the material shining brightly in the afternoon sun.

Farkas slowly peaked inside the gates, curious to see whether there was any activity inside but there was little he could make out: vegetation that hid the pens from sight. Smart gardening, you can’t see the animals without getting further inside and buying a ticket. There was a large shape lying prone in the shade of a tree just a little bit closer…

Despite Dilip’s insistent warnings on the radio, the sphinx still crept closer to take a look. The shape was actually the mangled corpse of a bear, half of the flash on its flank ripped off and eaten already. The body was in the middle of a puddle of dry blood, with bloody paw prints leading both in and out of the zoo.

“Farkas get out of there now! It’s too dangerous!” Dilip was ordering in the radio, forgoing usual communications procedures.

The Chief Steward was about to acknowledge the Captain’s order and move back to close the gate when a white blur burst out screaming from the trees, bounced off his back and ran away faster than he could track it. Three more blurs followed the same way, running a short distance before clambering onto a building and onto the rooftops, disappearing from view.

“Uh.” Farkas sniffed. “Guess they had lemurs too.” He commented on the radio, looking in the direction the monkeys had run off to.

“And if you’ll look behind you, you’ll see the reason that got them running like that. Over.” Artyom drawled over the radio.

Farkas’ blood froze over as he slowly turned his head back towards the zoo. A deep rumbling sound came from the trees as a pride of about eight lions rounded a corner and came into sight. They were led by one very large male with a black mane at the front, the females forming a loose circle around two cubs in the middle of the formation.

The task of closing the gates forgotten, Farkas slowly backed out towards the trucks. The lions had clearly spotted him (his orange coveralls didn’t help) and had altered their path towards him.

Farkas was halfway to the trucks when another rumble came from a metro entrance just behind him, followed shortly by the sound of cackling laughter.

“Oh for the love of God…” He muttered.

Out of the metro crawled a large monstrous creature. It was easily larger than a buffalo, with the front body of a saber-toothed tiger, the rear half of a giant goat whose head protruded out of its back at a sickening angle; and finally the tail of the creature was actually the body of a very large serpent. All three heads were looking at the Greek sphinx maliciously, with the serpent licking its lips hungrily and the goat cackling madly.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Bad news Farkas, you’re in the way. We can’t fire our guns without risking hitting you as well.Try to step aside if you can. Over.” Artyom told the sphinx through his earpiece, the ex-VDV’s voice oddly calm despite the imminent danger.

Absolutely fantastic then. Farkas looked back to the pride of lions to see the male growling at two females who grabbed the cubs by the scruff of their neck and quickly left the area through a side street. The lion gave a satisfied growl before turning its attention back to the sphinx and the (Farkas decided to call it that because it matched mythological descriptions) chimera.

Farkas discreetly tried to slip away but all creatures on the square had their entire attention focused on him. The snake on the chimera’s tail spotted the trucks behind it and whispered something to the other heads. With a sadistic smile on its three muzzles, the chimera silently interposed itself between the Chief Steward and the trucks.

“Going somewhere, tasty kitty kitty?” The tiger head spoke up in a garbled feminine voice. Every time a word left the monster’s mouth its head was rocked by a tick.

“But it’s not sssssafe.” The serpent head said, talking as if it was halfway through downing an entire barrel of booze.

The goat head just cackled madly, tongue lolling out of its mouth and sending spittle flying on the tiger’s back, which caused it to snap its jaws at the goat in annoyance. The sharp movement allowed Farkas to notice a glowing sigil burned in the creature’s flesh, right behind the tiger’s ear.

“Kiiittens like you s-sh-should stay with their pride.” The serpent stuttered, eliciting a dumb nod from the goat head. 

The chimera slowly started advancing on the Greek who subconsciously found himself backing away from the large monster. Off in the distance he could see the gunners on the trucks tracking the monster’s movements, ready to open fire whenever they got a clear shot.

Pity the monster seemed to be conscious of that as well. How come it was so intelligent when the others they had encountered before were mere animals? That couldn’t even talk?

Farkas accidentally bumped into something warm as he backed away. He didn’t need to turn around on his four legs to figure out it was one of the lions: the breathing that rustled his mane told him enough. The sphinx clinched his jaw, nerves on the verge of breaking.

“Ssssssee? Kitty-kitty with pride now. Good?” The serpent hissed. “Kitty isssss good meal, very tasssty, but meal better with more kitties, no?”

Maybe it was because he kinda looked like a lion, maybe it was his smell, he had no idea exactly why but the male lion he accidentally backed into didn’t seem to take umbrage at the collision. Out of the corner of his eyes Farkas saw the lion slink around his side and come up right beside him, brushing his mane against his flank and sending thrills in his wings under his clothes. He wanted to keep his attention entirely on the chimera but the big cat wasn’t making it easy. Thankfully, the chimera had stopped its approach upon seeing the lion step up, with the lionesses fanning out on its flanks. Having a lion so close was making Farkas particularly nervous, especially when he noticed how much bigger than him it was.

The lion let out an inquisitive purr at the sphinx before leaning in to sniff his mane. Farkas instinctively jumped to the side; worried it was now attacking him but the big cat only stared. It padded over to him once again and straight up licked him in the face.

Right then the Greek was pretty sure he heard Artyom burst out laughing on the radio, despite the tension of the situation.

Farkas backed away once more from the lion, tail tucked between his legs and ears pressed against his head. The lion made to approach once again before Farkas flicked his head towards the chimera.

Get the poontang out of your mind Simba, there is a monster in front of you.

The lionesses didn’t seem to like the male’s behavior either, as they were now glaring jealously at the sphinx.

Thankfully the horny male seemed to catch his drift, immediately turning on his paws to roar defiantly at the snarling chimera in front of them.

Which might not have been the best of ideas. The chimera, previously held at bay by the lionesses threatening it, reacted badly to the challenge and lunged at the male, its goat head cackling gleefully. The lion and Farkas managed to jump to the side and dodge the attack, the motion making the sphinx’s old wounds ache.

“Kittens think they strong? Kittens wrong!” The tiger head yelled, batting an attacking lioness away with its paw while the serpent head snapped at another that was trying to sneak in an attack on its rear.

What followed, Farkas wasn’t too sure of. He later remembered grabbing a bayonet from a holster on his jacket in his telekinesis and throwing it directly at the tiger head of the chimera. By chance, the weapon lodged itself in its eye making the monster scream out in pain. By then, the sphinx was overcome by his instincts and charged head on into the fight, past the line of lionesses circling the chimera.

In one big jump, Farkas cleared the distance separating him from the monster and, trusting his instincts, let out what felt like the mother of all burps. A plume of yellow gas left his mouth and covered the chimera completely. He saw its muscles lock up immediately upon contact with the gas, paralyzing it instantly.

Uncaring of what happened to the chimera, the pride or even his forgotten bayonet, the sphinx sprinted towards the trucks as fast as he could. He jumped in the cargo bay of one of the unimogs, not caring whether it was his or not. The sailors in the convoy didn’t need to be given the order before gunning it and driving away from the square, back to the ship.

Behind them, the lionesses were mercilessly ripping apart the paralyzed chimera which couldn’t even scream in pain. The male lion wasn’t taking part in the assault, instead staring wistfully in the direction the convoy had left. In its mouth, it held a bloody bayonet.





Three days earlier.

The past few days had been… weird to say the least. She had quickly noticed she was utterly, completely alone, not only in the building, but in the city as well. Soon after waking up after the fateful evening when she had discovered the changes she had undergone; the mare had tried to explore the area and call out for help in the neighborhood.

Bad idea.

She had barely managed to escape death at the jaws of some kind of dogs made out of wood. Only by discovering a new ingrained defense mechanism did she manage to lose the dogs and run back to the building. Turns out, she had been granted instincts that made her scream out sonic attacks whenever she felt threatened. Neat… but puzzling.

She was starting to catch on to some of the more subtle changes that came with her transformation. There might even be an underlying theme in there she had thought once back inside the building: sensitive hearing, night vision, ability to hear radio waves (she had tested with some of the periodic signals the building sent out, MF was rather easy to hear from afar and, if she focused, she could even hear VHF signals most of the time) and the sonic attack. She had yet to try it out but she was pretty sure she could achieve echolocation in the long run.

If she lived that long that is.

The wooden dogs were one thing, but then had come the matter of food. Most of what had been left in the fridge in the rec room was already spoiled, and she only managed to salvage some biscuits and snacks out of a few cabinets (which had been extremely hard to open with only hooves). Those had lasted her a day at best, but now she needed more.

There was a gas station close by, but it was too exposed and directly in the path of the dogs. No good then, and she didn’t want to survive on junk food anyway.

Looking through the offices yielded her a map of the area published by the municipality highlighting local shops and businesses. There was a supermarket just a kilometer away from where she was. 

With great difficulty, she managed to shove the map into a small sized backpack she put on her back. She had already memorized a route that had her pass through ‘safe’ areas where she was less likely to be spotted. She would come back to the building afterwards of course: it had power, running water and a fenced perimeter. Nothing to scoff at.

Her route had her sneak out of the back of the building’s grounds and into a park. Her small size allowed her to sneak around through the shrubs and hedge easily, and using her sensitive hearing made it easy to bypass threats. In as little as an hour she had gone from the park through some posh suburbs and finally to her goal where she packed as much food as she could.

Most of the fresh aisles in the supermarket were now turned into literal fly nests, but canned and dry food was very much good to go. Her small backpack didn’t fit much content, but hopefully it would last her long enough to achieve her long term plan.

She made a point of taking a can opener before leaving. One she could operate with her mouth since her hooves were no good.

Once back to the building, she cooked herself a can of baked beans using the rec room’s microwave. She had other sorts of food available but, having no idea what exactly her new form was able to eat yet, she took the safe option. Her eating wasn’t exactly what she’d call dignified but at least she got some food in her stomach.

Now that her situation was more or less stabilized, she could get on with the fun part. The building she was in wasn’t just a regular building that happened to have a few radio antennas on top, no.

It was actually the control point of the Danish coast radio stations, and it operated on all frequencies except HF.

The little purple mare trotted inside the control room where the workstations to manage radio communications were installed. Her mind was already flashing with radio procedures and range estimations. She could try satellite comms, but radio would have to go first.

The batpony took her usual position in a cubicle on the far side of the room, her small stature forcing her to climb on the chair and sit on her haunches. A picture of her former human self cradling her baby sister with her mother behind them was attached to a side of the cubicle. She stopped to look at it for a couple seconds, the hints of tears in her eyes before she shook off the sadness. No time for that just yet.

She didn’t expect to be able to manipulate the controls using her hooves, but she had an inkling of an idea she wanted to try out. The digits in her wings might be able to do what her hooves couldn’t.

She concentrated and tried to move the wings a bit.

The appendages twitched pitifully on her back.

Then again, she didn’t expect to achieve it in only one day.
> Chapter 20: Casting Off
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry what?”

“I said get your ass to the bridge! Something big is happening and I need all my Deck Officers right now.” Alejandro yelled in the interphone before hanging up.

Micha stared at the interphone held in his talons for a few seconds before shrugging and putting it back in place on the wall. He was inside the armory doing some cleaning on his hunting rifle after having spent most of the day on the range to set up its scope; but apparently his superior had more pressing matters for him at the moment.

The griffon put the rifle back in its case before stowing it in its specified place inside the armory. On a clipboard attached to the cage in which his gun was stored, he wrote down the time at which he put back the rifle, signing with his name and specifying the gun still needed to be cleaned before closing down the armory. No one else beside him had been there at the time, what with him having been the only one on the range that day. Everyone else had other things to do.

The Pole quickly crossed the entire length of the ship back to the bridge. As he walked through the passageways along the car decks, he noticed the Captain’s expedition was finally back… as well as the guys from the guard post at the terminal entrance who immediately proceeded to raise the ramp once they were in. Micha didn’t stop to ask them what was going on, accelerating his pace towards the bridge.

Geert and Angelo’s group had returned earlier in the afternoon from their trip to the military base, and they had already stowed and lashed their vehicles at their designed parking spaces in the lower decks.

The decks inside the accommodation were a hive of activity with sailors from both the deck and engineering departments running this way and that, carrying gear and sometimes stopping to secure a loose piece of equipment as if they were about to leave port.

Micha already had an inkling of an idea as to what was going on.

On the bridge, he found Alejandro and Dilip in heated debate by the radio station while Geert and Vadim were in the back next to the chart table looking over documents. All four Officers raised their heads when the female griffon came in.

“Ah finally Micha. We’ve got some great news. Guess what happened just before the Captain came back?” Alejandro asked.

“Dunno.” The Pole tilted his head. “Judging by the amount of activity down below it seems we’re about to depart.”

“Exactly!” The Spaniard cried out. “I was keeping watch as planned when the radio finally picked up something on the MF waves.”

“Distress call?”

“Standardized pattern using DSC calls to transmit. Few details in the message but we got a MMSI number out of it.” Dilip continued in Alejandro’s stead. “It’s a coast radio station, which we have identified as that of Lyngby.”

“I don’t know them by heart but if it’s MF it can’t possibly be that far…”

“Denmark. In a municipality close to Copenhagen apparently.” Alejandro explained. “Vadim and Geert over here are already drafting a passage plan to get us there.” He added, pointing to their two youngest Officers next to the chart table.

“That’s nice and all but has the radio station had any activity in the meantime?”

“Nope.” The parrot shook his head. “But I wouldn’t get caught up on that. It’s highly likely whoever sent the message had difficulties doing it. If it’s a case like Bart or Farkas where they don’t have hands I wouldn’t expect them to master the controls that well.”

“So?”

“I acknowledged the message.” Dilip stated. “The operator on the other side should receive a notice of acknowledgment with our own MMSI. Since it’s a coast station they should have a register of Inmarsat numbers to send us a written message via satellite if they can’t manage an audio call by radio. We have a constant watch over our own station so I don’t expect we will miss any call from Lyngby.”

“Then I suppose we’re going as soon as we can get the ship ready. Which port are we aiming for exactly?” Micha asked.

“Copenhagen.” Vadim piped in from the back of the room. “I already got a container terminal in sight. Nice depth and it’s L shaped so we can use our stern ramp to discharge lorries and long trailers.” The griffon said, tapping a talon against a waypoint on his charts.

“How far does it put us from the station?” Dilip asked.

The Ukrainian looked down at his chart and compared it to a road map. A cross on the map next to a pond marked the radio station in a town on the outskirts of the Danish capital city. He picked up some brass dividers and measured the distance.

“’bout 10 kilometers, give or take.” Vadim said, waggling his claw in a so-so gesture. “Reaching the port itself might take time though: it’s the whole way around the Danish peninsula, halfway through the Öresund strait. I’m still doing an estimation of the total steaming time but at worst it should take us two days if we stick to economic speed.”

The Captain stared off in the distance deep in thought. They did receive a distress call, with the usual implied urgency. The radio operator could be in danger because of monsters… or it could be that he simply panicked because of the Event and resorted to the simplest method in order to contact anyone in the vicinity. Making a quick distress call like that only involved pressing The Big Red Button™ after all.

“How far is Lyngby by road?”

“About 900km sir.” Geert answered.

Too far. Way too far to send a ground team. With the nuclear plants at stake he might have been willing to send a small team on a trip, but back then they had just been two to three hours away. Sending out a team three times as far? With monsters roaming about? They had canvas covered trucks, not tanks. That settled it then…

“Zinoviya?” The dog asked.

“Yes sir?” Vadim answered.

“You prepare the port entry into Copenhagen. Usual procedures and safety margins except for sandbanks. Keep a distance of at least three cables from the 10 meters depth line around them.” The Indian then turned to Micha. “Prezmo, you did the entry into Antwerp, care to make us an exit plan?”

“Deep draught channels or regulars?”

“Deep draught.  Alejandro, remind me to modify that in my standing orders, I’d rather we stay on the safe side all the time.” He told his Chief Officer over his shoulder. “Now, De Vries, you do the passage planning from the exit point in Antwerp to wherever Vadim chooses to begin his entry procedure into Copenhagen, got it?” The parrot nodded. “Beyond the usual remarks, we’re passing the Dutch coast so I expect a lot of small sized sandbanks. Keep a safety distance of six cables from them while we’re in transit. Also…” The dog tapped the side of his muzzle with a paw in thought. “Try to make us pass in VHF range of as many platforms as possible if that doesn’t delay us too much, they might have survivors on board for all we know. Now…” The dog clapped his paws. “I need to talk to Schmitt about getting the engine ready for departure. Alej’, I trust you can manage checking if everything in the holds is secure for sea? “

“Aye, will do.”

With that the Captain left the bridge, leaving his deck Officers to the task of charting their new route to the next port. Alejandro pulled out his notebook and jotted down a few things in it.

“Geert?” He asked.

“Yes?” The other parrot perked up; looking up from the chart catalog he was checking out.

“I know the ocean passage shouldn’t take as much time as the port entries. Try and help the others by inputting the parallel indexes into the radar’s computer.” The hyacinth macaw looked up to the ceiling for a second. “No need to use any for the ocean passage obviously.”

Geert nodded once to acknowledge the order before going back to writing down which charts he would need to prepare for the passage. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the shorter parrot put his notebook back in his pocket before walking down the stairs back towards the car decks. Technically, he didn’t need to start off with the paper charts and he would do just as well by planning a passage on the electronic charts using the ECDIS; but he was always more comfortable choosing his waypoints on paper. It mostly came down to the ease with which he could adjust each segment of a passage; which wasn’t as quick on the computer due to the somewhat clunky UI.

The scarlet macaw brushed a talon through his multicolored crest of feathers, following the path he had traced on the catalogue with another.

Starting off in the Scheldt estuary, he could take the northbound passage of Oostgat just by Vlissingen but… Nope, too close to sandbanks, and too narrow. He sure would have wished to pass closer to the town he used to live in, but it wasn’t a decision he could justify in front of the Captain. With a sigh, he erased that path and instead traced one that sent them West through the Scheur’s deep draught channel in front of Zeebrugge. That one had been made for intercontinental container carriers and ought to be much safer.

The path deviated a bit but it sent them in radio range of the Thames forts (which, if he remembered correctly, housed radio relays back to the Thames’ and London’s port control) and offshore wind turbines and had them follow the traffic lanes out of the English Channel towards the Rotterdam-Hamburg axis.

They would pass a couple gas platforms near Rotterdam and off the isle of Texel in the Netherlands but that was about it when it came to offshore installations. There were some wind turbines in the German EEZ further North but those were much less likely to have been manned at the time of the Event. No use to pass in range of those then, so he had their route sail a course directly from Texel to the tip of the Danish peninsula via one of the traffic lanes which ended just short of the fjord that lead into the port of Oslo.

A nudge on his hip stopped him for a moment. It was Vadim; the griffon was looking up expectantly at the tall parrot.

“You going to print the new charts yet?” He asked.

Geert threw a glance at his notes. He already had an idea of which charts he would use up to the point where they passed the Swedish port of Gothenburg. And the next one… was probably the exact same one Vadim would use for his port entry.

“Still need to check out if we don’t have copies already printed in the chart room.”

“Well while you’re at it can you print those for me?” The Ukrainian said, giving him a sheet of paper with his requested charts’ ID numbers on it. “I’m going to start off with the electronics charts. You can have the chartroom to yourself to work on your passage.”

Geert raised an eyebrow at Vadim. The guy was throwing some not too subtle glances towards Micha.

Oh, alright then.

“Ok, come get your charts in half an hour. I should have them out and ready by then.” The parrot said, slipping away on his crutches, the chart catalog held under one arm.

Vadim followed the departing parrot with his piercing yellow-green eyes. Once Geert had left the bridge, the grey falcon griffon allowed himself to sag a bit.

By then, Micha had sat down in the navigator’s chair and was checking out a tide table to calculate how he would go about his maneuver to get Amandine out of the Scheldt. The table he was looking at showed hourly drawings of the river with current vectors all over.

“Hey Micha. Barely saw you today, how was your day?”

“Good I guess? I spent most of the time I wasn’t on watch on the range.” The bald eagle griffon answered, not looking up from the drawings.

Vadim caught himself staring at the other griffon’s rump, the way Micha was sitting on his haunches in the chair made it make a nice smooth curve with the small of his back, the nomex clad wildcat tail of his feline half only serving to enhance the effect… The Ukrainian shook his head. Bad brain! No hitting on your best friend! He’s a dude for fuck sake!

Then again, that rump wasn’t exactly screaming ‘dude’ at him.

“Got some good shooting done then?” Vadim hastily asked.

“More or less. The backup iron sights under the scope are set so most of that time was spent ranging the scope and writing it down for each distance. It’s a bit tedious to be honest, but I like shooting so no big deal.” The Pole shrugged. “How was yours?”

“Gave some medical lessons to Boris. He seems to take it in pretty easily, and I also discovered something about griffons with him. Surprised I didn’t notice earlier actually.”

The other griffon looked up from the drawings at that.

“Oh really? Is it important?”

“I’d say. Did you notice we actually have two hearts?”

“Come again?”

“Yeah I was pretty surprised too. It’s Boris that pointed out the oddity and we spent half the afternoon verifying it. They don’t necessarily beat at the same rate; we have one in the middle of the chest just behind the sternum…” The griffon said, tapping a talon against his chest. “…And another just between our wings in the middle of our back.” He added, stretching his claw to point between his wings.

“That’s… unique I guess?” The Pole said, brushing a claw between his wings to check it out. He did feel a strong beat right there, the area being one of the warmest on griffons.

“Best guess I can give you is that the second heart is for flying… probably.” Vadim shrugged. “Probably makes us resistant to cardiac arrests too, but I’m no expert on the matter.”

Micha nodded absentmindedly. Quickly turning back to take a look at his drawings and jot down some notes. The ship was moored bow first in the terminal, which meant he would have to back out and turn Amandine around against the current or be forced to go down the Scheldt backwards. As enticing as that prospect sounded, he doubted Dilip would be too pleased if he tried it.

“You know. I can’t help but think back to the two silhouettes I saw jumping off the container stacks. I don’t suppose Boris and you would know anything about them, uh?” Micha said quietly.

The Ukrainian gave an awkward laugh and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“We err… we might have gone around the Captain’s back to try and figure out how to fly too. Nothing bad happened I swear! We aimed for a patch of sandy ground to try out landing, and only once we were sure we wouldn’t miss our target.”

“Well, I didn’t see any griffon flying around so I don’t suppose you got to the actual flying.” The Pole stated with a small smile on his beak.

“Maybe we didn’t.” Vadim conceded. “But we very much did get the ‘gliding’ part down. Landing uh…” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘classy’ but at least the ‘paws first, claws second’ technique works. Mostly. It’s still a bit rough on the edges.”

Micha finished writing down what he wanted on his notes and closed the tide tables. He was pretty sure he could adapt at least part of the upstream passage plan he had used on the way to Antwerp, unless he had already erased that route on the charts… He stood up and turned around to face Vadim.

“Well, flying does sound interesting. I don’t expect we could sneak around to train while at sea but once we’re in Copenhagen I’d be very interested in some private lessons, przyjacielu.” He said.

“I’d be happy to.” Vadim said, nodding eagerly.

“Glad to know. Now, it’s not that I want to be rude but if we’re going to leave ASAP, and by this I mean tomorrow morning, I’d rather be done quickly with my part of the work so I can get some shut-eye.” The Pole said. “The bridge’s yours, see you for dinner.”

And within a minute the Ukrainian was the last one on the bridge. Once again, he caught himself staring longingly at the departing form of his colleague and the way his tail snaked around the door gracefully when he left.

Vadim shook his head.

“Damn it.” he muttered in Ukrainian. “A month ago I was looking forward to proposing to Lyudmila and now I’m flashing on my male best friend?” A little voice in the back of his head wanted to correct him on the male part, he ignored it. “The fuck’s wrong with me?”

The fact that he was having any attraction at all for a creature that wasn’t even human worried him as well, but not as much as the fact that his brain (and his dick) were telling him to go for it when it came to Amandine’s Second Officer. Admittedly he hadn’t always been faithful to Lyudmila, what with his frequent use of hookers in foreign ports; but at least back then they were human.

Also it wasn’t like he was pursuing relationships with hookers, he wasn’t that dumb. He only made use of that service as easy sexual relief when he didn’t have much time in port, and usually it involved a lot of alcohol before he even started to drift towards a red light district.

Micha’s case was different. It was more than just lust: the griffon had caught himself numerous times daydreaming about an actual relationship… with the very same colleague he had gone to brothels with.

Vadim pinched his beak in frustration before pulling out a flask out of his pocket. In it was some of the most potent distillate the guys in engineering had managed to get out of their alembic. He took one long swig of it before moving to sit down in the navigator’s seat and bringing up Denmark on screen.

It was now late in the afternoon and he had work to do. Might as well get on with it; that would get a certain bald eagle griffon out of his mind.





Two decks below, a certain orange dragon was scouring the Officers’ cabins in search of his Second Engineer. Schmitt easily found the minotaur in his cabin where the Greek was chugging cans of energy drink whilst fiddling with a computer that had a distasteful amount of LED’s fitted to it (so much so that it cast a greenish glow inside the dark cabin).

Angelo finished his can and crushed it in his large hand, tossing the crumpled piece of aluminum in the trash without sparing it a look. With a hum, he put the finishing touches on his newest PC build, hooking up the computer to a dual monitor setup which immediately lit up with a hum.

“Busy as ever I see.” Schmitt commented, more to let the Greek be aware of his presence than as an actual reprimand. Unless it threatened the daily workings of the ship, the guy was free to do whatever he wanted in his free time for all he cared.

The minotaur startled, almost toppling his setup before turning towards his superior.

“Ah Chief. Anything that needs to be done?” He asked, fiddling with the tip of one horn with his thumb.

“Not yet, but soon.” Schmitt said. “Farkas and the Captain came back earlier, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I did. Poor Chief Steward looked thoroughly creeped out, any idea what happened?”

“None so far, though Artyom burst out laughing when I asked.” Schmitt shrugged. “Anyway, we got a distress call recently. Sounds like we’re headed for Copenhagen ASAP from what I was told…”

“…And the engine needs to be ready for departure on time. Got it.” Angelo cut him off. “You divided the tasks yet?”

“Eeyup.” The Luxembourgian nodded. “Aleksei’s prepping the bow thrusters; I’ll run the checklist on the main engine, so if you could do the fuel lines?”

“No problem with that.” Angelo answered. He stood up from the desk and grabbed an alarm clock by his bed. “Any time you need it done?”

“I need them ready by seven so we can do the starting procedure without having to hurry too much.”

The minotaur gave his superior the thumbs up and set his alarm to 04:30. Not that he needed all that extra time to prepare the fuel system, but he wasn’t exactly what you’d call an early bird. At such an hour? He was pretty sure he’d need half an hour to reach a sufficient level of consciousness with some coffee to help him along.

“Was that all?” He asked as he put down the alarm clock.

“I could offer you to make the list for engine watches.” Schmitt offered but the minotaur instantly waved him off.

“Sorry, but I don’t feel like doing it. Let Aleksei draft the list, I know his pick will sync with mine anyway.”

“Your call.” The dragon shrugged before walking off down the hallway, headed for the engine room.

Eyes trailing the form of his superior, the minotaur closed his door once the dragon had disappeared behind a corner and focused his attention back on the computer. The idea of making the gaming rigs had come from Carlos. The electrician was just as big videogame fan as he was and now that they had the opportunity to get the parts for free…

Sure, playing FIFA on a Playstation was nice, but they could do better. Angelo had snuck a list of computer parts on a salvage list one day, and he had been very pleased when Vadim and Micha had come back from Antwerp with the components a few days earlier. Carlos had been ecstatic and had drafted a plan for the best possible build before the minotaur even had time to take a look at the parts that had been retrieved.

The perk of being on a ship was that they only had to connect to the main grid to get the ability to do LAN games and share data. Now, they very much suffered from the loss of the Steam servers (May they rest in peace), but between the two of them they already had a fair amount of games in their respective libraries (some of which Angelo had stored on a hard drive waiting to get a proper PC to run them). Once it was added to the respectable amount of games they had found in containers all over the place (as well as one admittedly poorly furnished store in Zeebrugge), they were pretty much set with a couple thousand hours of game time ahead of them.

And his fellow Filipino geek still had gone off on a tangent about the possibility of adding a dedicated server for multiplayer games on which he had sworn he could program some AI players. Angelo was pretty sure that the parrot had crossed over into wishful thinking by then, but if he could achieve it… might as well let him make his attempt.

The minotaur set a few games to download, as well as the bare essentials for what he would consider useful on a gaming rig. That would take a few hours, but then again neither he nor Carlos expected to achieve anything quickly. A quick glance at the time told him he had an hour to go before dinner, so he picked out an anime on his hard drive to watch in the meantime.

The intro music for Fullmetal Alchemist reverberated through his headset as he pulled out a new can of energy drink from a drawer.





Later in the evening after dinner, well after most sailors had left the cafeteria to finish their evening duties, the trio of veterans was sitting at their usual table sharing beers. It seemed the shooting range experience had managed to rouse their spirits somewhat; and so Nikola found himself telling tales of his time as an army mechanic to Sri and Artyom. The gargoyle was still injured, but the cast on his sprained wing had come off and his bruised ribs didn’t hurt nearly as much.

His muzzle was still heavily bandaged from the quarry eel incident though.

“…So I had left the new guy to finish reassembling the transmission on the CO’s UAZ since I was short on time with other stuff.” The gargoyle told. “Pretty simple stuff actually, so even the new guy could work on it while I cleared up the rest of my backlog.”

“Classic mistake.” Artyom commented with a shake of his head.

“You don’t fucking say.” Nikola said, taking a sip of his beer. “Imbetsil somehow put the gearbox on backwards. No clue how he even managed it, but then the CO turned up asking for his jeep. Usual fluff: ‘I need to see my troops on the field and all’. For all I knew he would have just hung around somewhere on a hill with a LT for half an hour and then gone back to his office ‘cause he was bored. That kind of CO.”

“So what happened?” Sri asked, leaning in slightly.

“Hear this.” He told the female hippogriff. “When this happened I didn’t bother checking what the village idiot had done. I just saw the UAZ, said ‘Looks fine to me’ and handed the keys over to the CO. Next thing I know the car lurches forward with what I swear is the most sickening crunch I ever heard, half the undercarriage fucking drops to the floor and the CO gives me the ‘You done fucked up’ look.”

“Ouch.” Artyom winced in sympathy.

“You don’t say. I must say I’m not exactly what you’d call violent but I threw a wrench at the fucking idiot who did that and booted him out of my shop and straight to an infantry unit.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Sri said, the hippogriff brushing a claw through his wing in thought. “Hey, did I ever tell you guys ‘bout…”

Right then, the trio was interrupted by the cafeteria’s doors opening to let in one small blue-furred unicorn. Bart surveyed the room briefly before spotting the veterans and making a beeline for their table. He was carrying his brown beret tucked under his sweater’s epaulettes and had a bulge in one of his coveralls’ pockets.

He stopped a few steps short of their table, greeting the three veterans with a short nod each.

“Good evening.” He said in a clearly rehearsed manner. “I went to regimental museum. Took items from collection.” His horn lit up with a green glow and two berets, one blue, one red, flew out of one of his pockets, landing softly on the table. “For you. Sorry about not having Indonesian navy.” He apologized to Sri before walking off.

Artyom followed the departing unicorn with a bemused look before staring down at the VDV beret in front of him. The beret wasn’t even one from the soviet era: it was actually identical to the one he had worn during his service in the nineties.

“So what do you guys make of this?” He asked, picking up the beret and staring at it thoughtfully.

“Guy may not be able to talk much but looks like he’s willing to make allies. Heard he was going to run the armory, maybe do some guard duty too. Sounds like the kind of guy I can get along with.” Sri said.

“Once the Fourth Officer gets him talking maybe.” Niko added, putting the red beret in one of his hip pockets. “You alright Artyom?”

The Russian kept staring at his beret for a couple seconds before allowing a smile to creep on his muzzle, revealing the sharp fangs in his maw.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that, guys. It’s just something I recalled.” He said.

“And what would that be?”

“’Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ the saying goes.”

Sri groaned and slapped a claw against his forehead while Niko cuffed the snorting dragon on the back of his skull. So much for Artyom’s reputation of stoicism…





Morning didn’t come too soon for some on Amandine. Vadim was kind of glad he only had to manage the unmooring of the ship because charting their port entry in Copenhagen lasted him well into the night. The Ukrainian griffon let out a tired yawn as he walked out of the accommodation to his designated station for their departure.

The weather that day was rather mild despite the large grey cloud cover that blocked out the sun. Rain was expected latter in the afternoon if the HPI weather satellites were to be trusted, but not much wind thankfully. A ship with as much freeboard as Amandine tended to drift from her predicted course a lot in high winds.

Vadim did a quick check of his equipment before heading to his position by the aft winches. Life jacket? Check, and he had replaced its CO2 cartridge recently. He turned on his walkie-talkie and tuned it to their usual channel for mooring operations, the little plastic box immediately erupting with Micha’s voice. The Pole could be seen making his last checks on the bridge wings with Geert by his side, the wounded parrot reading points off of a checklist on a clipboard.

“Vadim to bridge, reporting in from aft winch station. Over.” He said on the radio while doing a quick head count of the sailors assembled on his post.

One purple furred sphinx (Mohammed) was propped up against the rail and looking out towards the container stacks while Ajit (the Himalayan sheepdog) was observing the seal colonies on the river banks. Two reliable sailors, both were looking ready for their departure.

“Morning Vadim. We’re going to do this one line at a time, no hurry, all focus on safety. Is your station ready? Over.” Micha asked.

“Roger on the safety. We’re ready. Out.” The grey falcon griffon answered as he checked out the winch drums before they put a line on it.

All sailors waited a couple minutes more before a plume of smoke rose from the funnel, accompanied by the telltale rumble from the engine indicating the guys down in engine room had turned it on successfully.

Up on the starboard bridge wing, Micha gave a satisfied nod. Everything was in place just as he desired it, checklists done. Now to get the maneuver approved. He turned towards the Captain who was sitting in his chair inside the bridge, sipping from a fresh cup of tea. Boris was at the helm a short distance away, ready to take his orders and get them out of their berthing.

“Captain, all checks done and ready for departure. Cargo is secure for sea and all mooring stations are manned. Permission to proceed?”

“Granted.” The Indian said. “And take it easy, no need to take any risk.”

They started off by releasing tension on the mooring lines amidships, the sphinx on that station quickly pulling them aboard using his telekinesis. Micha had reviewed his plan several times before deeming it ready: they were moored bow first in a terminal perpendicular to the river. On the plus side the terminal was dug in a bend of the river which gave him more room to work with.

Still, if he fucked up the maneuver they would be stuck drifting downstream backwards for a couple hours before they hit the open seas.

His plan was to let go on the stern first and use a bit of transverse thrust with the propellers to line them up with the bend before he let go on the bow. That way he could limit the effect of the current and have his maneuver halfway done without even releasing the ship from her mooring completely. A well controlled burst on the bow thruster would then be enough to bring them in line with the course of the Scheldt.

But before he had time to order Vadim to release tension on the stern lines, a cluster of tan shapes emerged from the container stacks on the quays and approached the vessel quickly. With his sharp eyesight he could make out the shapes to be… Lions?! What the hell?

They heard a chuckle coming from the Captain, the pariah dog glancing alternatively from Farkas by the fore winches to the pride of lions on the quays.

The sailors who hadn’t been on the team that raided the museums the day before looked in confusion as the male of the pride ran as close to the ship as it could and dropped a bloody bayonet on the concrete of the quays before calling out to a very much blushing Farkas with a roar.

“I’m sorry Captain, but did I miss something?” Micha asked.

“Our good Chief Steward found it funny to joke about jacking off to Simba from the Lion King yesterday.” Dilip chuckled. “Well, what would you know: when we came close to the zoo it appeared that lions do not mind the difference between them and sphinxes.”

“Hold on sir. You can’t possibly say that this lion is… Did it flirt with Farkas?!”

“Looked a lot like it did from my point of view, and by the looks of it seems very attracted to Farkas.” The Captain said, nodding with his muzzle towards the lion.

It was now sitting on its haunches and crooning at the embarrassed sphinx lioness (might as well call her that) high up on Amandine’s deck.

“So Farkas, seems like Simba’s got a crush on you. Should we start calling you Nala? Over.” The Captain teased over the radio.

The lioness threw a glare towards the bridge before trying to shoo the amorous lion away. That kind of stuff was outright bestiality, no way in hell would she even think about responding to a lion’s advances. Despite her protests, the lion still kept crooning at her, not moving an inch.

And she was under no illusion that the group of lionesses behind it was glaring at her despite her show of force against the chimera one day earlier.

Right behind her, Artyom was laughing his ass off at the lioness’ plight, muttering gibberish in Russian and letting out small puffs of smoke from between his jaws. Farkas looked at him in annoyance before remembering something she had discovered thanks to the chimera and the lions.

A second later the dragon was on the ground, completely paralyzed from the sphinx’s breathing out a cloud of gas at him. Sure, the Russian would eventually find a way to get back at her, but it felt good to teach him a lesson.

And the lion still wasn’t leaving.

The sphinx in charge with the winches amidships came to check out what was going on. The guy was called Thanasis, a Greek guy from engineering who now sported a tan fur with a dark blue mane.

“Hey guys what’s the hassle?” He asked before looking over the rail and down at the pride of lions. “Uh, visitors?”

“More like zoo escapees.” Farkas drawled. “They’re not ‘human’ intelligent, just rather clever for wild animals.”

Right then the amorous lion took a look at Thanasis and immediately recognized the other sphinx as a male who was very close to the subject of its attentions, a concurrent to the heart of its beloved. It stood up on its hind legs and let out a roar of challenge at the confused Greek.

Farkas shook her head. They needed to cut this short before it got even sillier than it already was; they had a voyage and rescue operation to accomplish. She glanced thoughtfully between the angry lion and Thanasis next to her before coming to a resigned conclusion.

“I’m sorry Thanasis, this is nothing personal but we need to get this lion off our collective back.” She said, quietly approaching the blue maned sphinx.

“Hold on, what are you getting at?” The other sphinx asked in confusion.

Mindful to make it happen in sight of the lion on the quays, she came up within reach of the other Greek and made a point of glancing down at the wild lion before rubbing her mane against Thanasis’ ,licking him on the muzzle and walking out of sight.

The lion’s reaction was instantaneous as it roared in sheer fury before pushing Farkas’ bayonet in the water and running off with the rest of its pride in tow.

“Aww, nice move Farkas, I think you broke its heart. Over.” Dilip joked over the radio.

Artyom might have still been paralyzed by Farkas’ gas attack at the moment, but the gleam in the dragon’s eyes was enough to tell the Chief Steward about the incoming jokes she was going to be the butt of. With a snort, she shook her head and made her way towards the accommodation.

“Thanasis, you deal with the fore mooring lines for me. I’ve had quite enough of this shit.” She told over her shoulder.

The male sphinx stayed put as the lioness walked away, utterly confused.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asked to no one in particular.

But the sailor’s question went ignored, everyone around instead resuming their work except for the still paralyzed Artyom who got propped up against a bulkhead while he recovered from his paralysis.

He was tempted to complain about sphinxes getting that kind of trick, but the dragon had figured out how to breathe fire by then (or rather: stop himself from doing it unwittingly and avoid setting the ship on fire).

Back on the bridge, Micha filed that particular incident for later and resumed the unmooring process when everyone was once again focused on the task at hand… or paw… or claw, whatever. He had Vadim release all tension on the stern lines before turning both rudders to starboard and giving a short burst ahead with the propellers.

That technique had the effect of making water reflect off of the rudders, thus creating transverse thrust that pushed the stern away from the quay. Keeping the thrust to short bursts ensured the ship would not build any forward momentum and tear off the fore mooring lines.

When Amandine’s stern was at enough of an angle that he judged he could turn the ship around easily, he switched the pitch on the propellers backwards before having the bow team let go on their mooring lines, finally freeing the ship from her berthing.

The bald eagle griffon went over to the controls of the bow thrusters before ordering his helmsman to give backwards thrust. Amandine slowly started to build some speed, moving upstream while Micha corrected the effects of the current with the bow thrusters. He couldn’t push the ship too fast; otherwise the admittedly feeble thrusters would lose any effect on the ship’s course, so it took them a couple minutes to back away from the quays and on the river proper.

Eventually, the Pole managed to line up the ship with the river on his first try and switched the propellers back to forward motion. Micha brushed a talon through his head feathers, satisfied with a well executed maneuver, a subtle smirk on his beak before turning to his colleagues on the bridge.

“To be noted on the logbook: 09:35, we are now underway towards Copenhagen. That’s gotta be a record considering that was without tugs or line handlers.” He stated. “Geert, can you get on the radio and tell the guys on deck to stow the mooring lines?”

The scarlet macaw nodded before hobbling out of the bridge, walkie-talkie in hand. The griffon then turned to the Captain after giving Boris a course to follow.

“It’s gonna take us some time to reach open waters. My intentions are to keep a speed of about 5 knots since we don’t have tugs to help us maneuver if anything goes awry. That way I can do quick course corrections with the bow thrusters. We will only shut them down once we’re out of the estuary and able to speed up.”

“Agreed.” The dog said as he got up from his chair. “Say, can you tell me if Artyom’s still paralyzed? Your eagle eyes are better than mine.”

Micha threw a quick look down towards the forecastle where the Russian was still against a bulkhead, though he seemed able to move his neck and arms now.

“Give him a minute or two I’d say.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in my office if anything happens. Have a good watch.” The Captain said before heading for the stairs.

And on that note Amandine was once again sailing.





The call had been acknowledged! Someone was coming!

Granted, she didn’t know who or when they were coming, but the display on her radio station clearly showed one of her messages as having been acknowledged by another station. She even had a MMSI number to go with and look up in the station’s directory… if she could manage to get enough control on her wings to manipulate the keyboard.

Yeah, there is a bit of a difference between pressing the big red button with ‘distress’ written on it and actually using her wings to type on the keyboard. She wasn’t too far from that point, but some… unfortunate events had forced her to leave her desk.

The wood hounds were encroaching on the building. Their paths in the last few days had been bringing them ever closer to her position, probably because they had managed to track down her scent, if only partially.

She had hurriedly rushed outside to quickly close the gates by the entrance and made sure all accesses in the fence were closed. She didn’t think it would stop the hounds, but delaying them would have to suffice. She also accidentally scratched her hoof when she went past her car, stepping on shards of broken glass with her unprotected leg.

Luckily she knew where to find the first aid kits inside the radio station. Putting on a bandage around the wound proved rather hard with only her poorly controlled wings and mouth (how sanitary…) to do it, but she managed to hold it in place with a generous amount of medical tape.

The batpony spent the rest of her day securing the ground level of the radio station as best as she could despite her small frame. She didn’t know when the hounds would breach the outer fence, just that they eventually would. Doing so took her well into the night before she was able to return to her desk inside the control room.

Then, the screen showed her someone had made a few attempts at reaching her while she had been occupied. Searching through the station’s directory of MMSI numbers revealed the call to have come from the same vessel that had acknowledged her call, unsurprisingly.

She stared at her extended wings through yellow slitted eyes in frustration. The simple task of typing nine digits on her keyboard took her more than three minutes. Way too slow to be considered convenient. She needed practice.

The vessel that had attempted to call her was apparently a Ro/Ro flagged in Malta (though, with flags of convenience, that didn’t actually tell her much) by the name of Amandine. That was a new bit of hope…

The little purple mare doubted she could manage an audio call just yet, but maybe she could send Amandine a written message via satellite. She did have their Inmarsat number in the directory, but typing it would take time.

She shook her head, making her messy mane bob up and down a bit. It’s not like she had anything else to do anyway: the hounds had her cornered inside the station; she couldn’t go out for more supplies.

A trip to the rec room later, she was slowly typing on her keyboard with an open can of tuna on her desk. It seemed like she was able to process fish at least (which wasn’t too surprising with the small fangs poking out of her mouth).

Lyngby Coast Radio Station,

GOC Operator Sandra Jensen,

  Greetings Amandine…
> Chapter 21: Following the Dutch Coastline
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geert was the first to take over Micha’s watch as they went down the Scheldt.  The parrot was able to keep watch despite being injured, though hopping around the bridge on crutches wasn’t the most efficient of methods.

Boris had left the helm to be replaced by a Ukrainian (an osprey/lynx female griffon called Ivan) sailor soon after Micha left. The Dutchman wasn’t too familiar with the former male at the helm save for some discussions they had shared during one of Schmitt briefings for ‘Guys-turned-gals’. That didn’t bother him too much since he’d rather focus on guiding the ship through the somewhat narrow channel of the Scheldt.

Amandine was advancing at a crawl as a matter of precaution, which made the already lengthy process of going down the river excruciatingly long. Calculations estimated that at their whopping speed of five knots, it would take them no less than seven and a half hour to achieve the first stretch of their passage. By commercial standards it was abysmally slow. Then again, considering the usual infrastructure of rescue vessels and tugs was all but gone thanks to the Apocalypse, it was perfectly reasonable to favor more cautious options.

The city of Terneuzen and its canal drifted by on their Port side as the ship slowly moved towards the estuary, but the young Dutchman was more interested in the other city that was looming on their Starboard side: Vlissingen. The very town he used to live in before everything went to shit. From what they had witnessed in Belgium he was pretty sure the city would be completely empty, including the apartment he used to share with his girlfriend.

The parrot’s grip on the edge of his chair tightened when he thought about the blonde girl. She had been by his side ever since he moved there from his hometown in Groningen to study at the maritime academy. Every time he had gone out to sea, she had been the first to greet him either on the quays or at the train station when he got back.

Geert clicked his large beak and ordered a small course correction to the helmsman to ensure they safely passed next to a hidden sandbank before turning to admire the landscape.

Across the somewhat large distance that separated the vessel from the river banks, he could see the dykes which he knew hid marshy terrain and well irrigated fields. A lone windmill dominated the flat countryside, reminiscent of an era where his countrymen relied on wind power to preserve them from a watery annihilation.

Further downstream, he could already see the port of Vlissingen, notably smaller than the one they had left behind in Antwerp with a small marina and a fleet of sailboats that would forever await their owners. The seafront side of the city was built over a tall stone wall to protect it from the North Sea storms that sometimes drifted towards the city. Apartment buildings shared the space on the seafront with some ancient observation towers, lighthouses and the more modern radio masts equipped with radars that allowed the harbor authority to track any traffic that entered the Scheldt estuary.

Geert’s gaze drifted towards one side of the town where he knew his apartment was, hidden from sight by a row of buildings and hotels.

“Homesick?” The helmsman asked, startling the parrot somewhat.

“Not really homesick. It’s just… Now we’re heading for Denmark, and then probably to America. Makes me wonder, am I ever going to see my homeland again after this?” The parrot glanced quickly at the ECDIS. “Starboard five, steer zero-eight-five.”

“Aye, zero-eight-five on starboard. You know, I think you choosing to stay with us did this ship a great service.” The griffon said.

“Care to elaborate? ‘cause to me it didn’t seem too hard of a choice.” He nodded towards the city they were passing, ears drooped. “After all, this city doesn’t look too active.”

“Steady on zero-eight-five. I mean you, being the most recent member of the crew and a fresh-out-of-the-academy cadet, decided it was better to stick with the group rather than go back home, even considering you were like an hour away by car? I may be wrong, but to me you could be the difference between just Ioan leaving us when we arrived in Zeebrugge, and half the crew making off.”

Which would have left Amandine undermanned and unable to continue operating.

“Glad to hear that I guess.” Geert shrugged before turning his head to focus on the helmsman by his side. The female griffon had, not unlike Micha, highlighted feathers on his head. But where Micha’s were green and surrounding his eyes, Ivan’s were more like yellow streaks of feathers on his forehead.

“Would you? I mean, would you have tried to make it back home?”

“You know I somewhat doubt there was a home to go back to in my case, and that was even before the Event.” Ivan snorted.

“Crimea?”

“Nah, Donetsk.” He said with a shake of his head. “You know, before it all went to shit over there I was content with leaving things be. I’m gone most of the time, so it would be great if I had a country to go back to. I don’t suppose you would be particularly happy if after months of sailing around the world you went back to find your hometown reduced to rubble because your khuilo neighbors decided to secede and create a state of their own.” Ivan sighed. “Sorry, caught myself rambling there.”

“No worries. If anything, it makes my own problems sound mild by comparison.” Geert gave one last look towards Vlissingen before the ship finally passed the town, marking the end of their descent of the Scheldt.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was your stance on what occurred in Ukraine? I know we’re not supposed to talk about it for the sake of crew unity but I always was curious.”

“Hate to disappoint you Officer, but I really don’t have a strong political stance on this. Russian, Ukrainian, I don’t care at all; I speak both languages anyway. What I wanted was a solution that avoided any violence and left me with a home to come back to.” The griffon let out a tired trill. “Guess you don’t always get what you want. Fucking power hungry shitheads…” He muttered.

“That’s… surprisingly sensible. Any idea what the rest of the Ukrainians and Russians on board think about it?”

“Dunno really. We avoid that topic like plague, but I don’t think Vadim really cares. He’s technically from Kiev but everyone knows he’s spent most of his life in Poland so he’s not that involved. As for Artyom, I would have expected a VDV vet to taunt us Ukrainians over it but the guy is surprisingly tame about it. Odd.”

“And Boris?”

“Boris?” Ivan snorted. “Fucking gopnik is only held back by the Captain’s orders not to talk politics otherwise I’m pretty sure he would be talking shit nonstop.”

“Thanks for small mercies then, though I head the gopnik part was just a trick to get Vadim and Micha off his back. Port 5, steer zero-nine-seven.” He ordered.

Having left the Scheldt, Geert and Ivan steered Amandine West through the Belgian sandbanks in order to reach the deep draught channel that marked the traffic lane they wanted to follow. On their Port side they could see hints of the Belgian coast off in the distance, with the tall cranes of the port of Zeebrugge just barely peeking over the horizon. 

At this point they were able to speed up to 15 knots, not needing the extra maneuvering capacity in open waters. The engine rumbled and sent vibrations coursing through the hull when the Dutch parrot pushed the throttle, finally able to unleash its gigantic power and propel the two hundred meters long ship onward to her next port of call.

They could have gone faster. Amandine was a decently fast ship, being able to reach the respectable speed of 25 knots and sustain it. The issue was: fuel consumption followed an exponential curve, and even at 15 knots they burned through about 20 tons of heavy fuel oil per day. Pushing her to her limits would have them burning up to 70 tons of fuel per day, and with no working refinery around they’d rather avoid emptying their tanks for no reason.

Soon enough, they passed the anchorage of West Hinder where this whole chain of events had started for them. The place was of no particular interest to the naked eye: it was just a stretch of open water that made for a solid anchoring ground, with only the offshore wind turbines to the North-East visible.

The moment they passed the point of West Hinder was also the moment the cloud cover finally broke into rain, pelting the decks with heavy drops of water and forcing some sailors that had been smoking on the main deck back inside.

Beyond their talk about home and Ukraine, Ivan and Geert didn’t talk too much, both already having a lot on their mind to think about. 

By the point they sailed within sight of the English coast and spotted the lighthouse of Ramsgate, they were finally relieved from duty by Alejandro and a new helmsman. Sailing down the Scheldt and out to sea had lasted them until late in the afternoon. Geert was all too glad to be able to go back to his cabin at that point: his still injured hip was aching and he felt like he really needed to lie down for a bit.

The parrot quickly brought Alejandro up to snuff with what was going on with the navigation before handing over the watch and grabbing his crutches. With Ivan in tow, he hobbled off and went back to his cabin.





Down in the engine room, Micha and Aleksei were once again busy with their computer troubles. The Pole had by then finished inputting the data for the pumps in the generator systems and had moved on to the more complicated piping network of the main propulsion. By his side, Aleksei was busy as well, trying to achieve some progress with their radio log converter. The hippogriff had managed to find a rubber band to hold the white feathers of his ‘mane’ behind his head, a noticeable oil stain on the tip of the feathers telling observers the little innovation hadn’t come too soon.

With the main engine active, the temperature in the control room had gone up significantly. It may have only been fifteen degrees outside, but deep down in the bowels of the vessel, the atmosphere heated up to a sweltering thirty degrees despite the best efforts of the ventilation system. Coupled with the rolling of the vessel, the noise and the vibrations, the place made for a rather uncomfortable area if you weren’t used to it.

Aleksei quickly checked the status of the main engine on the control panels, ensuring it was running smoothly and throttling down one of the fuel pumps before focusing back on his computer.

“You know it’s bloody annoying having to do all the work without an online repository to rely on.” Aleksei complained. “I mean, I got my own notes as a base but this shit is hard.”

“Stalling again?” Micha said, looking up from his computer to peek at the lines of code on Aleksei’s.

“You don’t say. I thought I had a lead there but once I tried the converter on a sample file I crashed the whole damn program. That’s a restart from scratch.” He sighed. “How is it going for you?”

“Slow and steady. It’s tedious because of the sheer amount of variables the computer has to check out before adjusting pump rpm but as long as I stick to the manual it’s fine. Want some help?”

“No offence but you wouldn’t know how to go about it.”

“None taken.” The bald eagle griffon hit a key, finishing his work on one particular pump before moving on to the next one. “Say, you heard about what happened with Farkas?”

“The lion pride? Pretty funny if you ask me, I’m all in for nicknaming her Nala. Would be fitting.” The Latvian hippogriff chuckled.

“It’s not only that.” Micha frowned, his tail starting to swing faster behind him. “A rumor from the Chief Cook has it he admitted to being heterosexual.”

“By heterosexual do you mean?”

“Yeah, as in relative to his current gender. Makes me worried you know…” The Pole admitted.

“You haven’t thought about our crew’s gender reversals much yet, have you?” The light green hippogriff asked, with his head cocked to one side, a mischievous smile appearing on his face.

“Have you?” Micha answered back.

“For about a week I’d say. It’s not something that I advertise but…” The Pole blushed. “I am in the same case as our dear Chief Steward. Didn’t dare ask around about it though.”

“So you’re attracted to dudes?”

Aleksei nodded subtly.

“I think you should look into it tonight Micha, for your own sake.” The Latvian said. “I’ll admit, it was a bit of a… harrowing thought to realize this but it’s definitely something you should figure out. Plus there is no harm in just being curious. Doesn’t mean we aren’t trying to find a solution to that particular predicament, am I right?”

The female griffon nodded numbly. He wasn’t too keen on… exploring that particular area of his changes but he did presume something in him had changed beyond what laid between his legs. The way he felt when around Vadim was already a hint of that, particularly when he thought about the accidental teasing he had inflicted on the Ukrainian in front of the gun shop a couple days earlier.

“Back to Farkas.” Micha said. “Have you noticed how people started using ‘she’ to refer to him since the lion incident? Or even how bizarrely clever that male lion was?”

“Clever?”

“I don’t think a regular lion would have had enough wits to figure out the bayonet belonged to Farkas and brought it along all the way from downtown. It’s not human clever but definitely more than it had any right to be.” The Pole explained.

“Can’t tell, only got second hand reports of the incident. On the other hand did you hear what Nguyen told about the seals in the harbor? Sounded kinda similar to the lion thing.”

“In which way?” This time it was Micha’s turn to be curious.

“Apparently once they figured out he was the one throwing food waste in the harbor they started to track him around the docks and asked for food whenever he passed the ship’s ramps. They even ‘explained’ to him using honks and gesture with their flippers how they wanted meat and fish waste.”

“Bizarre indeed…” Micha muttered before being interrupted by the ringing of the interphone.

Making sure his progress on the pump’s automation system was saved; the griffon stood up and picked up the phone which erupted in an angry mix of Dutch and dubious English, courtesy of the newest addition to the crew. 

Turns out, trusting an active military guy with the armory meant that even he as an Officer couldn’t get away with leaving his dirty rifle expecting to come back and clean it later. Micha couldn’t understand all the words the unicorn was saying but he sounded pissed alright, telling him to ‘Come clean gun, now’. Micha tried to protest, only to be answered with a ‘you have no watch now, come clean’ before Bart hung up on him.

Behind him, Aleksei snickered, the female hippogriff giving him an amused look.

“Looks like you just got your first taste of military grade weapons discipline. I knew Artyom and the vets had been lax on us with that.” She said with  a click of her beak.

“Wait, you knew this would happen?”

“I may not have been in the military but my pa’ was. National Guard; told me a lot about the inner workings.”

“That’s new.” Micha said with a surprised look.

“Not really. I just don’t go around telling my past to everyone. Now go, I get a feeling the Corporal will be calling again if you don’t show up soon.”

Micha resigned himself to get berated over his dirty rifle. He had been planning to clean it, just not that early. With a sigh he wished Aleksei a good evening before making his way up the stairs, out of the engine room and towards the armory.

There was some work going on in the workshop:  a couple sailors were working through their fleet of Defenders, applying some much needed modifications to the 4x4’s. The versions they had retrieved from Antwerp were devoid of any useful gear that ought to be considered essential on that kind of vehicle (not unusual since they were brand new). Thankfully, they were built on a pretty modular chassis.

Micha waved to Nikola in passing, the Bulgarian being busy installing snorkel kits on all of their Land Rovers with the help of Thanasis. The gargoyle had been dubious about their decision to choose Defenders over Lada Nivas as their smaller vehicle up until Vadim pointed out to him that Land Rover engine were no longer made by ‘that fucking train wreck of a car manufacturer by the name of British-Leyland’ (according to Vadim).

Unlike Vadim however, Micha wasn’t really a car-guy so he didn’t understand all that was said about it but apparently the former owner of the Land Rover Company had a pretty terrible streak when it came to reliability. Thankfully, their versions were made by the new owner with a much better Td5 diesel engine compared to previous versions. At least that’s what he had overheard.

As long as they ran correctly, this was of no importance to the griffon.

Further behind, the ship’s duo of welders were in the process of putting together some roll cages and bull bars for their vehicles. Now, welding was always a dangerous process on board of ships, what with concerns about ventilation and fires. Such problems had been circumvented by the creation of a dedicated space for welding inside of the workshop, one equipped with separate ventilation and firefighting equipment.

Micha entered the open armory, only to be immediately confronted by an irate unicorn holding his hunting rifle in his telekinesis. Bart made a great show of pointing to the rifle’s dirty action, punctuating his angry rant with a mix of angry Dutch and simple words in English. The Pole was tempted to roll his eyes, but instead just settled for snatching the rifle and going to take a seat at one of the workbenches.

Bart let out a snort before turning back to the weapon cages and moving off to… somewhere. Whatever their new guard/gunsmith spent his time doing in the armory, the Second Officer didn’t know nor care overly much. What he did notice however, were the decorations that had already sprung up on the walls of the armory: car calendars (written in Cyrillic, which ruled out Bart as their owner), gun schematics and even a dart board.

The female griffon clicked his beak and grabbed a cleaning brush before setting to cleaning his rifle.





Shortly after dinner, Dilip was having some small talk around a cup of tea with Schmitt in his office. The orange dragon wasn’t a big fan of the beverage, but decided to entertain the Indian dog since he knew the guy was a sucker for some good tea.

“So how’s Farkas?” Schmitt asked.

“Fine. She was pretty embarrassed and I had her explain herself to Thanasis. But now? She’s fine.”

“Eh, if you say so.” The dragon shrugged before dumping a generous amount of sugar in his cup when Dilip wasn’t looking. “Poor Thanasis was pretty confused once we were done unberthing. ‘I’m sorry sir, but why did the Chief Steward just lick me? And what the fuck was up with that lion?’”

“Yeah, took a while to get Farkas to tell me her reasoning. Completely twisted I must say, but in a weird fashion it makes sense. If you look at it sideways and squint a little.”

Schmitt let out an amused snort, the gesture making a small puff of smoke rise up from his nostrils which Dilip followed with his eyes until it left through the half open window.

“Every time I talk to you or Artyom I’m reminded we have two walking flamethrowers on board. Puts the firefighter in me on edge you know?”

“I get the feeling. No worries though, I spent some time figuring out how to control it and checking out that ‘emotional smoke’. It won’t cause any fires, and unless someone gives me one hell of a sucker punch right in the gut, I won’t torch the ship by accident.” He reassured his superior.

“Glad to hear that.” Dilip said as he sipped his tea. “Say, I was wondering…”

“My sexuality?” The Chief Engineer interrupted him.

“How did you guess?”

“Educated guess. It’s been the topic recently and we were just talking about Farkas.”

“So?”

“Still into gals.” He said. “Sorry to burst your bubble. It doesn’t seem like every female on board was affected by a change in sexuality.” The dragon told, picking at his claws before leveling his muzzle towards the Captain. “I hope you weren’t betting on matching me with Artyom.”

Dilip got a weird look on his muzzle, the dog’s right ear twitching a little.

“Now that would have been weird. I will have you know I think about personalities when I place my bets, you both are so mismatched it could never work.”

“Ahah, so you did think about it!” Schmitt said, pointing an accusatory digit at the seated dog.

“Only briefly I swear, and only because Alej’ mentioned the bet first.”

“Bets, bets, and more bets; that’s all I ever hear around here. You know, for an Indian you’re weirdly into British culture you know?” The dragon said, standing up and pacing around the room for a bit, his tail swishing behind him.

“Fair enough, I’ll admit I did rent a house in Aberdeen before the Event. It’s not always possible to go back to India between contracts you know?”

“Aberdeen uh? Been trying to get into the offshore industry?”

“That was an idea I never got to implement. Admittedly, the most use I got out of that house before the Event was for having two of my kids study at the university there. Bloody expensive too, but that was years ago, they graduated now.” The dog said, thinking back to how proud he had been of his twin sons graduating at the same time. He had a photo of that day in an album inside his cabin.

“Says the guy who makes eight thousand pounds a month.” Schmitt said with a shake of his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. I-Live-In-Luxembourg-Because-Taxes-Are-Overrated, how is that tax haven going for you?” Dilip replied with a hint of a smile.

“Contrarily to you I was born there.” The dragon countered with a raised brow. “But I do admit the tax and banking systems are a nice plus. There are still taxes just so you know though…” The dragon stopped briefly, a gleam appearing in his eyes. “Hold on a second, didn’t you tell me your wife always stayed in Mumbai? Were you actually avoiding her using Aberdeen as a shield?”

“So much shit I can take from her before I want to be halfway across the world I’ll admit but…” The dog raised a paw in defense. “… It was from an arranged marriage. I did tolerate her enough to put two sons and a daughter in her after all. I still go back to India frequently… when I have to do work for the navy.”

“Poor you.” Schmitt commented ruefully. “Family alliance?”

“Joining businesses a couple decades ago. My father wanted to merge his law cabinet with another, got a lot of profit out of it too. More than enough to send two of his sons to study in the UK.”

“Lemme guess, you were the third one.”

“Bull’s-eye my friend. I got sent to the maritime academy in Mumbai instead.” Dilip drawled after downing the content of his cup and going for a refill.

“Well, look where that got you. Nothing to scoff at I’d say, and you did get to the UK eventually.”

“That’s the way I beat the odds.” The Captain boasted, both of his ears rising up in pride.

Schmitt was about to retort with a snarky comment when the interphone rang, bringing the friendly conversation to a grinding halt. Dilip picked up, listening for a few seconds before uttering a small ‘thank you’ and turning to his computer.

“Something up?”

“We just received a written message from the station in Lyngby that’s what.” Dilip said, starting up his computer and bringing up the inbox folder.

Ahead of the previous messages they had received from the HPI was a single unread message, which Dilip immediately opened. He skimmed past the general data, time of reception, yada yada… and instead focused on the bulk of the message.

Lyngby Coast Radio Station,

GOC operator Sandra Jensen,

  Greetings Amandine,

  I am very glad to have finally found other survivors. I require assistance as soon as possible: my station is now surrounded by monster dogs made out of wood. I know this doesn’t seem to make much sense but they almost got me when I was out looking for survivors a few days ago.

  I am now barricaded inside the radio station but the dogs appear to have tracked down my scent or at least located the area I was in. I do not have a weapon and cannot defend myself so please, if you are able to, send help. I fear the dogs may breach the outer fence soon and I do not know how long my barricades of the main building can hold them off.

  Also, have you experienced any change out of the ordinary yourself? I fear telling you more about this might make you think I am crazy. 

  I am alone in the station and I now have about five days of supplies left if I ration them carefully. Please send a reply if you are coming to assist.

  Respectfully,

Dilip and Schmitt stared at each other for a couple seconds.

“’change out of the ordinary?” Schmitt asked.

“In other words she transformed like us. But the monsters…” Dilip trailed off.

“As damaging on living beings and vegetations as wood hounds seem to be I don’t think they could breach a radio station that fast.”

“You’re saying that as if we actually have good intel on those beyond the fact they burn well under dragon fire and outdated pepper spray with a lighter.”

“We don’t, but I think she will last until we get there. Lyngby isn’t far from Copenhagen so as soon as the ramp is lowered we can dispatch a team to save her.” Schmitt said. “And if we put Artyom on that team we can make the hounds regret their life choices by siccing an angry ex-VDV dragon with guns and an integrated flamethrower on them.”

“I guess when you put it that way… Okay, I'm just going to write her an answer immediately.” The Captain said, pulling his keyboard closer.

“As you see fit, I will be hanging out in the Officers’ lounge.” The dragon said before walking out of the office. 





Warning: explicit sexual content is present in the next scene








It was four in the morning when Micha locked the door to his cabin, finally done with his day. He was kind of glad they were now running with four deck officers against the usual three before the Event; it gave him extra time for himself in between watches on the bridge.

Being the Chief Officer gave Alejandro the right to determine they would stick to rounds of four hours on the bridge. That choice meant they wouldn’t always keep watch on the same hour every day, but it also meant they could enjoy twelve hours of time to work on their daily tasks or rest between watches.

Micha was still on the fence about that decision, but since this passage was pretty short he didn’t mind the minimal amount of jetlag it would cause. And at this particular moment? It meant the female griffon didn’t have to go up to the bridge until four in the afternoon.

He kicked off his steel-toed safety shoes into a corner of the cabin, which had the same general layout as those of the other Officers and Engineers. The way it differed from the rest was in its owner’s decoration choices: there were a couple posters of heavy metal bands on the walls, as well as one autographed poster of Sabaton just above his bed. The heavy metal posters shared the walls with pictures of wildlife and one advert poster for Husqvarna rifles which he had bought when he had visited the factory in Sweden once.

On the wall facing his desk, Micha had put up some photos of his family, with one of him with his wife and his parents on the day of his wedding. The griffon took off his gloves and sat down on his haunches by the desk, staring at the smiling face of his father, the elderly, crippled, fisherman beaming with pride at his son clad in his dress blues. 

The Pole knew that in a drawer of his desk was a small box holding his wedding band. He hadn’t worn it since the Event; in fact he usually didn’t wear it at sea because of safety concerns ingrained into him by his own father.

‘Never disregard safety procedures’ the old man would always say. ‘Look where that got me’ was what he would add, pointing to his left leg which had been mangled by a mooring cable that snapped at an inopportune moment.

The griffon sighed wistfully looking at the picture. He idly wondered how his family would react, hell, how his wife would react if she learned the father of her unborn kid had been turned into a cat-bird female by some weird fur-pocalypse.

Probably badly.

The Pole felt torn. On one claw he was pretty sure that with the amount of survivors they had found (that is: a whopping two) he wouldn’t find anyone should he make his way back to Gdansk but on the other claw… It felt wrong to just move on in spite of the vows he had recited years ago at the altar in front of his wife.

Post-apocalyptic faithfulness to people that may not even exist anymore aside; Micha judged now was the ideal moment to try out Aleksei’s suggestion. The prospect of delving into the change he had made a point of avoiding ever since the Event was enough to make the griffon blush.

He twisted his body to take off his coveralls (which now featured Vadim’s innovation of adding zipper holes for his wings) before moving off to the bathroom to hang them on a peg inside. Micha got a look at his own body in the mirror in passing.

He was a mix of bald eagle on his avian half with the feline half of a wildcat. This made it so that his head was covered in white feathers except for the naturally highlighted green feathers surrounding his yellow raptor eyes. From the four griffons present on board, they had determined females seemed to be the only ones with colored feathers like those, with males being more likely to have crests or extra tufts of down on their head.

The white feathers changed tone around his neck, replaced by dark brown feathers covering his body and wings until they reached his feline half, which was covered in brown-grey fur with dark stripes on his back. This pattern continued to the tip of his decently sized tail which ended in a black tuft of fur. The fur on his belly and nether regions on the other claw, shifted instead to a brighter hue of grey.

Perhaps due to a lack of knowledge on how to properly maintain them, the feathers on his wings were rather messy despite Micha’s best attempts at brushing them with his claws. The result wasn’t catastrophic, but the primaries did lack the sheen they had had the day he had transformed.

Observing the appearance of other griffons had led the Pole to some more conclusions about griffons: his new specie had sexual dimorphism beyond the feathers on their head. Males and females seemed to be about as tall, but females had a wider err… rump shape whereas males were stockier on the front body department. Females also had a slightly longer body and, from comparisons drawn from seeing Vadim’s wings (the Ukrainian had a tendency of airing his wings out whenever the Captain wasn’t around), a larger wingspan too.

Also, griffons didn’t have teats. Logical in a sense: he doubted young griffon chicks (or cubs maybe?) would be able to nurse on their mothers with their beaks.

He willingly ignored the fact he was now technically in the population bracket that was able to become such a mother.

Staring in the mirror, the female griffon brushed a claw against the side of his beak. Last chance to back out on his decision to discover if his sexuality had changed. His gaze drifted back towards his nether regions in hesitation, where what he knew was a mix between a mammalian vagina and an avian cloaca resided; only subtly hidden by his tail and a thick tuft of fur between his legs. That part of his new body had hardly received any scrutiny since the change from the Pole beyond awkwardly cleaning it without looking each time he took a shower or went to the toilet.

Micha walked back to the bedroom and grabbed his laptop on the desk before moving over to his bed. Plopping down on his stomach on the mattress, he opened the laptop to be greeted by a picture of Amandine, taken shortly before the Event by a drone on the Thames. He quickly scrolled through the menus and opened the program that allowed him to access data on the ship’s server via Wi-Fi. Hidden just enough that corporate executives visiting the ship wouldn’t find it was the porn folder, innocently titled ‘draft documents archive’.

Unknowingly to Micha, his thought pattern brought him along the exact same lines as Farkas when the sphinx ‘explored’ his new female hood. He started by putting on something which he usually enjoyed: lesbian porn, while with one claw he reached for his nether regions.

The porn in front of him utterly failed to stir up the griffon’s loins, even when he tentatively prodded between his legs with a single talon. The sensation of a digit intruding inside his body felt…bizarre to the former man, but not entirely unpleasant. He could feel the warmth in that particular area of his body… but no arousal came from witnessing two nubile women go at it on his screen.

Just as he had feared. Still with a bit of hope that he might be wrong, the Pole switched to a more common video of heterosexual sex between two well endowed individuals. That had more effect on his libido, the sight of the male genitalia making his folds moisten slightly around his talon, the bald eagle griffon releasing a muffled moan as heat built up between his furry thighs.

On one hand he wished he could have claimed the transformation had made him a lesbian… but on the other claw the feelings he was getting did feel simply delightful. His tail brushed against the arm he had between his thighs, its sensitive underside sending a pleasant trill up the griffon’s spine whose wings fluttered ever so slightly in pleasure.

But there was an itch in the back of his mind. Something inside him saw something wrong in what was on the screen: ‘not enough fur’ the more primal part of his mind was saying ‘can’t be healthy’. He went back to explore the porn folder, trying to find something to satisfy the arousal he had stirred between his-no, her legs-.

Inside a sub-folder dubbed ‘Roberto’s Special’, the griffon finally found something to satisfy herself: three folders labeled ‘furry’, ‘scaly’ and ‘avian’ respectively.

Oh Roberto you sly cat, blaming Geert for looking up avians when the Internet was still up, and he was the closet furry all along?

The videos were animations but the griffon’s brain didn’t mind, apparently satisfied by more natural (to her primal mind) looking fur-covered genitalia, as should be found on a griffon. She found a video of an anthropomorphic cougar having sex with a female wildcat which had an instantaneous effect on her.

The parallel between the feline halves of two certain griffons on board didn’t cross her mind at the time.

Eyes riveted on the two animated felines on screen, she plunged her talon deeper in her folds, the movement eliciting a quiet moan of pleasure as the moisture between her thighs started to make her fur stick to her legs. Her tail, extended to its full length, swished vigorously behind her slightly raised rump.

Watching the action pick up on screen, she then plunged a second talon inside her, then a third, the sharp but well trimmed digits teasing relentlessly at the walls inside her female hood. A small purr of pleasure rose from her throat, all previous shame of her predicament temporarily pushed aside as she wiggled her talons inside herself, bringing her arousal to new heights.

A surprised trill escaped her when her ‘thumb’ talon brushed against the clitoris just below her now very wet opening, the simple gesture making her legs feel numb from sheer pleasure as the wetness in that area increased twofold. She (back when she was still a he) knew how effective it was on her wife but… experiencing it first claw brought it to a whole new light. 

The primal parts of her mind started to feel envious of the female wildcat getting pounded on screen, her curiosity as to how it would feel increasing despite protests from some parts of her brain that screamed at her how utterly wrong this all was. 

But thought remained ignored by the griffon at the time. Instead, she finally reached climax at the same time the wildcat on screen did, her own female juices coating the yellowish scales on her forearm as a violent tremor of wild, unabated pleasure coursed through her nervous system and made her fall limp on the mattress, wings spread out on either side of her. A long moan escaped her beak as she felt the muscles of her cloaca contract repeatedly around her talons. The smell of female sex reached the nostrils in her beak, her smell.

Basking in the afterglow of her very first female orgasm, the griffon watched through half-closed eyes as the video came to a halt when both the anthropomorphic felines fell down in each other’s arms, the cougar cradling the female tightly.

As the Pole slowly came to her senses, she glanced down at the drenched mat of fur between her legs, thinking back to what she had thought during her bout of masturbation and how she was now attracted to males… and how one part of her mind had innocently replaced the upper half of the cougar in the video with that of a grey falcon. Micha’s head dropped, the resigned griffon letting out a tired groan.

“Kurwa…” She said before allowing herself to drift off to sleep, her hind legs lying in the middle of a wet stain on her bed sheets.











While things were going on inside, Amandine continued her course towards Copenhagen. Despite them coming close to the offshore installations of the Thames estuary and repeatedly sending messages on all radio channels, nobody picked up their calls, even those sent on HF and MF waves.

They spent most of the night following the Dutch coast, still keeping a sedate pace to save fuel. Most of the time they were out of visual range of the shore, instead trying to pass within range of as many offshore platforms as possible to garner attention on the radio.

The waters close to the Netherlands weren’t deep, but at least they didn’t have the literal maze of sandbanks and shallows that plagued the Belgian shore (and even worse in that particular case: the sandbanks moved gradually with each spring tide, meaning years from now their charts of that area would be as good as toilet paper). This made for some easier navigation; though they still had to make sure they didn’t sail into one of the many platform installations during the night.

To that extent the bridge crew was glad all those platforms on their course were expelling gas through their flare stacks. That made them hard to miss, and their radar helped avoid the other support platforms next to the drill units that lacked a flare to indicate their position.

Not a single message popped up on the waves during the night except for one written message coming straight from Lyngby they had received earlier, which had immediately been forwarded to the Captain. But the rest? The port of Rotterdam they passed? Nothing. The Dutch naval headquarters in Den Helder, near Texel? Zilch, not a single word on the waves; not even from that cesspool of drugs and depravity called Amsterdam. This was supposed to have been one of the busiest waterways in the world before the Event, but now… Only a single grey and white ship with a yellow funnel traversed those waters. 

They could still see some lights coming from buoys here and there, as well as others from automatically controlled lighthouses which drew their power from the hundreds of wind turbines that dotted the shoreline. They were even visible from the sea, the top of the tall structures lit by a slowly blinking red light. It was still too soon after the Event for most of the infrastructure to have gone down, but some hints were already there: one buoy that had drifted out of place, one wind turbine ablaze from its circuitry catching fire. Many supposedly charted lights were absent too, those being lighthouses that had not been automated.

Up on the bridge, Geert had taken the second watch for that day, from four to eight in the morning. The scarlet macaw still had some time to go on his watch before the sun even rose above the horizon.

Not that he minded actually. Keeping watch at night always came with an eerie atmosphere. There was something about being up and awake at impossible hours to guide the ship onwards. The only sources of lighting on the bridge at the time came from the dimly lit instrument screens and the ship’s own navigation lights.

With a better weather he might have caught the opportunity to take a look at the stars but the rain from earlier had not let up. Fat droplets of water petered against the bridge’s windows, only to be brushed away seconds later by the wipers. The wind had picked up slightly, rising to a steady 4 Beaufort which rocked the vessel mildly. Weather predictions had them believe the weather would clear up by the time they reached Denmark so he really had no reason to worry about it, instead enjoying the combined feel of the ship rocking from side to side and the constant vibration of the main engine.

Coming back from the rear of the bridge after having jotted down their position on the paper charts (something the Captain insisted on doing every fifteen minutes in case their electronic charts failed), the parrot offered his colleague a cup of coffee before sitting down in the navigator’s chair.

Geert reached for the controls of the radar to adjust its rain clutter. Weather like that sometimes sent false echoes in the receiver and he had no patience to deal with that. After he turned up the control, the large ring of yellow dots from the rain drops around their ship disappeared.

“Quiet watch uh?” Ivan commented.

“Without traffic and fishermen to dodge all the time? That was to be expected.” Geert said, still observing the radar.

He could see some dots at medium range behind them, which coincided with the offshore platforms they knew of, as well as one very large yellow mass on eastern the edge of the radar screen. The mainland.

“I wouldn’t complain you know. “ Geert added. “I’d rather have that kind of watch than a crossing of the Channel. Better for my nerves.”

“Somehow I doubt that one traffic lane would cause as much trouble at the moment.” Ivan said. “What with the lack of ferries to cross your path.”

“You’re right, but I’ll stick to using the Dover Strait as a reference in terms of high traffic, Apocalypse be damned.” The parrot countered. “Present traffic or not you do have to admit mentioning it immediately makes you think of a cluttered sea lane.”

“Fair enough.” The osprey griffon nodded. “But it wasn’t the worst in the world either.”

“It doesn’t or rather didn’t have to be.” Geert halted to take a long swig of his coffee, the hot beverage burning its way down his throat in a half painful-half satisfying manner. “Mention it to any European sailor worth his salt and it will immediately bring memories of difficult maneuvers to life.”

“You never know, maybe for future generations that one difficult area will be somewhere else.”

“Future generations?” Geert scoffed. “Yeah right, as if the world has any future to look forward to.”

“A bit pessimistic don’t you find?”

“Because you see many folks around to justify a society in the future?” Geert drawled.

“There could be. In a way it probably will be up to us to rebuild, and I think us Ratings have a theory you Officers didn’t think of yet.” Ivan said, tapping his gloved talons against the helm.

“I’m all ears dear; by all means feel free to lay out that theory for me.” The Dutchman said, only partially sarcastic.

Eh, sometimes ratings do come up with something brilliant.

“So here’s the thing. We reappeared about nine hours after the Event, and then we know of the Corporal who apparently woke up… I don’t remember but it must have been a day or two. And now? Someone just pops up more than two weeks after us. I got a few shipmates who would back me up on that: people are reappearing at different times after the cataclysm.”

That… was not as ridiculous as he had first thought.

“Are you implying more people will come back as time goes on?” Geert asked, crossing his arms.

“And if we’re anything to go by they will come back with the vehicle they were in at the time of the Event.”

“That could have a big impact on our search for survivors if that’s true… Mind if I bring it up to the Captain on your behalf later?” The parrot said.

“Go ahead; he’ll take you more seriously than a regular Rating.” Ivan said.

“Thanks.” Geert concluded before turning back to the ECDIS screen by his seat.

On the screen, he could see the black arrow symbolizing their ship move along on a northerly course.





Hours later, in the confines of an abandoned German traffic monitoring center, a screen came to life after finally detecting a change in variables. After weeks of inactivity, a set of data appeared on screen, witnessed by none but a single rat nibbling on biscuits left behind by the center’s former operators.

AIS transponder detected:

IMO number:   7125706

  Position:   N 54° 02’73

    E 007° 56’85

  Status:  ……………………..

Elsewhere in the building, another rat chomped on a cable, ending its life and shorting out the entire building.
> Chapter 22: The German Bight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the morning of the 11th of June, the Captain was working in his office while having breakfast. He had managed to progress further along his research on things pertaining the Event and monsters, though a lot of work remained to be done on it. He was still lacking a lot of data, which made drawing hypothesizes particularly hard.

In front of him was a chart of Europe with some positions scribbled down on it: known points where survivors had been located, others where they had found demonic circles as well as the other type of circle Angelo had found in Belgium. He had pictures of both types, each having a completely different design compared to the other. If the blood stains found during the expedition to Tihange were to be believed, then the owners of each circle type weren’t allies at all…

That didn’t answer who or what was responsible for them however. Just that one type spawned monsters, and the other type spawned, well... an enemy of those monsters. But what kind of enemy?

Some lines of bearing drawn on the chart indicated known and proven directions they knew the wave that preceded the Event had come from. They didn’t have much to go with that particular source considering they had spent most of their time in a single country and few towns so that made them rather inaccurate… but they had the first hints of several origin points: some (from cameras at sea and near Zeebrugge) seemed to point towards somewhere near Southampton in Britain; others found in Antwerp and its vicinity, towards Brittany in France; and finally, a few cameras had captured a wave originating from the North, in Scandinavia, though that one was less accurate.

Now, what these locations had in common completely escaped the Indian Captain. He would need more lines of bearing and more origin points to figure it out… probably some more data they could get while in Copenhagen and maybe once they delivered the prototypes to the HPI wherever they asked them to in the USA. Yanks loved their CCTV, right?

Next to Dilip’s platter of English breakfast was a stack of files in which they had summed up what data they had gathered on the monsters they had encountered. The Captain hoped he could pawn these off to the HPI for some extra credits when he completed them but… data was unfortunately scarce, thanks in no small part to the rarity of such encounters.

Which he was thankful of, really: the less encounters, the less risk of injury on their part. He just wished he could have an actual picture of creatures like the wood hounds instead of a crude drawing by Artyom (the Russian really was no artist). He had a few notes on the capabilities of each type of monster and all… but there was one thing that puzzled him.

They had a picture of the chimera, taken from one of their trucks during the encounter but… There was one blurry mark next to the tiger head of the creature. A drawing by Farkas next to the picture showed a more detailed version of the sigil that had apparently been branded on the creature’s head.

That and the fact it was apparently smart enough to talk (well… two out of three heads were… and they weren’t too bright either if he remembered correctly) threw a wrench in their gears. They had noted how the tiger had a reaction that made it shake its head in pain every time it spoke and how the sigil matched pattern with some symbols found on the demonic circles. The snake head’s speech pattern’s had also been oddly crude.

They were tied, unsurprisingly. In which way now, that’s what he needed to figure out.

So many questions to be answered, and yet so little material to work it out. That was exceedingly frustrating to the pariah dog, yet there was nothing he could do about it except hope they found more answers in their next port of call. He doubted that even if the HPI had answers to those questions they would have parted with that particular knowledge.

The dog huffed in annoyance as he typed one last line of text about his hypothesizes. So much he could do without additional data, and Roberto was still busy looking up what intel they had on Copenhagen. At times he wished he still had the same humongous amount of paperwork he used to have to work his way through before the Event.

At times only. The project ideas and logistical concerns that came with an apocalyptic situation were still enough to keep him busy most of the time; only less so than before the Event. He should probably look into taking a more active part in navigational duties now that he had time for it.

The Captain’s musings were brought to a halt by a rasp on his door. He called out for whoever was on the other side to enter, to be greeted by his Fourth Officer. Geert hopped into view on his crutches, saluting his superior with a polite nod.

“Good morning sir, may I have a moment of your time?” The parrot asked politely.

“Of course, if you don’t mind me eating my breakfast while you talk that is.” Dilip said, beckoning Geert towards a seat in front of his desk, which he accepted with a relieved smile.

Mobile as he was, the female parrot was still very much injured. Hips take time to heal.

“How was your watch? I take it you just came down from the bridge.” Dilip said with a quick glance towards the clock in the office. Barely past eight in the morning.

“Quiet as they get sir. Absolutely nothing to report besides the weather. Wind seems to be increasing by one Beaufort, but we cleared the rain clouds an hour ago.”

“So no signs of survivors in the Netherlands?”

The parrot gave a disappointed shake of his head. He had wanted the radio to pick up a signal from his countrymen… but nothing came up during his watch.

“Negative. Nothing popped up in the four hours I was on the bridge. But there’s a thing… some ideas that have been discussed among the crew, about survivors.” Geert said.

He went on to relate the theory Ivan had shared earlier in the morning, hoping it would be taken seriously by his superior. The dog stayed silent for a few seconds, muzzle pointed off to the side, towards his map. That theory did line up with the few pieces of data they had.

Then again they only had three groups to go with, so it could just as easily swing the other way.

On the other paw… the idea of more survivors spawning out of thin air as time went on would leave the crew hopes of humanity not being reduced to a handful of transformed sailors and an unknown but limited amount of spooks confined to a bunker.

“I will add this to my research documents, thank you.” Dilip said with a short nod. “Do you have any tasks today?” He asked.

“Not really.” The parrot honestly admitted. “I usually give Corporal De Mesmaeker some English lessons but beside that…” He shrugged. “Nothing but my own free time. Not much else I can do with my hip.”

“Good, can I ask you to complete some data sheets on some new vehicles? I noticed we loaded three tanker trucks and I don’t think we have the parts for them yet since they weren’t planned.”

“Uh? Where did we get them then?”

“Guys from engineering loaded up the trucks they were using to refuel our diesel supply in Antwerp when we left. I need their brand, power plant type, general specifications and all, you catch my drift?” Dilip said.

“I can do that yeah. Do we have a template file for the data sheet?”

“On the server, ask Roberto.” The Captain said before returning to his breakfast. “No hurry though, I just want to know what parts we need to look for once we hit port. I advise you head to the cafeteria now otherwise you might miss breakfast.”

The scarlet macaw nodded and stood up, his tall svelte stature giving him an elegant appearance despite the unsightly cast around his hip. Dilip noted how the female parrot seemed to have spent a great deal of time adjusting the sewing on his coveralls so that the utilitarian clothing hugged his frame tightly, as well as the multicolored threads he had used doing so. The modifications were a subtle but distinct sign of the parrots’ apparent attraction to ‘flashy’ designs.

He idly wondered whether the young Dutchman had had his sexual leanings swapped around like Farkas or if he was more like Schmitt. Whatever the case was, he was surprisingly good at hiding it contrarily to some.

Rumors had it around the ship that Carlos and Danny, two of their parrots and both Filipinos, had been seen getting steadily closer and hanging around each other’s cabin. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together: Danny just happened to have turned into a shapely female golden parakeet (thanks to Schmitt for pointing out the species using his ornithology books, turns out bird spotting amateurs could be useful sometimes). Female parrots may not have breasts, but they more than made up for it in the curve departments, as witnessed by the departing scarlet macaw in his office.

Dilip waited until Geert was gone to pull out a sheet of paper and write down a note to order Vadim to give a health and safety brief on sexual relationships just to be on the safe side.





Up on the bridge, Alejandro had long relieved Geert from his watch and carried on with their passage as planned. The cloud cover was slowly clearing up as they sailed further north, now allowing the Chief Officer to occasionally peek at the blue sky beyond. If this kept on they would have some nice summer weather the whole time they were in Copenhagen. They had cleared the last part of the Dutch coastline and were now moving across open waters. That left them some three hundred nautical miles to go before they reached the north of the Danish peninsula.

Sri was the one taking the role of helmsman alongside the hyacinth macaw. The Indonesian veteran was pretty reliable when it came to steering the ship, and he had a sharp eye for detail to boot, which made him even better as a lookout.

Alejandro was sitting beside the hippogriff in the navigator’s seat, the logbook held open in his lap while he checked what had happened during the night and what had been reported by his fellow Officers. Seeing nothing out of order, he filled in the line for ten o’clock before closing it delicately and placing it back in its designated spot. Next to the paper charts, that little book might hold the spot for the most important non-digital publication on board.

“Another boring watch of sailing with nothing happening eh, boss?” Sri said.

“Hopefully. I think we got enough on our plate as it is, no need to have our rescue op’ delayed by something like a propulsion failure.”

“Like that would ever happen. The engine had its overhaul just before the Event; we got a while to go before that happens. At least I hope so.” The female hippogriff said.

“Let’s not jinx it shall we?”

“Superstitious now? You of all people?” Sri teased.

“With monsters roaming about and a unicorn on our crew? Better now than never.” Alejandro said, discreetly running a talon against the rosary he had started wearing around his neck. Religion was a pretty taboo subject on board, if you had a God you usually kept it to your cabin and it stayed at that. Nobody would bother asking if they avoided bacon or beef for breakfast as long as they didn’t make an ass of themselves… and honestly Alejandro suspected some of the Muslims and Hindus didn’t completely stick to their supposed code, Dilip included.

“Suit yourself Chief. Personally I won’t worry about such things ‘til I get a tangible proof they’re real. What’s next uh? Sirens picking on sailors?” The ivory white hippogriff chuckled. “At this rate we’re gonna start worrying the Little Mermaid of Copenhagen is out for our blood.”

“Sirens? Honestly after the other monsters they sound almost… mild in comparison. No, with the kind of shit we’ve faced I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever made those demonic portals dumped something like a kaiju on us.” The Chief Officer said.

“Kaiju?”

“You know, Godzilla, leviathans and stuff…” The Spaniard explained. “Actual sea monsters. I mean… I’d rather it didn’t happen, ‘cause Amandine isn’t suited to face that. That’d spell our doom faster than you can say ‘mayday’.”

“Damn right it would.” Sri nodded, giving a small nudge on the helm to adjust their heading by half a degree. The wind was starting to push them off course ever so slightly, no real trouble as long as he was aware of it.

Their discussion about the type of monsters they might face in the future kept going as their watch progressed, going from reasonable guesses to some more outlandish creatures they came up with on the spot. At that point Alejandro was pretty confident they would make it in time to Copenhagen and be able to rescue that Miss Jensen quickly.





Two hours earlier,

Some hundred and twenty nautical miles East of Amandine was the estuary of the river Elbe, a part of the German Bight. The place used to play an important role in the German shipping industry, as it was the part of the country’s coastline that had direct access to the North Sea. A couple fairly important ports had been built in the area such as the one of Hamburg or the city of Bremerhaven; and while they may not have been as influent as Dutch ports, they did boast a fair amount of activity before the Event brought any activity to a grinding halt.

Normally, there would have been a traffic separation scheme creating sea lanes that safely lead ships out of the estuary and between the several islets that dotted the area. Now, that effort of establishing radar surveillance and radio monitoring on the area turned out to be for naught. The sensor towers built on some sandy islets were now slowly sinking in the soft soil, burdened by colonies of seabirds that found them to be a comfortable resting ground. 

With no fleet of trawlers to compete with them for fish, the birds were enjoying a literal cornucopia of food. The winds only required of them to spread their wings to be carried effortlessly to their nesting grounds on the mainland. Survivors might have been horrified at the collapse of civilization, but the birds? They just enjoyed a large, uncontested supply of food at sea with skyscrapers waiting for them to nest ashore. They loved it. They didn’t even need to go to the mainland: the red cliffs and the former tourist resort on the island of Helgoland provided them with a safe haven devoid of any predators and now free of the loud, bothersome tourists that had plagued it before. The only other animals there were a colony of seals that had discovered how comfortable the island’s small, well sheltered fishing haven actually was. 

Amidst that spectacle, a ripple went through the air a bit further out to sea, right where the outbound lane used to be. A high quality camera might have caught a small pinkish wave spreading outwards from a given point, followed by air starting to flow away from the position.

A second later, with a surprisingly quiet ‘pop’, a ship appeared out of thin air. The sudden displacement of tens of thousands tons of water caused a wave to rise away from the ship, though that particular detail went unnoticed by her crew.

The ship in question had a long, black painted hull with very few rust stains, testimony of having received a fresh coat of paint before the setting out to sea. By comparison with Amandine, she was about sixty meters longer, and her beam was just as wide. Her superstructure was built on the fore part of the hull, with only a set of derrick cranes ahead of the bridge, built there to help load the ship’s stores. On her bow stood two words in sharp white paint: ‘Rhine Forest’.

Everything behind the white painted superstructure was dedicated to the cargo sections of the ship: large yellow barges that were held in place by cell guides. A pair of rails on either side of the ship allowed a tall grey gantry crane to move along the length of the vessel to lift and transport the loaded barges.

Further aft were the ship’s two funnels on either side of the vessel, both painted white with three green stripes. A barely visible smoke column emanating from the top of the structures showed the ship’s propulsion was still active.

Sheltered between the two funnels were some small sized tugboats the ship kept to handle their fleet of barges whenever they unloaded them. The six boats were soundly secured in place for the long voyage the ship was supposed to leave on before the Event. 

If Amandine had benefitted from being at anchor when they disappeared, meaning their situation was rather stable and allowed them to assess what was going on before resuming their voyage; such was not the case for the large black ship. Their Captain had them leave the port of Hamburg late in the evening, meaning it was well into the night when the Event wave reached them. Having just left port also implied that many sailors were still up and as such didn’t get to (relatively) gently wake up to a new body.

No, the situation that occurred was quite the opposite of that: sailors that had been busy stowing the mooring lines and securing items suddenly found themselves stumbling because their body abruptly changed shape. Up on the bridge, the Watch Officer suddenly fell down on the ground in a badly fitted set of coveralls, starring in dismay at the pair of brown hooves that had just replaced his hands while his helmsman; now a large centaur, struggled to extricate himself (or rather: herself) from the now much too small chair he had been sitting in just five minutes ago.

Cries of fear and confusion came from the engine room astern, where a batpony, some sort of black and white anthropomorphic hedgehog and a griffon were looking back and forth between their own new body and what had been their colleagues a mere moment ago. Amidst that confusion, one transformed engineer accidentally hit the emergency stop on a few machines as he stumbled around and fell, stalling the engine and sending the vessel off course, at the mercy of the currents.

In an office inside the accommodation, a young looking pink unicorn watched the pen she had been holding clatter on the desk, freed from the grip of digits that no longer existed. Through soft baby blue eyes, she stared in fascination at the small furry hoof in her sight for a couple seconds before uttering a small:

“Was?”

And then, upon noticing the pitch of her voice, she reached reflexively for her throat. Something was definitely not right there. A glance down at her own body revealed a loose pilot shirt with Captain ranks on the shoulders, as well as a now much too big pair of slacks that failed to hide the inside of her thighs.

And she very much noticed that one thing that had been there for the past sixty years just happened to have disappeared.

The young teenaged unicorn mare erupted in a stream of curses, the choice of words in angry German making for a peculiar sight coming from such a creature.





Dilip walked up the stairs to the bridge with a frown. He had just received a call from an alarmed Alejandro on the interphone, the Spaniard urging him to come to the bridge quickly. Apparently they had just received a distress call.

Which was odd, they very much did expect to receive a call from Miss Jensen’s station, and he would have expected his Chief Officer could just patch her through to his office. Nothing that would require his presence on the bridge, right? Despite that, it appeared the ship had slowed down.

The Captain found Alejandro leaning over the radio station with the handset held in his talons. Even though the parrot’s yellow feathers around his eyes tended to make him appear cheerful, the frown he saw right then concerned the Captain somewhat. With his free claw, the parrot was busily writing down data in his notebook. A voice with a rather thick German accent was coming from the speaker in the handset.

Dilip threw a glance towards the helmsman, only for the hippogriff to nod towards the Chief Officer who finished writing down what he wanted and told the operator on the other side of the radio to stand by.

“May I know what’s going on?” Dilip finally asked.

“Another distress call, from a ship that one.” Alejandro said without turning. “I was just asking them for some info on their situation. Looking at the coordinates they just gave me, they’re about 120 miles east of us.”

Dilip approached the radio station and crossed his arms, glancing down at Alejandro’s notebook.

“Alright, sing your song so I can come to a decision whether or not we’re altering course to help them. I take it they just reappeared?”

“Eeyup, disappeared just as they were leaving Hamburg, came back around eight in the morning. Call came from a barge carrier going by the name of ‘Rhine Forest’, some 260 meters in length. The crew was still busy from their departure, and from what I was told it’s rampant panic on board: guys turned gals that go catatonic, others that refuse to come out of their cabins... They got 50 heads on that ship but only a few have enough wits about themselves to try and keep the ship safe. Bad thing is: they all have something like two hours of experience with their bodies so it’s not really successful. They stalled their engines and are stuck adrift at the moment.”

“Casualties on board?”

“Nobody died, thankfully, but their Third Officer just reported to me they had half a dozen injured crewmembers. They did have an actual doctor on board, as well as a nurse, but the former fell down the stairs and broke her arm while the latter got injured by a centaur falling down on her.” Alejandro explained.

This went on for a few minutes where the Chief Officer reported what he had for information about the distressed ship. Several significant crewmembers on that ship had turned into handless species like unicorns and sphinxes, others had apparently turned into centaurs (of all things); and nobody could get anything done. The two Officers plotted the predicted course of the drifting ship on their charts to determine whether it was headed for a dangerous area. The barge carrier had cleared the islets of the estuary and was predicted to drift further out to sea, but there was a risk with that:

Previous weather records on their logbook showed the wind was slowly but steadily turning. Rhine Forest may not be at risk of colliding with anything in the next few hours if the winds stayed as they were, but if they veered on a more easterly course then they might just push the barge carrier towards an offshore wind farm.

To Dilip it was not a decision about whether or not they would alter course to meet the other vessel: of course they were going to assist them, with as few survivors as they had met. No, what was going through the dog’s mind were estimations on how long this whole thing would delay their journey towards Copenhagen.

“If we increase our speed to full ahead then it probably will only delay us by half a day, more if we need a lot of time to get Rhine Forest going again.” Alejandro said after inputting the potential deviation on their ECDIS computer.

Dilip clicked his tongue and stared off in the distance. Considering their original passage plan put them at two days, that was a pretty big difference. A difference that could spell Jensen’s doom if they took too long.

He needed to talk to her.

“Alej’, start altering course towards the Rhine Forest, heading zero-eight-eight. Set speed to full ahead, I will have to make some calls.”

“Right away sir.” The blue parrot nodded; his blue feather crest rising at the prospect of some activity on his watch.

With his Chief Officer busy, the Indian turned back to their radio station. A quick flip through the menus on their satellite communication system brought up their contact list, with the most recent addition being labeled ‘Lyngbyradio’.

Dilip called the number, hoping to finally get to talk to their Danish contact. As usual, the system took time to connect to the satellite network in orbit, but he preferred using it to radio based systems. When you got past the dial up delay, calls via satellite tended to be more stable. He let the line beep for a minute, almost ready to give up and hang up before finally getting the sound of someone on the other hand of the line.

“Hallo? Is this the Amandine?” Came a quiet feminine voice with a hint of hesitation.

“That is correct.” Dilip stated.

“Vidunderlig!” The young mare exclaimed, cutting off the Captain. “I really thought I was all alone for a few days, and then there were the monsters and I didn’t have any food but then I had to go out to find some…” The excited mare was talking a mile a minute, not letting the Indian dog get a word in and forcing him to listen until her happy rant was over. Not that he could understand anything of what she was saying: in her excitement she was mixing Danish words in her sentences which, given the lack of clarity on the line and her accent, made it utterly impossible to get what she saying.

“…Men nu I have you to come help, which er great! Du wouldn’t believe how lonely it was this last few days in there. I can only go on the roof but now jeg can hear the radio waves og the antennas are reeeally loud so I just hide inside…” 

Good Heavens she was speeding up. Was she even the same person that had written the message one day earlier?

“Miss?” Dilip tried.

 “… So I blocked the indgang with what I could but I’m just a lille hest with bat wings so it’s not easy…”

“Miss?!” Dilip tried again, a bit of barking accidentally seeping into his words. That seemed to bring the girl’s talking to a halt.

“I’m sorry. I get a bit carried away sometimes; usually jeg got my friends to stop me when that happens but now…”

“It’s nothing.” Dilip interrupted her before she had the chance to start another rant.

Bit of a lie there, but he was trying to be diplomatic. With the amount of survivors around he wasn’t going to dismiss any because of their character.

“Miss Jensen, I am Captain Prateek of Amandine, to which you have already sent a message I believe.” He started calmly.

“Ja, that was I. Are you coming like du said on your own message?”

“We are. I must know however: you said there were monsters near your building, wood hounds that is. How many are there, and how good are your fortifications? Understand that our ship is a cargo vessel, not a race car. It might take some time to get there.”

“I… I’m not sure of how many.” She said softly. “I was confronted by a small group before I managed to escape from them men there were more around so… at least a dozen, I think?”

“And they’re trying to get in? How long do you think you have until they breach the perimeter?”

“Uh… they spent the night attempting to pass the outer hegn, and then I have the inner fortifications I made… I think I can barricade some doors on the first floor too sa… At the speed they’re going that should take those things… maybe tre days to reach me if I barricade myself inside the control room? I don’t know. If I look outside I can see some lurking around and the fence is already pretty damaged so I could be wrong.”

Three days should be more than enough to alter their course and help the Rhine Forest if things didn’t go wrong. As for Jensen… well… Dilip didn’t need to alarm her by admitting they would be delayed from their initial ETA, with her attitude she wouldn’t have taken it well. Doing a quick estimation of the longest it could take them with the barge carrier, Dilip told the batpony mare they would get to her in about two days. Hopefully her own estimations were accurate otherwise the results would be pretty grim.

If she picked up on his bullshit she didn’t tell him, probably just glad someone was coming to her in the first place. They both bade each other good luck before hanging up, the dog feeling a small pang of guilt about not telling her about the actual delay.

On the edge of his sight, the Captain caught a somewhat accusatory stare from Alejandro. The dog shrugged and returned his Chief Officer a look that told: ‘Well, what would you have told her?’ That seemed to calm the parrot.





In a matter of hours, Amandine altered her course to meet with Rhine Forest, throwing all care about fuel consumption out of the proverbial window to get as much speed as she could out of her power plant and reach the out-of-control vessel that had just reappeared.

To Sri, who was behind the helm, it seemed as if their ship was eager to finally meet another after all that time spent in deserted ports and empty sea lanes. They usually didn’t make use of the engine’s full power, considering it tended to make their fuel consumption jump from a daily twenty tons to a whopping seventy. Nevertheless, the white and grey hulled ship sailed on towards the German Bight, with her Officers keeping frequent contact with those on Rhine Forest’s bridge. Above them, the skies finally cleared of the last clouds as the sun reached its highest above them, shining brightly. It was almost as if the Skies themselves rejoiced at the news of more survivors reappearing (which further supported the earlier theory of people reappearing as time went on).

By the time they came within sight of the barge carrier’s long black hull, a group of sailors had gathered close to the boat davit on the poop deck, all picked by the Captain to lend assistance to the other vessel.

Vadim and Boris had been the first two to be selected, the two griffons being a logical choice considering their medical role, plus their ability to assist Rhine Forest’s crew in getting back on course once the injured were treated. The Third Officer had a satchel of medical supplies between his wings in the event of the barge carrier’s stash being insufficient.

Next came Angelo and Aleksei, the two engineers being tasked with restarting the other vessel’s propulsion so she wouldn’t drift further towards the offshore wind farm –which was now an actual risk since the wind had turned exactly as they had predicted-. 

That brought the team they sent to four guys, plus the usual three crewmembers needed to ferry them to their objective using Amandine’s Fast Rescue Boat.  A bit much for the small craft, but manageable as long as one big burly minotaur didn’t move around too much.

While Amandine held position at a safe distance some five cables away from the drifting ship, the boat team was carefully lowered using the davit’s crane. They ran a quick check of their systems, with the Captain making sure both the boat’s VHF radio and the walkie-talkies of the team were functional before he allowed them to release the hooks and sail away.

Down on the water level, Ajit was the one steering the boat. The Indian dog slowly increased the throttle, mindful of not tipping them over with the many passengers the boat had. It was rather cramped on board, making the engine struggle a bit before finally picking up some speed. Such a boat had in no way been designed to carry that many people and it showed: whenever Ajit took a wave a bit too roughly, the boat started to pitch dangerously before righting itself after a few seconds.

He was all too relieved when they finally reached Rhine Forest. One of her crewmembers, a gargoyle, deployed the pilot ladder for the sailors to climb. Ajit throttled down as he approached it, the approach hazardous because of the waves despite the ladder having been deployed on the leeside of the vessel. He brought the bow of his boat against the bottom of the ladder and maintained a constant push on the gas to keep the little craft against the much larger cargo vessel.

“Boat team to Amandine, starting crew transfer now, over.” Ajit told through the boat’s radio before motioning for Angelo to climb first.

The minotaur was easily the heaviest of them all, and it took the rest of them counterbalancing his motion to avoid capsizing the little boat. For an instant, there was some fear the ropes of the ladder might snap when Angelo rested his weight on it, a strained groan coming from the material when he put his hooves on it, but the ladder held together until the Greek engineer reached the railing.

The other three on the team didn’t have that problem, and two minutes later Ajit put the engine in reverse and backed away from the imposing black hull of Rhine Forest.

“Boat team to Amandine, crew transferred successfully, going back to mother ship now, over.” The Himalayan sheepdog concluded before gunning the throttle and heading back to his own vessel.

On board of the barge carrier, the team of four was greeted by a black furred gargoyle with a grey mane that presented himself as Pavlos, one of the ship’s two boatswains. As the highest ranked member of the group, Angelo shook the tired looking gargoyle’s hand, all too glad to meet a fellow Greek.

What he did notice however, was that Pavlos was the only one present despite Rhine Forest’s supposed crew of fifty.

“I’m Second Engineer Molnàr.” The minotaur presented himself. “Let’s not beat around the bush and get straight to the point: what’s the situation?”

The gargoyle nodded in comprehension and immediately got to the point.

“We have six injured in the infirmary, all stable from what we think but they need treatment, including the doctor and her nurse.” The gargoyle stopped to tug at his poorly fitted set of white and green coveralls, a wiggling in his pants showing his tail was uncomfortably tucked inside. “Worst case is the engine team: none of the engineers were in the control room at the time of the event and they’re all quadrupeds now. The Chief Engineer tried to get there but he fell down a flight of stairs trying to do it and I had to drag him to the infirmary. We have some guys inside but they can’t manage to restart the engine and can barely move around as is. The nurse was with them but she got injured by a centaur when she tried to get back to the infirmary.”

“What about the deck department?” Vadim butted in. “Third Officer Zinoviya by the way.” He added as an afterthought.

“Better, but not by much. The Captain’s on the bridge with the Third Officer but they’re both unicorns. The Chief and the Second can’t even walk up the stairs to the bridge… We did have plenty of barge pilots and crew but they’re not trained to handle ships of that size. Plus there are at best two barge pilots that are bipedal and in any shape to be of any assistance at the moment.” The gargoyle explained. “I mean, even the other boatswain straight up refuses to leave his cabin! Never saw the guy like that, and there was something weird in his voice when I knocked on his cabin’s door earlier.”

Both Vadim and Angelo shared a knowing look when they heard that. It sounded like someone getting a sex swap wasn’t exclusive to their ship.

“Alright, I’ll skip going to the bridge and head straight for the engine room to get those engines started.” Angelo said. “Vadim, I trust you can go report to their Captain and do your best to fix the situation on the bridge?”

“Yeah, but what about the injured?” The Ukrainian countered; only for the minotaur to point a thumb towards Boris.

“Eh! Need I remind you my training ain’t complete yet?” The Russian protested.

“I’m not asking you to perform heart surgery pal.” Angelo said. “Just keep it together until Vadim’s done, plus their doctor can probably give you verbal assistance…” He glanced back towards Pavlos. “Can she?”

“I mean, yeah, once you get past the French accent.” The gargoyle shrugged.

“Good enough, let’s get going folks.” The minotaur said with an enthusiastic clap of his hands.

Their group then split up, Vadim and Boris going on their own towards the bow of the ship and the superstructure. The two griffons didn’t need to be shown around to figure out where the bridge actually was, whereas Angelo had Pavlos lead him and Aleksei towards the access to the engine room further aft by the funnels.

Up on the bridge, the two griffons were met with a pair of unicorns and a hippogriff. Both unicorns appeared to be Officers and were ordering the frazzled looking hippogriff around, him being the only one with functioning digits around. Had they taken a sphinx along they might have been able to tell them how to use their telekinesis, but handless quadrupeds wouldn’t have been able to scale the pilot ladder and reach them.

One of the unicorns, a brown furred stallion with a green mane and the picture of a radar screen on his rear; was stark naked, a discarded set of partly torn coveralls lying in a corner of the bridge. Vadim understood the guy’s reasoning of not wanting to be burdened by poorly fitted clothing, but he could at least have tried to be half decent. At least his genitals were partially hidden by his thick fur and tail…

The other unicorn was actually a small mare. A young looking one at that: probably a teenager if Vadim was to hazard a guess. She had a pink coat of fur, a white poofy mane and baby blue eyes to go with the looks. On her hindquarters was the symbol of a sextant. The Third Officer had to thank his grey feathers for hiding his blush when he realized the mare was half naked: she was only wearing a large white pilot shirt, with nothing to hide her marehood beside her tail.

The fact that the ranks on her pilot shirt described her as the Captain would have been odd if not for the way she was carrying herself and how she was giving orders to the hippogriff at the helm, the German accent and angry tone conflicting badly with her own high-pitched voice.

“Excuse me; may I speak to the Captain?” Vadim asked to gather their attention, all three sailors immediately turning towards him, with the hippogriff gaining a relieved look in his eyes.

“Yes, are you the rescue team from M/V Amandine?” The pink mare asked, earning a nod from both griffons. “Excellent, I am Kapitän Gerig of M/V Rhine Forest. To whom am I speaking?”

“Pleased to meet you Captain, I am Third Officer Zinoviya from M/V Amandine…” He said before pointing a talon at Boris. “…and this is Able Bodied Sailor Ratatzcek from the same vessel, who also happens to be my medical assistant. If I may, is it possible to immediately have my colleague go tend to the wounded in your infirmary?”

“Of course, of course.” The mare nodded before motioning towards a door in the back of the bridge with one pink hoof, the simple motion almost toppling her (him?). “If you take these stairs it’s three decks below directly on your left, the place is marked with a red cross. Our doctor is injured inside, but she’s conscious so she can probably assist you a bit.”

Boris threw Vadim a questioning look, the goshawk mutely asking for permission to move on. His superior quickly passed him his medical satchel before sending him on his way with a wave of his talons. Vadim didn’t exactly need him to stabilize the situation on the bridge. Quite the contrary: he would have to go help the Russian once he got Rhine Forest on a safe course.

“Alright, now that’s settled I can tell you we came with two of our engineers. Your boatswain is probably leading them to the engine room as we speak so let’s get to the point. How much have we drifted from your intended course?” Vadim asked.

Captain Gerig started explaining the situation to the Ukrainian. Apparently the barge carrier was supposed to head down the Channel and sail towards the Nigerian city of Lagos (needless to say, that plan flew out the window the moment they reappeared), but now their charts showed they were drifting on a North-East course towards the offshore wind farm. On the bright side, the turbines were still a ways out, giving Angelo and Aleksei a reasonable amount of time to restart the engine. The other unicorn, a Frenchman by the name of Josselin, told Vadim the ship ran on a diesel-electric system powering a pair of azipod thrusters. That made the large ship very maneuverable, but also meant it didn’t have a rudder and was unable to change its heading without power running through the propulsion.

Hence, as long as the power was out, there was nothing they could do.

“How bad is the situation for the crew?” Vadim asked after getting a call from Angelo saying he needed an hour or two to get the engines running.

“Bad as you probably guessed.” Josselin told Vadim. “I mean, look at me! I can’t even push a button with those hooves and the bridge’s consoles are as tall as I am!  I can’t even wear my clothes properly for Christ’s sake!” The stallion complained loudly.

“You get used to it. We’ve been at it for a while, though our ship reappeared at anchor so we had time to get acquainted with the changes before heading out.” Vadim said. “As for the sex change…” He glanced towards the Captain, the small unicorn giving him an odd stare. “…I’m afraid we have yet to find a solution to that. Our own Captain is slowly trying to figure out what’s going on exactly and the whole mechanics of this phenomenon. What I can tell is, everyone disappeared at once on the entire planet…”

No need to mention the HPI just yet.

“…And people reappear slowly as time progresses. And by slowly I mean really. You’re the third batch of survivors we’ve come across in three weeks.”

“But why the change?” Gerig asked the griffon.

“Beats me. What I know is: there is that weird ‘thaumic’ radiation that kills humans if they’re exposed to it. But creatures like us? Nah, we’re fine. And boy is there variety. We’ve got bipedal parrots, cats and dogs, sphinxes, gargoyles and more. Can’t say we know much about it.” He said, giving a small shrug with his wings.

The Ukrainian’s eyes then came to rest on one of the unicorns’ horns.

“Uh, I should tell you though: that horn on top of your head, you can do… magic with it, I guess? Our unicorn and sphinxes, they can somehow do telekinesis. Makes up for not having hands.”

“Telekinesis?” Gerig said incredulously. “Zinoviya, I don’t know if you find jokes like that funny but I don’t. What’s next, honest to God monsters roaming the seas?”

“No ideas about monsters at sea but on land you will find some. Injured a couple of our crewmembers too, I saw the wounds myself when I had to patch them up.”

That had both the unicorns widening their eyes.

“Shit, you’re serious?” The stallion said.

“Wish I wasn’t really, but we’ve had encounters in Antwerp, Zeebrugge, and even with a team we sent in France. Hell, even the person we are going to rescue in Copenhagen is barricaded in a building because she’s surrounded by monsters.” Vadim told with a shake of his head. “Good thing we’re armed now… Anyway, you guys have an idea on the species your crew turned into? Just curious, and we got time ‘til my colleagues fix up your engine.” He asked casually.

Captain Gerig addressed the griffon with a mild glare.

“I just jumped three weeks ahead in time, got turned into a pink female unicorn that would make most little girls want to pet me, and you’re just casually asking that?” The German said angrily.

“Look, I know you’re pissed about the change-I would be too if my case was as bad as yours- but there’s nothing I can do to help with that.” The grey falcon griffon defended himself, one claw raised defensively. “We altered our course from a due rescue operation to come assist, because we’re just that eager to finally meet other survivors. Now I’m just trying to defuse the tension is all…” He said before turning to the helmsman who was observing them, unable to do much until the engine got restarted. “Anyway, I didn’t catch your name?”

“The name’s Carla, deck cadet.” The male hippogriff said in a Flemish accent.

Off to a great start was what the Ukrainian thought right then.





Further from that place than humanity could ever travel at its best, there was an office. The place was nothing particular, if anything it was even rather antiquated. The three-meters-by-four room had a floor made out of old tarred planks, with a large dusty carpet covering them. Covered in cheap plaster, the walls were almost completely hidden behind several shelves and cabinets, all of them bending under the weight of stacks upon stacks of papers, books and office supplies. Next to all that highly flammable paperwork, a cast iron stove had been installed, dangerous but necessary when winter hit and temperatures dropped. The room was dimly lit, light streaming out of a small window which had its blinds almost completely shut by the office’s occupant. He didn’t need the light, and frankly the bright afternoon sun just gave him a headache in addition to making the room unbearably hot. He always hated summer, and in the coming months the heat problem promised to only get worse. Frankly he’d rather only work night shifts, Luna's cool darkness being much more comfortable to beings of his species; but his superior always met the request with a flat ‘no’.

Why did he accept that assignment already? Oh wait, he didn’t, some motherbucking clerk had put him here because of a filing accident and now he was stuck with this job for the next year or so. So what if they needed more work done in offices or that it was more fitting of someone his rank? He had enlisted to protect his countrymen from enemies of the nation, not to die of paper cuts for buck’s sake! 

In the back of the room was a wooden desk, rather cheaply made, with a sorting shelf behind it. Two unoccupied stools were present in front of the desk, with a rather grumpy thestral behind it. The nocturnal equine was clad in a purple dress uniform, the mark of the Night Guard when they weren’t assigned to active roles. A plaque on the stallion’s desk read: ‘Lt. Midnight Sentinel’.

Busy as he was sorting through literal mountains of paperwork piled on his desk, the stallion’s sharp ears didn’t miss the knock on his door.

“Come in.” The stallion said, putting aside a dossier about off world relief teams and mustering his courage. Keep it together Midnight, be professional Midnight, you’re gonna get through this farce sometime soon. 

In came a unicorn mare followed by an earth pony stallion. The thestral mutely motioned towards the stools in front of his desk, inviting the two obvious civilians to take a seat. Midnight noted the enthusiastic nature of the mare, her cheerful eyes looking this way and that with rapt curiosity while the stallion had a more cautious, alert approach. It was so typical that the cynical thestral almost let out a snort.

“Good morning Mr, Miss...” He trailed off.

“…Cake. Cheese Cake.” The lanky unicorn mare presented herself. “And this is my companion, Pulp Orange.” She added, waving a hoof toward the large earth pony by her side. “We’re here to enlist as volunteers for the relief missions.”

“Relief uh…” The thestral said, one webbed wing grabbing hold of two template files. “Been getting a lot of that lately. Which is good, we need a lot of folks too for those missions. Did they give you the standard forms in the lobby?”

“Yes!” The mare cheerfully said, a warm yellow glow appearing around her horn as she lifted a pair of documents from her companion’s saddlebags. “We already completed them.”

The procedure was quick; some offices higher up the chain of command having already done most of the work by drafting premade files, and the likely couple (he didn’t ask) in front of him had done their paperwork diligently.

“Alright, I just received a personnel request from a relief team.” Midnight said, pulling a file from his ‘In’ box. “A certain… Doctor Sidereal Venture. She’s scheduled to run the Stockholm-Berlin route, wherever that is.”

“We’re in!” Cheese immediately said before the thestral could explain further, Pulp nodding as well to show his assent.

Midnight was quick to give the papers to the duo in front of his desk while giving them a simple explanation as to what they should expect. Report there at that time to that pony who needs this file then move on there and there… The usual works for the relief teams the Princesses had been sending out as of recently. Two minutes later, the two volunteers were leaving his office and the thestral slouched in his chair.

Back to the bore of paperwork.

The next file in his ‘In’ box was an After-Action-Report signalling an encounter with monsters. The writer must have mislabeled the thing because it read as coming from the Off World Relief Team Centre. Midnight put it aside to be filed in the ‘Guard’ folders later, disregarding the mistake as a secretary having to sort through too much work. Luna knew he did that sometimes as well.

After all, there were no monsters on Earth, much less cave trolls as the report listed.
> Chapter 23: Back on Track
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Vadim was (unsuccessfully) attempting to soothe the nerves of an angry Captain up on the bridge, Angelo and Aleksei had made their way down to the engine room. Along the way, they passed the stacked barges and tugboats the ship was loaded with, each secured soundly by large steel cell guides. Except for them and the gargoyle guiding them, the red painted decks of the vessel were completely deserted.

“I’m curious Pavlos, I thought barge carriers like that had been driven out of the industry by legislation. How come it looks so…”

“New?” The black furred gargoyle said. “It’s not. The hull dates back to the seventies, but a Nigerian operator bought it in 2012 before it was scrapped. The ship got a complete makeover with modern tech and equipment. Barge carriers still aren’t viable in Europe…”

“… But in Africa they are. Got it.” The minotaur nodded. “Gotta give it to the yard that modernized it though: that’s some flawless work for a ship that old.”

“Believe me: she very much is an old lady.” Pavlos told them. “The hull may have been strengthened to compensate for metal fatigue and the equipment and all modernized, but the age still seeps through.” The gargoyle stopped by the funnels and opened a watertight door in the structure. “For one I keep hearing the engineering guys complain about capricious transmission, which I hope isn’t the problem right now otherwise we’re toast.”

Angelo took one last look at the stacked barges in their holding bays, with some tugboats towering high above them, ready to be lifted and deployed by the ship’s gantry crane… Had they had the crew to man them. Sadly, most of their crews were sulking inside their cabins at the moment. Aleksei took the lead and headed down into the engine room.

Going down into the depths of the vessel, they followed the large pipes of the ship’s exhaust on a narrow steel staircase. The funnel itself was hollow, with a cluster of pipes running down its center and the staircase wrapping around the pipes, a thin layer of insulation being the only thing that protected passing sailors from burning themselves on the hot pipes. About halfway down, they passed the scrubber unit on that side of the vessel. The large exhaust gas cleaning system was currently inactive, but vibrations coming from deeper in the vessel told the two engineers from Amandine that at least one generator must have been active, otherwise the vessel would have had her systems run silently on emergency batteries (if she had any). What they didn’t miss either was how disturbingly quiet the place was for an engine room.

At the height of the scrubbers, the staircase finally leveled into a catwalk passing over some subsystems. The water purification and sewage systems, if this crew utilized the same color code as the engineering department on Amandine did. The exhaust pipes curved at that point to disappear deeper into the vessel, cutting through a couple bulkheads.

Pavlos lead them further along the catwalk and through a couple watertight doors before they finally reached the control room, the noise and vibrations of the power plant increasing every time they passed through a bulkhead and got closer to the core of the vessel. Much like that of Amandine, the control room benefitted from modern systems and a glass panel overlooking the propulsion unit. Unlike on Amandine however, the place was much more cramped, thanks in no small part to having to fit inside of an engineering compartment that had been built decades earlier.

Two creatures were present when they entered: a batpony stallion and a female griffon. The batpony, like the unicorns on the bridge, was naked after having shrunk so much from the change his coveralls fell off. This made the copper wire symbol on his hindquarters very visible above his black fur. The guy had a blue mane tied behind his head by a rubber band, as well as a pair of ear defenders on his ears to protect them from the noise of the engine room.

At least that’s what Angelo assumed. If bats had sensitive hearing, then so would have batponies, right?

As for the female griffon, she was covered in a partially torn set of white and green coveralls (apparently the norm on that ship) that let out her wings and tail; and she had also discarded her badly fitted steel-toed boots. She was a mix of peregrine falcon and snow leopard, with three violet stripes on each side of her head.

The batpony was using his nose to flip the pages of a manual laid out in front of him, apparently trying to work out how to fix the propulsion issues while his colleague was using the control computers to take a look at the systems. The noise from the door opening made them turn away from the task, easily noticing the newcomers. The batpony was the first to react, eagerly jumping to his hooves and unsteadily stumbling over to Aleksei and Angelo.

“Are you guys the engineers that were sent to help?” He asked hopefully. “I’m Johann, and this is Anton.” He said, pointing to the female griffon.

Great, another sailor that had won a free sex change. The list of victims was starting to get quite long; maybe they should look into rescuing a shrink at some point?

“We’re here to help. What’s the situation?” Aleksei took the lead and immediately asked the batpony while Angelo walked closer to the glass panel to take a look at the propulsion systems.

A short explanation by Johann –who was apparently the ship’s resident electrician- told them Rhine Forest was propelled by a diesel electric drive. The ship’s original steam turbine from the seventies had been stripped and replaced by a couple diesel generators of varying sizes. They had half a dozen large generators totaling twenty-four megawatts of power, as well as six smaller one megawatt generators for general appliances and subsystems they used while in port. The large generators sent their power through a central switchboard that played the role of a transmission before connecting to the motors that drove the ship’s two azimuth thrusters.

Turns out, there had been a whole lot of panic in there shortly after they reappeared. In the confusion they accidentally struck a couple buttons and sent some systems in the red, one of which just happened to be the central switchboard which immediately activated its emergency shutdown. A handful other systems had been affected as well, including the hydraulic power pack which led to a decrease in internal pressure for most pump systems.

They were lucky the automation processes activated one of the smaller diesel generators that had been prepped before departure in case the bigger ones let them down; otherwise they would have had a complete blackout right then. One of the engineering guys had turned into some sort of black and white hedgehog creature and left to get help, but a call on the interphone had later told them the guy had been roped into helping other victims.

A quick discussion with Aleksei brought them to the conclusion they would have to inspect the switchboard for damage before reconnecting it due to not knowing exactly what had been done to cause the ESD in the first place.  The hydraulics would need a restart as well, but since no alarm had sprung up they assumed it would be easy to achieve. They communicated an estimation of how long it would take to Vadim on the bridge – about two hours- before telling Pavlos they were ready to proceed.

“I wanna start with the hydraulics; we’ll need them to run the fuel pumps on the main generators before they can be restarted. How much power does that system need?” Aleksei asked the electrician.

“One more generator should do the trick if we don’t want to cause a blackout. We had another backup ready, want me to start it?”

“Yes please. I doubt the guys up on the bridge would be too happy if we cut their power right now.” The hippogriff said before moving to head down into the deeper parts of the engine room, only to be momentarily stopped by Anton. The female griffon had been silent up until then, only responding to instructions from Johann with short nods or grunts.

“Can I ask you…” The former guy still wasn’t very comfortable with his new tone of voice obviously. “… Were you?”

“Male before the change? I was, yes.” Aleksei nodded. “It’s… hard to get used to I’m afraid.” She said in sympathy. “But remember you’re not alone in this. Some on your crew are in the same situation as you are and believe me; it’s worth it to rely on each other to get through that.” She told the falcon headed griffon before patting her on the shoulder.

“And there’s nothing you can do about it?”

“Nothing so far despite our best attempts at looking for a solution.” That was a bit of a white lie, they didn’t exactly look for a solution. Not that they had any actual lead on that to begin with…

“But I had a girlfriend back home.” Anton complained. “What is she gonna think when she sees me uh… like that? I can’t even please her anymore. In fact am I even…”

“…Still attracted to girls?” Aleksei completed the sentence. Anton just nodded. “It… varies actually. Some got to keep their sexual orientations intact, I didn’t.” The light green feathers on her face barely concealed her blush. “That was… weird to discover, and I’m not even the only one. In fact I’d say I’m not even that attracted to humans anymore. It’s up to you to find out really. As for your girlfriend… this cataclysm made almost everyone disappear. In three weeks you’re the third group we meet, and we’ve been looking.”

“B-but… my family? My friends?” The griffon stuttered, falling down on his haunches.

“I’m sorry.” Aleksei said with a shake of her head. “You’ve got to look on the bright side: if you hadn’t been sailing at the time of the Event you’d probably have reappeared alone in a deserted town with monsters roaming about.” A movement on the edge of her sight made her stop for a moment; Angelo was by the airlock to the generator room motioning for her to move on.  “So yeah, I don’t know how well you and your shipmates get along but do try to stick together. Best make friends with them if you want any advice.” She concluded before moving to follow the waiting minotaur.







Elsewhere on the ship, one goshawk griffon made his way down a couple flights of stairs, following the instructions given to him to locate the infirmary. Rhine Forest’s accommodation was significantly roomier than that of Amandine, but it was also less… richly decorated: the floors were covered in cheap checkered vinyl flooring and the walls painted white with a green line at shoulder height (for a biped that is, for Boris the line was way above him). Despite the length of passageways he traversed, the Russian didn’t encounter a single soul despite sounds of activity coming from adjacent rooms.

Boris understood they may have been under shock from the change but they had a ship to take care of for Christ’s sake! Did they really expect their vessel to stop dead in the water just because they couldn’t get used to the change quick enough?

Just as expected, a door with a red cross on it was in the place they had indicated. The griffon made his way inside without knocking, for all the difference that would make. Much like he had witnessed in the passageways, there was more room than on Amandine. In fact that particular infirmary was a lot bigger than theirs with three times as many beds and much more equipment than them; even if he counted the upgrades they had made using equipment from the military clinic.

And here Boris thought theirs was a good one. Rhine Forest’s was even unusually large for a merchant vessel, much less for one her age. The amount of equipment around was far more extensive than what was legally required. It was clear from how the place looked that this particular modification didn’t date back to the vessel’s first days: the room had the characteristic appearance of a retrofitted compartment despite the brand new equipment inside. Boris was even pretty sure one machine he spotted in a corner of the room was a portable X-ray machine, and from the looks of it they might even have a single hyperbaric chamber for divers.

There were ten beds in the long room: nine hidden behind curtains, and one close by the entrance that was equipped for advanced care, maybe even surgery. Many shelves and cabinets cluttered the walls, as well as some machines that had been secured with bungee cords. Each of the beds had some monitoring equipment fitted to it, the data feeding back into a computer inside the doctor’s office, which was separated from the rest at the end of the miniature clinic. Despite the sheer size of the infirmary, all this gear managed to make the place somewhat cramped, with just enough room between the shelves and the beds to let a single gurney pass.

There was also a door just by the entrance labeled ‘quarantine’ as well as a locker with biohazard and rad hazard symbols on it.

Guessing as to where he would find the apparently injured doctor, the griffon headed for the office, making his way past closed curtains hiding injured crewmembers, of which he counted five occupied beds. As he walked, wafts of disinfectant and chemicals hit the nostrils at the base of his beak, almost making him sneeze. Gee, someone in here must really like his workspace disinfected.

The doctor’s office was connected to the rest of the infirmary by an observation window with its blinds shut tight and a thin door that had been left ajar. Knocking on the door with a gloved claw, Boris made his way inside without waiting for an answer. The office held the expected desk, computer and filing cabinets as well as a refrigerated safe which must have held the riskier drugs the vessel carried. A transparent refrigerator next to it held some of their less secure medicine, as well as some blood bags. There was also a dental chair crammed in there, as if that medical wing didn’t already have enough gear. Were they planning to run an entire hospital in Lagos or what?

On a second thought, were he to sail to Nigeria he wouldn’t want to rely on local hospitals either.

Amidst all that gear, a tall, thin orange hippogriff with a blue mane of feathers on her head was sitting behind the desk, her position showing she had yet to familiarize herself with how to sit in that new body. The female, much like Pavlos when he came to greet them, was clad in a set of poorly fitted and partially torn white and green coveralls. On each of her shoulders were patches representing a caduceus over a red cross that designated her as the doctor he was supposed to meet. She had one forearm cradled against her chest with a pained look on her beak.

The moment the Russian stepped in, the doctor turned her head toward him, feathery ears raised in slight surprise.

“Greetings doc, I’m Boris from M/V Amandine, here to offer medical assistance. The Officers on the bridge told me you had injured crewmembers.”

The hippogriff stared at him through purple eyes for a few seconds, head subtly cocked to one side.

“You’re no actual medic.” She said calmly in a French accent. That wasn’t even a question.

“No, we have our Third Officer along; he’s got some actual training and a measure of experience with creatures like us but right now he’s busy up on the bridge.”

“And what’s more important than treating the wounded?” She asked.

“Keeping us from sailing into wind turbines that’s what. I’m his assistant. I can’t say I’m the best at this and in fact I’m pretty new to the job but until our situation is secure on a navigational level then I’m all you have.” The Russian said.

The doctor’s eyes met those of the griffon, both of the avian chimeras holding a sort of staring contest for a few tense seconds before a small smile appeared on the creases of the hippogriff’s beak.

“You, I like you.” She said. “I’d shake your hand… err, claw rather, but my good arm isn’t in any shape to do that at the moment.” She shrugged on her injured side to show off the injury, only to stop the motion halfway with a pained hiss. “I’m Doctor Delacroix, Medical Officer, but you can just call me Camille. Delacroix makes me sound like an old lady.”

“Well met then. Now what can a barely qualified sailor do to help you?”

“Your colleague, he can do stitches and plasters, right?” Boris nodded. “That’s a relief then. We’re gonna need to do a few radios, including on me.”

“Just that?”

“Of course not. Then I need you to clean the patients’ wounds, disinfect and all, then prep the terrain for your colleague, make sure they’re all stable ‘cause I don’t have a single clue what parameters I should expect from them…”

“…Ok fine, got it. Lotsa work.” Boris cut her off. “Do I need to bring the machine here for your radio?”

Camille gave him a flat look, to which the griffon responded by sheepishly slipping away to get the machine he had already identified on his way in.

Helping the Frenchwoman scan her own injured limb and put together a temporary cast so she could hop around her ward on three limbs was done in a matter of minutes. She would need a better, more permanent plaster to hold her broken limb once Vadim was free but the temporary measure was sufficient in the meantime.

Addressing the matter of the other injured in the infirmary took much longer. Most of the casualties suffered after their return were gender bent sailors that had panicked more than others after the change and injured themselves in the process. Boris could understand the logic: Vadim may not have been present to witness it when they woke up but many of his own shipmates had almost broken before helpful sailors like Ajit had gotten to them.

And here was an example of what would have happened had the Indian dog not helped his fellow sailors. Maybe he ought to offer the guy some excuses after having called him ‘naively friendly’. Maybe.

Camille told Boris they still had to run a head count to identify exactly who was who on this ship, but she was at least certain of who had been brought inside her infirmary. One of their priority patients was the ship’s Chief Engineer, a guy by the name of Erik Jakobs. Contrarily to some of the patients there, the guy hadn’t panicked and actually did his best to reach the engine room. Unfortunately, he had turned into a centaur (of all things), and having to manage all those limbs at once made him loose his footing and fall down a flight of stairs.

The guy- or actually, Boris should say mare once he got a closer look at the patient- was unconscious from the fall. Tattered coveralls covered his upper humanoid body leaving the other half, that of a bay pony, bare. The creature was in no way as big as an actual horse. In fact, even the humanoid half was noticeably smaller than the equivalent on a human, though he was still significant in size (if Boris were to hazard a guess, he should be about as heavy as Angelo).

Weirder even, was the fact that the humanoid half, if similar to a human, was still very much unique. The centaur boasted a bright tomato red skin tone. The skin color came with some large mobile ears on top of the centaur’s head and a mane of jet black hair that not only grew out of the guy’s head but the back of his neck as well.

Even more bizarre was the fact that the Chief Engineer, despite having definitely turned into a mare (and Boris wished he hadn’t looked), didn’t have breasts. Sure, the humanoid half had all the curves you would come to expect from a female human, but not even a nipple. Instead, the pony half had teats in the usual place. 

“Ah doc, I’m afraid that kind of transformation’s new to me. Don’t have centaurs like him on our ship.” Boris apologized after making sure the unconscious patient was properly settled on the bed, which was no easy task with such a body shape and weight.

“Really? Guess we’re both learning something new then.” She looked at the parameters screen above the bed. “Breathing is stable, heartbeat is… slow-ish but then again he’s unconscious.”

“He lost consciousness from the fall? As in, brain damage?”

“No, shock. He fainted after the bosun brought him in and the adrenaline wore off. Panic attack you see, poor fella hadn’t fully realized what happened yet.” Camille explained.

“Rough. What’s he got?”

“Wrist injury, most likely a fracture but we need a radio to tell that. I see two nasty bruises both on his humanoid and equine flank so that may be some cracked ribs and that gash on his shoulder under the bandages.”

Turns out, the ribs were more than just cracked. The centaur mare had suffered from several broken ribs in his fall. The wrist was also broken, which was added to the growing list of plasters Vadim would need to make. Once he had done everything he could on the Chief Engineer, Boris turned to the doctor, awaiting further instructions. The mare hadn’t awoken in the process… or plainly chose to ignore the strange griffon taking care of his injuries.

“Next one?” Boris asked, earning a nod from the doctor.

The griffon left the side of the centaur, pulling the curtain behind him to allow the patient privacy.







Technology can achieve wonders sometimes. In this case it wasn’t really much of a wonder though, just extremely convenient. Thanks to satellite communications, Vadim was able to request the passage plan to Copenhagen from Amandine and copy it onto Rhine Forest’s ECDIS once their Captain agreed to follow them to the Danish capital city. That decision required a bit of a push on the radio from Dilip but it was still remarkably easy to convince the German Captain to do such a drastic change in his plans.

Vadim doubted there would have been any point for the barge carrier to keep sailing towards Lagos in such circumstances anyway.

“So you were after a survivor in Copenhagen?” Captain Gerig asked, the pink teenaged mare was now awkwardly sitting in the Captain’s chair.

“Lyngby to be precise. Apparently she’s a radio operator at that coast station. Problem is… we gotta hurry there because she’s surrounded by monsters. Helping you was necessary and I certainly wouldn’t call it a mistake, but it may come at a risk to her life.” Vadim explained while reviewing the altered passage on the computer.

“Then we’d better get this ship back on track soon.” Gerig said. “Josselin!” He barked. “What’s the status in the engine room?” He asked the brown unicorn stallion.

Rhine Forest’s Third Officer was busy at the back of the bridge using the interphone to make calls around the vessel. Or rather, Carla was. The female cadet turned male hippogriff was being used as an extra set of hands by her superior.

“Hydraulics rebooted and pressure in the green sir. They’re checking out the main switchboard for damage before attempting a restart. Time to restart… about an hour.”

“More than enough to finish adapting the passage plan then.” Vadim commented. “Does this berth suit you Captain?” He proposed to the pink unicorn, tapping a talon against a waypoint on the electronic chart screen.

“Looks satisfactory. We will have to be careful with our draft in the entrance channel but it should be doable.” Gerig said gruffly. “Next to your own I presume?”

“Aye. I think your crew is going to require a fair bit of assistance to get accustomed to the change, adapt ergonomics, and get gear. We can help with that.” Vadim said as he finished charting the passage on the computer, hitting the ‘confirm’ button with a satisfied trill.

“You guys been hard at work doing that?”

“I’d say. Of course the simpler parts like adapting our clothes, shoes and gloves were done rather quickly but you can finish it even faster if we pass you the templates. Then you’ve got modifications to equipment like the SCBA’s which require some pretty advanced mods to be applied to the gas masks, or even simpler advice from the cooks on diet. Hygiene even. We can help, even if we’re still discovering stuff ourselves. Did you know you were vegetarian for one?”

“Doesn’t take a genius to guess that Zinoviya.” The little mare said with a raised brow.

“But do you know how repulsed vegetarian species tend to be by the smell of meat?” Vadim added, earning a confused look from the Captain. “Yes, there are specificities to the whole thing, like how fish affects vegetarians less, but we also had to modify our cooking system. Spices in the food circumvent the smell problem and allow both types of creatures to eat in the same place at the same time. Of course there is also the problem that some species have a more sensitive palate, others less. Takes time getting used to, but it’s necessary.”

“Are you implying that spicy food is necessary for wildly different species to cohabit in the same mess hall?”

“Ridiculous I know? But eh, even the dumbest solutions can work sometimes. In this case, eye watering curry just happened to be the best we could think of.” Vadim shrugged.

The griffon and the unicorn lapsed into silence for a moment, Vadim looking out of the bridge towards the silhouette of Amandine off in the distance. They had picked the boat back up a while ago and were now holding at a respectable distance on the starboard side of the drifting barge carrier. With his sharp eyes, the Ukrainian could spot Geert on one of the bridge wings, the parrot accompanying a unicorn with an olive green sweater. Other sailors were present on the main deck, including the easily recognizable silhouette of Artyom. The blue dragon was preparing the lines for an emergency towing in case Angelo and Aleksei failed to restart the engine.

In the back of the bridge, Josselin and Carla were busily calling each cabin to run a headcount and make sure they hadn’t lost anyone in the confusion. Irritated voices were coming out of the interphone, but they were progressing in making an updated crew list just like Dilip had done when they had woken up right after the Event.

Eavesdropping on the calls led to hearing some… genuinely odd conversations where Josselin attempted to coax information out of bewildered shipmates that hadn’t left their cabin since the ship had reappeared. Straight up asking them if they were still of the same gender made for some interesting reactions, particularly when the Officer moved on to the Liberian and Congolese crewmembers. In one particular case one crewmember was even using his mouth to manipulate the interphone, having turned into a sphinx.

“You know you’re gonna have to redo the pictures on their files, right?” Vadim asked after a crewmember was done describing what he looked like on the interphone. A guy from Liberia that had turned into a cat apparently.

“Stopgap measure.” Josselin told Amandine’s Third Officer. “You overheard it all. Most of them don’t even want to get out of their cabin for now. That’s the most I can coax out of them besides telling them to adjust their coveralls.”

“They’re gonna have to come out eventually, willingly or not.”

“Much as I appreciate your advice Zinoviya I think my Officer knows this crew more than you do.” Captain Gerig said. “It’s been a mere hours since they changed. We can't expect them to instantly get back on their feet. Give them some time.”

Yeah right, and what would have happened if Amandine wasn’t around to rescue them? One big wreck in the middle of the German Bight that’s what. Vadim thought.

Minutes later, they received a call from Angelo in the engine room telling them the engines were ready, followed by a whining sound coming from the stern. The generators were online, and the controls at the helm lit up once more. The Captain swiftly ordered Carla back behind the helm while Vadim moved towards the radio station.

“Amandine, this is Rhine Forest, propulsion issues are solved, and we are now underway. Over.” He said as he watched the hippogriff slowly increase the throttle to the third ahead mark.

No need to go full ahead just yet, Angelo would have his hide if he asked too much of the generators he had just restarted. With her propulsion back online, Rhine Forest was finally able to change her heading and point her bow straight north as she slowly picked up speed.

The azimuth thruster system may have issues with changing the heading without power, but the mechanism sure delivered when it was online: Vadim had seldom seen ships this long maneuver with such ease.

“Impressed?” Captain Gerig said with a smug smile.

“Never seen that kind of propulsion on ocean going ships before. She must be a dream to bring to quay with maneuverability like that.” The griffon commented honestly. “Thought they only used that on tugs before…”

“There are many things unique with my ship.” The pink mare said with a smile. “And I couldn’t be prouder of having been minted as her Captain.”

Vadim’s eyes followed the wind turbines they were passing off in the distance. The same ones they had been at risk of hitting minutes earlier. He could see a cluster of them having stopped turning, now laden with flocks of seagulls.

“What were you guys going to do in Lagos anyway? The more I look at your ship the more I think it was more than just freight transportation.”

“Because it wasn’t for freight.” Gerig explained. “The Nigerian Association of Petroleum Explorationists or NAPE has been… or rather had been investing in extensive offshore installations. They wanted a vessel like Rhine Forest to become a large scale offshore construction support unit. With her fleet of barges, the tugs and her dynamic positioning system she’s able to set up some extensive floating infrastructure out at sea. Makes the installation of platforms a hell of a lot easier. She’s kind of a… test bed for such tech if you will. You don’t need a fleet of offshore support vessels with her around: she can have the tugs transport barges to and from the nearest harbor for supplies, provide accommodation for the workers during the installation and the barges can be used to link installation units or even be equipped with cranes.”

“A mothership then?” Vadim asked, head tilted slightly.

“In a fashion, yes.” The pink unicorn nodded. “Even I have to admit barge transportation was inefficient compared to containers or roll-on/roll-off, but Rhine Forest could extend her life in a niche industry like that.”

They waited a couple minutes until the generators were sufficiently warmed up before increasing their speed to fifteen knots. To Vadim it was a bit odd to steer a ship from a position so far forward, him being more accustomed to the bridge being aft on the vessel like Amandine’s and most cargo vessels’. Nevertheless, Rhine Forest took position in a convoy of sorts half a mile behind Amandine, both vessels now headed towards the entrance to the Baltic Sea. A quick call on the interphone with Angelo to check if the propulsion was stable later (and it was), Vadim excused himself from the bridge to head towards the infirmary, Angelo and Aleksei now heading there as well.

Leaving the Captain with the cadet and the Third Officer on the bridge would be fine, as long as the hippogriff behind the helm remained calm. Their route wasn’t going to cross any obstacle for the next twelve hours, and by then someone should have bothered to leave their cabin and relieve them.

If not, they had the bosun to drag someone by their tail to the bridge. Navigational duties took priorities over wallowing in self-pity.







Vadim walked inside the infirmary to the sight of Boris and an orange hippogriff consoling a grief stricken… hedgehog? The creature lying in the infirmary bed was clad in the same coveralls as the rest of the crew of Rhine Forest, with the addition of Red Cross patches on her shoulders. Both her legs were splinted and she had a bandage wrapped around her head, but that didn’t change the uniqueness of the creature.

In a way you could have said she was similar to the other anthropomorphic bipeds they had on their own crew, except based on another species altogether. But that would have done a disservice to the creature lying on the bed: what Vadim was looking at was a being covered in coarse charcoal grey colored fur. Like the cats and dogs on Amandine she had digitigrade feet, balanced by a long tail that ended in a tuft of white quills that poked through a hole in the back of her coveralls. Her arms were rather thick, but nowhere near as much as those of dogs like Dilip, Ajit and Rahul, though Vadim bet she could still deliver impressive punches if backed into a corner. She still had hands, each equipped with four stubby digits that ended in black blunt claws. Not exactly ideal, but Vadim would reliably bet she could manage manipulating objects once she got some experience with those hands.

The part that had made the griffon think hedgehog was the white quills that grew on her head and the upper half of her back like a mane of sorts. Her head was very much changed from that of a human, with a more elongated skull that ended in a stubby snout with a black wet canine nose. Her talking to Boris in an agitated manner allowed Vadim to peek at some small but sharp teeth inside her mouth. On the sides of her head were two large black ears, mobile like those found on many species after the change.

But the most unsettling part of the… hedgehog-esque creature (hedgefolk maybe?) was her eyes: while many of the species had had their eyes changes, they still had somewhat normal eyes (as in: that could be found naturally on animals). What the griffon saw however was that the sclera of the creature’s eyes was electric blue instead of white. That didn’t mean they were monstrous or inexpressive, just… odd.

Vadim let out a polite cough to grab their attention, making the hippogriff immediately turn around to face him, purple eyes drifting to the ranks on his orange coveralls.

“You’re the Third Officer?” Camille asked.

“Aye that would be me. Just call me Vadim.” He said before motioning towards the bedridden hedgehog with his beak. “What’s with her?”

“Marta is my assistant and also a certified nurse, contrarily to yours.” She said, eliciting a cry of protest from Boris. “I’m sorry but that’s true.” She told the Russian. “Good as you are you’re still no professional.”

“And neither am I.” Vadim said. “Unfortunately in these times there aren’t that many medics to pick from. Back to Marta then, what happened to her, transformation notwithstanding?”

“A centaur fell on her.” Camille answered immediately. “One broken leg and a sprained ankle, plus a nasty concussion to go with it.” She explained. “Your assistant can do a lot but we still need you for plasters, stitches, and any procedure I can’t do myself.”

And that took a lot of time. Vadim may have improved in the last few weeks, what with the increasing frequency at which people were getting hurt on Amandine, but he still was a Deck Officer first and Medic second despite his colleagues’ growing tendency to call him Doc (to which he always protested). Stitches took him a lot of time to make, particularly when he had an actual doctor breathing over his neck. On the bright side, Doc Delacroix could remain polite when she gave criticism and he actually learned a few tips as he worked through the patients inside the infirmary.

Among said patients was the Chief Engineer who woke up when he treated him, as well as the sailor that had been at the helm when the ship reappeared. The latter had been in the helmsman’s seat and had turned into a centaur upon reappearing, which was an extremely ill fit for such a position. Much like the Chief Engineer, he injured himself by falling down some stairs and on the hedgehog nurse that had come out of her cabin at the wrong time.

The particularity with that sailor was that unlike the Chief Engineer, who had an equine lower half, his was more in line with that of a red-tailed doe.

Yes, a doe, with the other implication that followed considered he was called Lars. The guy hadn’t been too pleased to be told that, not having fully realized the extent of the change until he opened his mouth.

Another patient was a deck cadet by the name of Sebastien that had been stowing gear on deck before the Event struck. Poor guy injured himself badly when the winch he had been using snapped on him because he lost control of the brake. His case was concerning, the cadet having lost a lot of blood from his injury before a colleague found him unconscious by the fore mooring station. In a way, him being unconscious was fortunate because he wouldn’t get as much of a rough awakening as the others.

Oh, and of course the unicorn he had turned into just had to be a mare, as Vadim discovered when he inserted a catheter in the unconscious patient’s marehood. All patients inside the infirmary were either naturally born female or guys-turned-gals. For an instant Vadim would have thought Rhine Forest had suffered from more crewmembers swapping gender than Amandine, but when the stats were calculated it was actually the contrary: a higher percentage on board of Amandine had swapped gender.

The last patient Vadim went through was a very grumpy Greek barge pilot called Nikolaos. The reason he was so grumpy? He had turned into a white furred minotaur with black spots here and there; except it happened to be a female minotaur, the sight of which had made the Ukrainian griffon release an impressed whistle. This only served to earn him a nasty glare from the minotaur but damn if it wasn’t justified.

As it appeared, females minotaurs were almost as muscular as their male brethren, in a taller package. The… cow probably, had a mop of curly black hair on top of her head from which poked a pair of small horns pointing downwards next to her large white ears. A more rounded, narrower muzzle and less sharp angles allowed to immediately identify that particular individual as female.

But the part that made the Ukrainian whistle… Well, let it be said that Vadim was very much a fan of Matt Groening’s work, and what laid before his eyes immediately made him think of the ‘death by snu-snu’ line. That minotaur had the curves of an Amazon and the rippling muscles just beneath the skin to back it up. Chiseled abs lay just below what was honestly a massive pair of tits (eh, turns out female minotaurs don’t have udders, Angelo owed him a bottle of rum) framed by tight pectoral muscles. A thin waist was followed by wide hips that connected to muscular thighs the likes of which couldn’t have been found on the best bodybuilder before the Event.

Honestly it was a shame that body was that of a former male, not that Vadim minded since he was more into griffons (which had taken him long enough to realize in the first place, thanks subconscious mind).

Apparently the Greek had been working on electrical equipment in his tugboat when the Event hit, which resulted in him almost getting stuck inside a cramped compartment from the drastic change in size. Extracting himself from the space had resulted in a cracked horn that was bleeding rather profusely, as well as several long scrapes and gashes along his flank and one nasty looking burn on his forearm caused by the soldering iron he had been using.

“Holy cow!” Aleksei said, coming up just behind Vadim, her remark only serving to further sour the minotaur’s mood.

Wait, if the hippogriff was there then her superior couldn’t be far behind and he would rather not try the female minotaur’s reaction to seeing another Greek not get fucked over by the transformation lottery. The griffon quickly made a ‘wait a minute’ gesture to the barge pilot before pulling the curtain around his bed and casually walking over to the Second Engineer who was having some idle talk with Boris by now.

“Eh Angelo you gotta see th-“ Aleksei tried only for Vadim to stop her sentence halfway by grabbing both mandibles of her beak in one claw.

“He’s not gonna see anything.” Vadim said in a quiet voice, not wanting to be overheard by the female minotaur. “This place isn’t a freak zoo and that patient is under enough stress as is.” He told both engineers before releasing Aleksei’s beak, the Latvian hippogriff giving him a mild glare.

“Look Angelo, I’m on my last patient here.” He said, pointing a talon back towards the bed the barge pilot was in. “It’s gonna take a couple minutes but if you could go ahead and radio Amandine to send a boat to pick us up that would be great.” He then lowered his voice back down. “And I’m aware of that female minotaur jig but if you both could avoid talking about him out loud while he’s in the same room; that could avoid me getting deservedly punched in the face by a very angry and very muscular cow girl. Got it?”

Aleksei glare only lessened slightly while that phrase got a confused look out of Angelo. The minotaur made to ask a question but Vadim interrupted him with a quick ‘talk to you later’ before slipping away to take care of the last patient. He wanted to follow the griffon to see what the fuss was all about but an orange hippogriff shooed him out of the infirmary, telling him her patients ‘needed the quiet’ in a French accent.







It took a while for the guys on Amandine to gather the boat team to come get them. In that span of time, some more crewmembers finally emerged from their cabins to resume their duties. It wasn’t the whole crew somehow snapping out of it, but enough sailors that got their shit together as to keep their ship running until they hit port. Griffons and centaurs tentatively crept out of their cabins, all barefoot and clad in hastily refitted coveralls, but ready for work.

Some of the barge crews even pitched in to help the deck team (since apparently the barge crews and deck guys were two separate departments instead of one) prepare their future mooring operation, for which the boatswain looked visibly relieved. Most of the sailors working under Pavlos had either turned into quadrupeds or were injured in the infirmary, even when he counted the cadets. Fortunately, the barge department had a few healthy bipeds in store to assist, those being quicker to adapt to the changes.

The sailors of Amandine were soon back on their own vessel, the white and grey roll-on/roll-off taking the lead of their little two-ship convoy but keeping a sedate pace so as not to overwork the recently reappeared vessel that followed in their wake.  Copenhagen was still quite far but they could see their goal approaching on their charts.

Within hours the ships had cleared the end of the Danish western shore, veering east before they got within sight of the Norse town of Kristiansand and thus entering the sea known as the Skagerrak. They kept to the center of the channel in hopes of receiving any kind of radio activity coming from Scandinavian shores… but the waves were once more silent after the reappearance of Rhine Forest. 

Night came as they sailed on, with a clear weather and a mild breeze to accompany them as they went. They passed the Danish town of Skagen under clear skies that revealed the whole expanse of stars above them, unhindered by light pollution or any kind of cloud cover.

In yet another effort to locate survivors, the two ships continued east for a few miles before turning south so that they could get a look at the harbor of Gothenburg by early morning the next day. What they saw of the formerly important Swedish seaport had some of them worried as to what they may find in the future: Gothenburg benefitted from having a handful of automated lighthouses marking its entry channel, and they were barely visible through the murky yellow haze that seemed to cover the entire city. Had it not been for their navigational radar they would have missed it. Upon seeing this with the help of some sharp-eyed crewmembers, both ships made sure to steer clear of the city.

The chemical cloud coming from the town was in fact so thick they could spot it on their radars if they tuned them right. Gothenburg may not have been their objective but the sight still made their morale drop. If a European city like that fell to its own chemical industry, then what would become of other such industries around the world? Forget the petrochemical industry which had systems to vent and burn evaporated gas safely, the chemical sector just threw a wrench in their gears. They didn’t know if the catastrophe was caused by the chemical terminal or, more likely, a reactor inside one of the city’s factories, each possibility needing to be studied carefully for the implications they might bring.

It was with that attitude that they spent their morning and early afternoon crossing the Kattegat, the small sea being littered with small reefs and sandbanks that forced them to keep to its easternmost channels, the preferred choice for passing ocean-going vessels such as theirs.

By early evening the convoy finally reached the last stretch of their passage: the Öresund strait, with its entrance marked by the two facing cities of Helsingør on the Danish side and Helsingborg on the Swedish side. The first part of the strait was rather narrow: a mere two miles across, which allowed them to look at both cities in the fading light of the evening. On the Danish side was the Kronborg, an old castle and its surrounding fortifications built centuries ago by the Danish crown to keep watch over the strait and monitor any traffic that entered or left the Baltic Sea. An elaborate copper tower culminated over the fortified but richly decorated structure, its artfully constructed curves now only serving to house flocks of passing birds as its hollow windows gazed out towards the Kattegat.

On the Swedish side, they could spy the red bricks of the waterfront buildings of Helsingborg, the structures protected from the sea by the breakwater that wrapped in front of its beach, providing a safe haven from rough weather to any small ship that passed by, be she used for leisure or fishing.

To the sailors in the convoy, it was more than a nice view to go with the setting sun: them passing through that part of the strait meant they had an hour or two to go before they hit port. Activity rose on both ships as the crews prepared their mooring lines to secure their ship to the quays. On Amandine, their three sphinxes assembled with the rest of the sailors to go over their mooring plan while a boat team was being prepared on Rhine Forest, ready to go ashore and handle the large vessel’s mooring lines.

And while all that activity was taking place on deck, another group was preparing a rescue inside of Amandine’s holds. In the armory, a blue dragon with a VDV beret idly wondered if they would make it in time as he loaded rounds in his mags.





Sandra may have underestimated those monsters’ speed.

A window shattered downstairs as she struggled to push a desk against the door, closing off a staircase and blocking them from accessing the first floor. The desk wasn’t even that heavy, but that small equine body she found herself stuck with wasn’t exactly the strongest. Misjudging the speed at which they would breach the ground floor almost came at the cost of her life. The rec room she was using to store and cook her food as well as getting water from the tap was on the ground floor, and she had wanted to wait as long as possible before falling back to the first floor.

Seeing one of the dogs’ gleaming green eyes quickly made her rush up the stairs and accelerate her plans. With a buck from her rear hooves, she kicked another office chair on the pile of furniture before moving on. Crashing noises downstairs told her the monsters were making a mess looking for her and sorting through her supplies. Had she not retrieved a pair of noise cancelling headphones the little thestral would have been whimpering on the floor from the noise, such was the disadvantage of having ears so sensible they could perceive radio chatter. In addition to the headphones she had found a pair of aviator sunglasses she used at dawn and sunset because her night vision capable eyes were as good as blind during that time of the day. They were a poor fit for her head shape but it was better than using the echolocation that still eluded her.

Oh she was pretty sure she could do it. She had tried. It just so happened to be extremely confusing to use when coming from a species that usually relied on visual means. 

She hadn’t had the time to retrieve her backpack from the rec room, and clad as she was in her birthday suit (so what? The fur kept her warm enough and it was almost summer anyway) she didn’t have anything on her except for her aviators and headphones. She would have to rely on the one can of tuna and bottle of water she had left in the control room.

More crashing was heard downstairs, as well as the sound of breaking glass. More monsters inside, but they were still looking for her. Noticing the creatures seemed heavily reliant on their sense of smell, she had made a point of leaving her scent all over the place by rubbing her flank against furniture here and there.

A pained yelp erupted above the barks and growls.

She had also left cans of surströmming around. Surely the monsters would appreciate her gift of canned Swedish herring.

The mare headed for one of the windows to take a look at what was going on outside. A writhing mass of living wood had invaded the parking lot, sadly trashing her poor Toyota as they passed. Her slitted eyes came to rest on one particularly large shape which soon rose above the others, almost as big as a forty-foot shipping container.

The giant wooden dog spotted her with its enormous eyes, letting out a furious roar which sent her scurrying inside the control room.
> Chapter 24: Firefight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night had fallen by the time both ships pulled into the harbor of Copenhagen, sailing past the old Trekroner fort guarding the fairway. Minutes before they approached the quays, a small orange boat was lowered to the water by Rhine Forest, carrying their line handlers since the barge carrier’s sphinxes had yet to gain control of their telekinesis.

Both vessels headed for the quays of the container terminal, the area having been chosen because of how separated it was from the rest of the city. With the place’s original security measures, securing it should be an easy task. In addition, the easternmost berth of these quays was L-shaped, in such a manner that it would allow Amandine to lower her stern ramp, the biggest. It was Vadim who took the controls of the vessel this time to bring her in safely under the looming cranes of the terminal. The operation went by quickly in a well practiced manner. Soon enough, Amandine was secured tightly against the quay. A handful of sailors armed with rifles from the armory stayed on the main deck, carefully eyeing the line handlers Rhine Forest had deployed. They had yet to secure the terminal and Rhine Forest’s crew was completely unarmed, meaning they would have to be ready to provide some covering fire if a monster got the jump on them. Fortunately, it seemed no such creature had taken notice of the vessels entering the harbor.

Like many of its fellow northern cities, Copenhagen had an extensive renewable energy production, with a fair sized wind farm built half a mile off the coast of the city in a large arc comprising dozens of turbines. Some had already gone down to disuse as they had seen when they entered the harbor, but enough were still active to run most of the city’s street lights.

This cast an odd picture to both ships’ crews: on one side you had the street lights that were functioning, casting an orange glow over the city which, despite having been abandoned for almost a month, looked almost pristine. On the other side… hints that the city was but a shell of its former self were clear: unmanned boats that had broken out of their moorings and sunk in the middle of the canals, flower beds running wild with weeds, some street lights that had gone out or were flickering from lack of maintenance. The most jarring part was: only the street lights were active, everything else was just dark, from storefronts to apartment windows. Even the large star-shaped UN City building that they could observe from the quays of the container terminal was now nothing but a gigantic shadow that loomed over the smaller buildings around it.

The sailors of Rhine Forest quickly rigged their gangway to allow their line handlers back on board before the large barge carrier raised it back up. The newly reappeared crew had a lot to deal with before they could head out on expeditions like Amandine was about to. Captain Gerig’s crew was still reeling from their sudden reappearance, and the sailors of Amandine fully expected they would need a day or two before reaching full working order.

As for Amandine, a number of sailors moved off the main deck and towards the armory. They had a rescue mission to accomplish, and that wouldn’t come too soon. 

One of their unimogs had been brought out of storage for that mission, the canvas covering its cargo bay removed. Since the trucks were the military variant they came with deployable benches in the back to allow for troop transport, with their central positioning allowing the passengers to look and fire out of the vehicle’s side with the canvas frame available as support. Since their departure from Antwerp, some more work had been done on the vehicles which were now fitted with additional headlights above the cabin and winches under their front and rear bumpers. The headlights in particular would come in handy very soon considering they were heading out at night.

Schmitt was the chosen Officer to lead the group, the pick being a no-brainer considering they knew they would be facing wood hounds. The more dragons they brought along, the better. The Chief Engineer might not have been the best shot of the crew but they only really needed him for fire support.

Then came Artyom, obviously. His place on the team hadn’t even been questioned, and he was even on the first team that had faced wood hounds way back in Zeebrugge. The blue dragon insisted on bringing Sri along, the Indonesian hippogriff being one of the only two crewmembers he could trust with the close-quarter fight he expected to occur inside the radio station. The other was Nikola; unfortunately the scarred gargoyle was still too injured to take part in the fight. He would have to rely solely on the Indonesian to watch his back inside; the other crewmembers were in no way sufficiently trained for that kind of fighting. Better leave them to watch the truck outside, having them follow the duo inside of a probably dark building was just asking for blue-on-blue.

That filled three slots on their team, which would have been enough according to their expedition procedures, but the Captain insisted on bringing extra hands along for the ride. Boris joined the team as the medic, and then came Ajit and Carlos, respectively the truck’s driver and turret gunner. Hopefully having six guns ready to shoot at the wood hounds would ensure nobody came back injured.

Inside the armory, Bart was handing out weapons for the group. Full-lethal loadout, with SCAR’s for Artyom and Sri while the rest got FNC’s. The unicorn had spent some time fitting flashlights to any weapon that had a picatinny rail, which unfortunately only comprised of the SCAR’s and their pistols. The rest would have to rely on the truck’s headlights and a couple road flares he passed around for the group to use in addition to their stun grenades. The group only took a single machinegun to mount on the truck’s turret, but that choice wasn’t much of a problem since their last encounter had proven 5.56 rounds were enough to bring down wood hounds.

Now the trick was to make them stay down. Bart handed the team a beer case filled with Molotov cocktails. The last technique of using ignited teargas might have been effective and he did give them some, but the projectiles should allow them to stay much further from the monsters than if they burned the remains using the spray (or dragon fire too for that matter). The Belgian soldier wished he could have gone along… but he was still injured, the gash on his neck only just starting to scar.

After all that weaponry came the rest: enough ammo boxes to wage a small war, the obligatory flak jackets and half a dozen walkie-talkies to stay in touch with the rest of the group. Those; combined with the truck’s own long range radio and their satellite phones would ensure they didn’t lose track of the team… and could radio the ship for backup if shit really started to hit the fan.

For them, now was no time for banter or jokes. The group gathered their gear and mounted their truck. The olive green unimog rolled closer to the stern ramp before coming to a stop next to the waiting Captain. Schmitt leaned over the side of the cargo bay, crossing eyes with his superior.

“Permission to leave the ship and proceed with the rescue, sir?” The orange female dragon asked.

“Granted.” Dilip said with a curt nod. “Alejandro, lower the ramp.” The pariah dog barked to his Chief Officer next to the ramp controls. “Stay safe Schmitt, I don’t want anyone coming back injured, ok?”

Schmitt made to answer the remark but just came up short. The female dragon closed his mouth and shook his head, a small puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. He wished he could make such a promise but they were knowingly heading into trouble. Instead, he settled for slapping the roof of the unimog, signaling for the driver to get them off the ramp. With a rumble of its diesel engine, the truck rolled off the ramp, disappearing in the darkness of the docklands.

“Alej’?” Dilip asked to the hyacinth macaw who was already lifting the ramp back up.

“Yeah?”

“Once you’re done with the ramp, go tell Vadim to prep the infirmary. Better safe than sorry. I’ll be keeping an eye on the radio station in case they need backup.” The dog told his Chief Officer before making his way towards the stairs.

Out of the corner of his eyes, the Indian spotted Geert order a few of the remaining sailors to prepare a Land Rover in case Schmitt’s team needed reinforcements, Bart being told to get some weapons ready just in case. That earned a smile from the Captain; their youngest Officer was starting to get more comfortable with his position and taking initiatives.

He would have to take note of that in his performance assessments, can’t forget those. 







Her rescuers were coming. The antennas of the radio station had heard their chatter when they moored their ship in the port. She had heard them herself when she strained her ears, headphones momentarily dropping to her shoulders. She had even heard them talk about sending in their rescue team. She bit back a gleeful squeal. Finally, after eight days spent alone as a little horse she would get to talk to someone face to face! The little batpony’s webbed wings fluttered in joy at the prospect.

That cheerful mood was annihilated by the sound of a monster ramming against the control room’s reinforced door, making Sandra run under a desk and cower in fear. The creatures had been expedient in their hunt, her stunt with the canned Swedish herring apparently only serving to anger them.

Another bang came. The door held strong, it was supposed to. It had been made to keep the nerve center of the station as secure as possible. The problem was: how long could it sustain the repeated ramming? She had pushed two shelves against the door, but she doubted the flimsy furniture would do much once the doors were breached.

Her eyes came to a rest on the photo hanging on her cubicle, the sight of her baby sister soothing her nerves somewhat. As more creatures banged against the door, the mare closed her eyes and forced herself to think of happier days.







Lyngby really wasn’t that far from the port, situated only a twenty minute drive away from where they had moored the ships. In the back of the truck, Artyom decided to make use of that time to make sure everyone was up to snuff with what they were about to do.

“… so our target is what was described as a ‘little horse’ inside the radio station. She can speak English just fine so don’t hesitate to call out for her.”

“What’s her name anyway?” Boris asked from inside the cabin. There was a little window in the back of the cabin that allowed the griffon to communicate with the guys in the back.

“Sandra Jensen.” The dragon clarified. “Now the plan is for Sri and me to head inside and get her while you folks watch the truck and stay ready to get the fuck out. We’re not here to wage war against the wood hounds, so once we got Miss Jensen in our truck, it’s straight back to the ship. Got it?”

There was a murmur of assent from the team.

“Good. Now those wood hounds… Remember, once they’re down you only have seconds before they start to reassemble and get back up. That’s the time you have to torch the remains.”

“We can’t just set them on fire while they’re uh… active, so to speak?” Schmitt asked.

“I’m not saying you can’t Chief, but you probably don’t want to be pounced on by an irate, burning pile of timber, don’t you?” Artyom told. “Last time it just trashed around when I set it on fire, but that doesn’t mean I want to check out if the rest keeps up the offensive when you torch them.”

The orange dragon stared at the boatswain for a few seconds before replying with a curt ‘right’.

The team’s truck moved out of the docklands and into the town proper. The streets were illuminated by sodium lights hung above the avenues using wires in place of poles like in most cities, though some bulbs had already burned out since the Event struck. Their path took them through lines of warehouses by the docks, past some abandoned office buildings around the marina part of the port and finally inside of Copenhagen proper, most of the town being comprised of five to six story buildings with prominent red and beige hues. After less than a kilometer through the city, the truck passed a large power station built out of bricks with three prominent chimneys before it took a turn onto a highway, following the ‘Lyngby’ signage by the road. They drove for a minute before Artyom spoke up once more. The Russian was now distractedly tapping a claw against the side of his rifle, ears twitching ever so slightly.

“I just remembered something about the Molotov cocktails. I was told before we left that De Mesmaeker used a high ratio of diesel in the mix to go with the paint thinner.” He said.

“And what does that change?” Carlos asked. The sulphur-crested cockatoo was sitting inside the cabin under the turret hatch.

“Just saying: the slick they make will burn for a while, so don’t throw them on our escape route otherwise we will either be stuck waiting for the fire to go out or worse: set our tires on fire. And don’t throw them on the radio station.”

“Now that’s just wishful thinking. You really expect not to burn it down when you’re inside yourself?” Boris scoffed. “Come off it, you’re gonna lug around a fire extinguisher or something?”

Fair enough, the griffon did have a point; but that didn’t mean the rest of the team should do it as well. Needlessly setting the place on fire would only make it harder to evacuate their target.

The team progressed north along the highway, speeding though residential districts in the periphery of Copenhagen. Street lights were scarcer now, so Ajit turned on the extra headlights to see more clearly. Most of the buildings in the area were fairly low rise, rarely exceeding two stories in height except for the odd apartment block. Lines of sight were also rather short with numerous rows of trees and hedges separating houses and lining the sides of the roads. The suburban landscape gave off countryside vibes at times, the fact only increased by the now uncontrolled growth of the vegetation. The beige and red hues of downtown Copenhagen had been traded for a mostly green environment, frequently broken up by the orange of the roof tiles used in the area.

Ajit called out the two minutes mark as they passed a gas station and took a turn close to a park. Every member of the team took the chance to give their guns one last check, clicks resounding around the truck as they cocked them. In the cabin, Carlos opened the roof hatch and took control of the turret, making a ‘click-clack’ sound when he racked the cocking handle of the machinegun. Each member of the team then put on an earpiece that connected to their walkie-talkies, the device going under their ear defenders. Most of the creatures they had turned into had sensitive hearing, and firing without hearing protection was often enough to send them on their knees in pain.

“Remember, stick together and watch each other’s back.” Schmitt said over the radio, testing their connection in passing.

They were greeted by the sight of the destroyed entrance gate, seemingly crushed underneath a great force. The wreck of a white Toyota was close by, bits of glass strewn about and a pile of clothes next to the driver’s door. Ajit decreased his speed, now approaching the entrance at walking pace and giving ample time to his gunner to spot targets. The two bipedal dragons in the back dismounted to follow on either side of the truck, guns at the ready. Sri stayed in the back, the female hippogriff propping himself up against the top of the cabin to get a stable firing platform. Him being a quadruped, it was either that or using a pistol to shoot on the move.

The moment they passed the broken gate and came in sight of the building was when they spotted the first wood hounds. A group of them appeared to be trying to climb a gutter pipe to get to the first floor, unaware of the sailors coming behind them.

That obliviousness didn’t last long, the hail of bullets perforating their wooden bodies making the monsters keenly aware of the new challengers in town. With pained howls, their bodies crumpled to bits before they could turn around, Artyom rushing in to deal the finishing blow with a gout of fire that reduced the formerly menacing monsters to a pile of inert blazing lumber.

“Ajit, position the truck towards the back of the parking lot, I want you and Carlos to cover both the gate and the building’s entrance with that MAG.” The ex-VDV barked to the truck’s driver whilst keeping his SCAR trained on the building, its mounted flashlight illuminating the windows of the otherwise dark building. “Sri, you coming?” He asked the female hippogriff.

As the truck repositioned to keep watch on the accesses, the blue dragon saw Boris leave the cabin and set up on the cargo bed of the truck, rifle ready to cover their back if worse came to worst. Schmitt followed the vehicle, gun in ready position and eyes alert for any hint of movement coming from the building. The Indonesian hippogriff slung his own SCAR across his back the moment the truck stopped, quickly hopping off and moving to follow Artyom, his pistol sliding seamlessly in his talons.

Artyom addressed a questioning glance towards the Chief Engineer, the orange dragon raising his ‘thumb’ claw up to signal they were good to go.

“Keep the engine running, we’ll try to make this quick.” The bosun said before turning towards the doors. There were pieces of broken furniture from the barricade strewn about in the dark lobby. “Davai! We’ve waited long enough as is.” He cried out, heading inside with Sri in tow.

Upon a closer look, the lobby was more of a mess than they had made it out to be: slash marks marred the walls, bits of moss, bark and mud stained the floor and there was a lingering smell of rotten herring permeating the atmosphere above the pungent smell of rotting fruit and fresh mud. Crashing noises were coming from all around them, in particular from the first floor.

The two veterans silently moved through the lobby, the flashlights on their guns piercing through the murky darkness of the building’s interior.

“Where is she?” Sri whispered.

“Control room, first floor.” Artyom said, the Russian trying to read off some signs hanging on the ceiling. Unfortunately they were all written in Danish.

“There’s a staircase symbol over here.” Sri muttered, pointing a talon towards a fluorescent emergency sign showing a stick figure going up a flight of stairs somewhere down a hallway deeper in the building.

Following the sign led them to a curving staircase partly blocked off by empty desk and shelves, most of them already destroyed by the wood hounds that had preceded them here. Before Artyom had time to approach it, a wood hound came rushing at them from deeper down the hallway, claws skidding on the tiled floor as it rounded the corner. The creature didn’t get halfway to them before a round from Sri’s pistol landed right between its eyes, the wooden construct instantly collapsing.

Before Artyom had time to rush over and light its remains on fire, another of them came from the lobby behind them, and then two more from the stairs. Without a word, Sri turned around and fired four shots in quick succession at the one coming from behind, Artyom aiming his rifle towards the ones coming from upstairs and neutralizing them with a quick burst of full-auto fire.

Sri’s second target was only clipped by the shots from his pistol. The Five-Seven he was using may have had armor piercing rounds and a large magazine, but the ammunition was somewhat lacking in stopping power, meaning he had to aim for the head to get a quick kill. The wounded but very much alive monster pounced at the female hippogriff who hastily leaned to the side, dodging the attack before dumping a quick round in the back of its neck as it passed him by.

But the monsters were fast to reassemble: the first one was already back in one piece and attempting to cross the rest of the distance that separated it from the sailors. It didn’t go far, being disassembled two seconds later by a well placed shot from Artyom, the blue dragon bearing a grim look on his muzzle. Him turning his attention away from the staircase allowed a new wood hound to drop down, its landing halfway down the stairs scattering the reassembling remains of the two of its brethren already downed by the dragon.

“Tahi!” Sri swore, spotting the new hound and nailing it in the head with two bullets. “Art’ we seriously gotta start burning these fuckers! There’s too many not to, this building’s gonna burn…” The hippogriff ducked once more under a pouncing hound, its claws just barely missing and leaving a graze on his cheek. They were quickly getting overwhelmed. “… and if it’s not your fire then it’s gonna be one of my Molotovs!” He finished, downing the wood hound that had just pounced at him and starting to fall back towards the lobby.

What went unsaid was, he couldn’t keep getting lucky and dodge every strike at this rate. Sooner or later, one would land a decisive blow.

“I know I know!” Artyom cried out as he took aim at the ones down the hallway, backing away slowly to stay with his companion. “I just need them to cluster a little more!” He yelled. If he breathed fire right now he might block the stairs and cut off their access to Sandra.

Not a second later, two of the hounds that had come from the stairs finished reassembling and jumped towards them, hoping to quickly close the gap. One of them almost succeeded, its claw actually managing to scratch Artyom in the forearm before the Russian had time to down it with a double-tap after shooting its companion. The attack ripped a tear in his coveralls and managed to knock off a few of his scales, but it hardly drew more than a drop of blood from the dragon.

There were three more of the monsters in the fight, all now reassembled and charging at Sri from the hallway side of the firefight. The hippogriff was forced to dump the rest of his mag to keep them at bay, their remains sliding along the ground and coming to a rest dangerously close to Artyom.

“Reloading!” Sri yelled, quickly shoving the spent magazine in an empty pouch of his flak jacket and pulling out a fresh one. “Stop fucking around and torch the bloody things!”

“Almost there!” The dragon said, urging his companion to wait a little more. He backed up against a wall of the hallway, putting the remains of the hounds Sri had just downed between him and the other two.

Now if he kept count correctly… There, the two he was looking at were indeed the first to get back up, their green glowing eyes glaring at him menacingly. The blue-beret-wearing Russian glared right back at them, rifle already raised. Heat was starting to build up in his throat.

Just as planned, the two monsters charged, unknowingly lining themselves just right with his rifle’s barrel. The Belgian-made gun sang its deadly tune, sending the wooden remains clattering on the floor among the branches of its three comrades.

There. 

Artyom released the burning feeling in his throat with an angry roar, a flame lancing out from his muzzle at the pile of living wood in the middle of the hallway, the fire so hot there were hints of blue in it. The building momentarily lit up as if daylight had come early, Artyom’s flame instantly lighting the wooden remains on fire. The light faded back down, only leaving the warm red glow of the burning timber and the white beams of their weapons’ flashlights.

“That was too fucking close.” Sri uttered in an annoyed tone. “We were that close…” He said, holding two talons a centimeter apart. “… To getting slaughtered here. Why the fuck did you wait so long?”

“I’m trying to minimize fire damage here. I can’t go breathing fire all over the place you know?” He said, inspecting what was left in his magazine and deciding to load a new one in his rifle.

“Come on now, it’s not like we’re going to need that building.” Sri complained, his pistol already trained towards the staircase.

“Maybe, but you will have to excuse me if a career of doing my best making sure stuff doesn’t catch fire makes me unwilling to go Fahrenheit 451 inside a building.” Artyom explained.

“Fahrenheit-what? You know what, fine, let’s get going, the missus is waiting.” Sri said, clicking his beak in annoyance.

The female hippogriff took the lead, pistol held at the ready. The clutter of debris in the staircase was hard to get through quickly and he had to keep his pistol trained towards the first floor as he progressed; they could still hear some wood hounds scurrying about upstairs. Behind him, Artyom was covering their back in case some of them snuck around and tried to attack from behind, but the noise of gunfire outside told them they had instead gone for the truck.

A green-yellow glow appeared on the windows of the building (or what was left of them anyway, the wood hounds had done a number on them). The hissing noise that followed telling them Schmitt had lit up the parking lot with their road flares.

Continuing up the stairs, the two veterans were met with a complete mess of destroyed offices, claw marks and bits of bark all over the place. Broken furniture and shredded stacks of paper lay in their path, the debris making for a constant tripping hazard in the dim light. Beside their own flashlights, they had the green glow of the flares outside to go by, as well as the red light coming from the first wood hounds they had set on fire outside, the flames already quite large and licking at the radio station’s façade.

Despite Artyom’s best efforts not to set the building ablaze, two more wood hounds attempted to ambush them as they progressed towards the control room, their blazing remains joining the other fires that were ravaging the building. The more of them he lit up like that, the more they would have to hurry unless they wanted their target to die of smoke inhalation.

“How many does that make now?” Sri asked, reloading his pistol after they downed the two wannabe ambushers. They had almost scored a good hit on him in the process, one claw nicking but failing to dig into his thick wing muscles on his back. The shallow cut was painful and stained his ivory white coat of fur, but didn’t appear to bleed too profusely. The Kevlar of his flak jacket had made the difference. If not for it, he wouldn’t be surprised if the attack actually managed to hit his spine.

“Seven inside and four outside.” The dragon answered, his red eyes tracking any potential movement in the darkness before landing on a sign. ‘Kontrollere… something’ it read. Must be their target. “There, on the right.” He told the Indonesian.

Then they continued on their way, while more gunfire was heard outside.







These hounds were relentless! The moment Schmitt heard the first shots inside the radio station; a loud howl was heard coming from all around them. A group of hounds tried to rush them through the main gate, only to be greeted by a long burst of machinegun fire courtesy of Carlos, the white parrot letting out a holler as he pulled the trigger.

Schmitt signaled for the Filipino to hold his fire while he delivered a breath of fire on the remains. In the few seconds it took him to cross the distance he could already see the creatures start to reassemble.

God were these fuckers quick. He had expected they would at least need thirty seconds to get back together, not the dozen seconds he was witnessing.

Already he could hear more of them arriving, though from where was rather hard to guess in the darkness. The headlights of their truck could only do so much, and the alarmingly big flames from the first group of wood hounds weren’t giving off enough light to see past the fenced parking lot. Time to pull out the flares then…

What they had were no military grade illumination mortars, but the lit flare sticks Schmitt threw around the corners of the parking lot gave off enough light to make out some wood hounds past the fences, the creatures retreating back behind hedges the moment the light revealed them. One of his flares accidentally landed too close to a parked car, lighting its tires on fire with a loud ‘bang’.

“Stay frosty folks, it’s not the last of them just yet!” The female dragon yelled, retreating closer to the truck.

Two hounds attempted to climb the fence behind them, the attempt noticed just in time by Boris who drilled their bodies with supersonic lead as they jumped off the fence, landing dangerously close to the team. That assault drove their attention away long enough for a new group to round the corner of the building and charge at them unchallenged, Carlos’ attention momentarily taken by the monsters in their six. The five hounds made a dash for the truck, Carlos’ few seconds of lapse in attention allowing two to get under his gun before he opened fire.

With Schmitt and Boris busy in their back, it was up to Ajit to step out of his seat behind the wheel and dump a dozen pistol rounds at the two dogs, one of them managing to dodge his fire and pounce at the Indian. He ducked back behind his truck’s open door, the hound slamming into it full force. The impact was enough to dent the door and shatter the window, shoving it shut instantly. Unfortunately for Ajit, his paw got stuck in the way, the bones in his wrist giving out with a sickening crunching sound.

The injured dog fell down with a pained howl, clutching his hand against his chest. The assaulting hound would have taken the opportunity to pounce on the driver had it not been for Carlos pulling out his own pistol and shooting it quickly before focusing back on his machinegun.

Already, Schmitt was coming back forward, torching Ajit’s attacker and the other hound while Carlos threw a Molotov at the scattered remains of the three dogs he had just downed with his machinegun. The projectile spilled a slick of fiery oil on the asphalt of the parking lot, accidentally setting yet another car on fire.

Those fires were starting to become a problem. Schmitt’s earlier flare had set off a chain reaction of blazing cars, not helped by Carlos’ Molotov cocktail. Meanwhile, the radio station was slowly starting to catch fire, sparks erupting from a melting electrical cabinet that had been in the path of the fire.

“Schmitt to Artyom, you better hurry with your rescue ‘cause that building is soon going to turn into an inferno, the fire’s spreading to the electrical installation, over.” The Chief Officer warned the other dragon over the radio.

“Copy that Chief, we’re on the first floor, gimme five minutes. Out.” The Russian replied.

While Boris was dealing with Ajit, splinting the Indian’s injury as fast as he could and passing him some painkillers, Schmitt made use of the moment of respite to take note of what was going on around them. Above the crackling of the flames and the hissing of the flares, the howling had died down slightly. Probably the hounds were a little less keen on attacking them with that show of force, maybe they had even convinced the monsters to finally back off with the amount of fire around them. 

Or not, he thought as he spotted a large group of easily two dozens of the creatures gather just beyond the gates. Carlos held his fire, the creatures being too far for Schmitt to reach them in time if he downed them, and throwing a Molotov there would have blocked off their only escape route out of the parking lot. The numerous pairs of glowing green eyes glaring at them made a shiver run down the female dragon’s spine, his tail tensing up.

And then the dogs showed the sailors a new trick. The glow in their eyes increased tenfold and then… they disassembled themselves? Their bodies fell apart in a clatter of logs and branches just out of their range.

“The feck?” The Luxembourgian said in puzzlement.

Not a second later, the bits and pieces of living wood were wrapped in a green glow similar to the eyes of the hounds, a hazy green fog starting to form above them. The wood levitated up in the air, starting to cluster in lumpy shapes. Schmitt spotted the first hints of an enormous paw with claws the size of a bayonet, bits of moss and pine needles forming a green mane of sorts on the back of a gigantic neck.

“Open fire!” Schmitt yelled before the monster could finish its transformation. He may be in his forties but even he knew not to let the bad guys finish a transformation sequence. The dragon dropped to one knee, opening fire at the increasingly clearer shape of a FEU-sized wood hound. The beast’s eyes lit up with an intense glow, arcs of green lightning arching out from there and coursing through its still forming body.

The thing may have been big, but its body was still only made of wood. The 5.56mm rounds coming out of Schmitt’s FNC easily pierced the living wood, though the comparatively small size of the ammunition made for some lackluster damage against a creature of that size. He could see his rounds chipping at the creature’s large head, sending splinters flying, but nothing that seemed to phase the wooden construct.

They definitely should have packed more than one MAG for the trip.

Schmitt’s fire was soon joined by that of his companions, Ajit included. The Indian dog was holding his injured paw against his chest, pistol held in the other and firing wildly at the giant. More fire was enough to damage the creature’s jaw and send a wood spike of a tooth flying off to the side, but it reassembled within seconds of being damaged.

The truck’s machinegun turned out to be more effective, Carlos’ volley of tracer bullets ripping fair sizable holes in the giant hound’s chest. The concentrated 7.62 fire ripped one of its front legs off and sent it crashing muzzle first in the asphalt… before it reassembled and got back up, maw snapping in anger. Carlos’ gun went silent, having run through its belt of ammo.

“Reloading!” The Filipino cried loudly as he let himself fall down inside the cabin and started looking for the nearest ammo belt he could find.

“We need a plan.” Schmitt stated to no one in particular, continuing to pump semi-auto fire into the monster that was slowly advancing on them, weathering the hailstorm of lead they threw at it.







Back inside the building, the situation was marginally better than with Schmitt outside.

With particularly emphasis on marginally: after engaging and burning three more hounds, the duo had gone through a not insignificant amount of ammunition. It wasn’t so much of a problem for Artyom who was packing nine loaded mags anyway, but Sri only had three to go with the one in his pistol. The Russian had been quick to trade his loaded pistol mags with his colleague’s empty ones, but once he was through those three they were done. Being a hippogriff, a pistol was his only solution if he wanted to stay mobile when shooting, and they didn’t have time to stop.

The additional fires were visibly causing damage to the building: the fire alarm had activated, making it even harder to locate the remaining hounds by sound alone. Smoke was also starting to build up inside, a black layer of smoke already blocking sight of the ceiling. On the bright side, the fire seemed to chase away most of the hounds and Sri’s quadruped stance meant he wasn’t getting his head in the smoke yet contrarily to Artyom who had to kneel to avoid breathing in the fumes.

“We really gotta find her now!” Sri yelled over the blare of the fire alarm as he marched on through the hallway.

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Artyom replied. “You see a sign yet?”

The female hippogriff stopped at a crossing in the hallway, quickly checking around. On his left was a cul-de-sac with a large door at the end… and a keypad on the door?

“Left side!” He yelled before galloping towards the door.

This was indeed the room they were looking for, as indicated by a damaged plastic plaque on the wall next to it. The door was bent inwards, its frame damaged by the claws of the wood hounds. Sri immediately started pounding with one claw the moment he reached it.

“Miss Jensen, we’re the sailors from Amandine!” He yelled. “You got to open the door, we need to evacuate now!”

Inside the room, a little thestral finally peeked out from under the desk she was using to hide. The moment she had heard the first shots she had started to gather what little she could that was in the control room inside of a bag she stole from one of her coworkers’ cubicle.  This mostly consisted of some personal belongings like the picture hanging from her cubicle… which was dreadfully little. Was she really left with so little? With barely any clothes on her back and just enough possessions to fill half a shoebox?

She was quick to get up and gallop towards the barricaded door.

“I’m here, I’m in here!” She yelled above the noise of the alarm, already trying to push away the furniture she had used to barricade herself. She needed to be quick; the control room didn’t have any windows and the ventilation…

A plate from the false ceiling crashed down next to her, the frame that held it in place already starting to bend from the heat of the smoke.

“I just need to remove the barricade!” She said, struggling with a shelving unit she had used to block off the entrance. Her puny body was barely able to move the piece of furniture.

“Back away from the door Miss.” The female voice on the other side said.

Sandra quickly backpedaled away from the door, seconds before it burst from its hinges, two powerful white hooves having easily bucked through her barricade. Said hooves were attached to a half-avian half-equine creature with distinctly feminine features. The hippogriff was clad in a set of orange high-vis coveralls above which she wore a flak jacket. She also had a pair of ear defenders on her ears, a small wire going from underneath the device and connecting to a walkie-talkie attached to the back of her jacket. Sandra could see the bulge of wings barely hidden by the flak jacket.

“Thank you, thank you, mange tak!” The mare cried out, rushing over to the hippogriff to hug her between her hooves, disregarding the pistol she held between her talons. “I don’t know what I would have become without you Miss!” She said happily.

“That’s uh… nothing really.” Sri said, patting the small batpony on the back. He bit back a wince, both from the girl calling him Miss and the way her hooves were pressing against his wounded back. The mare didn’t know; she couldn’t possibly know he was actually a dude. “Now, I don’t want to be rude Miss Jensen, but we really need to go. This building is about to burn down.” He insisted.

In passing he noted how the dark purple mare was actually naked, wearing nothing but a pair of headphones, aviator glasses tucked in her white mane and a very small bag.

Nothing alarming Sri thought, how could she possibly sew with hooves after all? 

“Right uh… sorry.” Sandra said sheepishly, rubbing a bandaged hoof against the back of her head. She looked up at the taller hippogriff with her bright yellow slitted eyes. “Lead the way I guess.”

“Emergency escape is that way.” Artyom said, emerging from the darkness behind Sri and accidentally startling their rescuee.

It was likely that a heavily armed, red-eyed dragon appearing seemingly out of nowhere during a fire with monsters around wasn’t the most reassuring of sights, contrarily to an ivory coated hippogriff with an orange mane.

“No worries Miss Jensen, this is my colleague Artyom, he’s there to help.” Sri reassured the thestral. “I’m Sri by the way.” He added as an afterthought.

The group wasn’t attacked by any more wood hounds on the way out, though the crackle of firearms outside had risen dramatically. Were they fighting an entire fucking regiment out there? Around them, the burning hot smoke was starting to melt the false ceiling and gnaw at the walls, neon lights and ceiling tiles falling around them and scattering embers each time they hit the ground. The only wood hound they met as they traversed the building was already on fire from some fiery debris landing on it. The creature ran into a wall in its panic, scattering its body parts for the last time.

By then the amount of smoke had increased even more, now occupying half the height of the rooms and forcing Artyom to move around in a kneeling position unless he wanted to breathe in the smoke. He quickly tucked his beret under his coveralls, not wanting the piece of headwear to be damaged in the fire. The dragon was taking the lead of the group, following his steps back to a place where he had located an escape ladder that led to the side of the building opposite to the parking lot.

Just as they were reaching the ladder, Sandra accidentally stomped with her hoof on the dragon’s tail when she was dodged a falling ceiling panel. Artyom’s reaction was instantaneous as he let out a sharp yelp and sprang back up, his torso well inside the smoke cloud and taking a long breath of the deadly smoke.

“Artyom!” Sri called out in alarm. Smoke inhalation was no joke, and the sailor knew that all too well.

“I’m… fine actually.” The dragon reassured his colleague, though the confusion in his voice was evident.  “This really doesn’t feel too bad. Just a bit warm. I can breathe just fine.” He said.

“Great discovery pal. Now what if we left? Your immunity doesn’t mean we are immune as well.” Sri urged him, opening the window that led to the ladder. It was barely one floor up anyway.

“Right, right.” The dragon answered, coming to help him. His red eyes were gleaming through the smoke, which would have made for a terrifying sight had the hippogriff not known it was his trusted comrade.

Sri went down first since it appeared Artyom didn’t have to worry about the smoke anymore. The hippogriff grabbed their rescuee under one arm and helped her down, Sandra being unable to grab the bars properly with her hooves. The Danish mare held on tightly to the Indonesian, letting out a tiny squeal of terror into his neck when a nearby window exploded from the heat. They really had cut it close with that fire. Five minutes longer and they might have been caught in a flashover.  Artyom followed soon after them, the upper half of the dragon’s clothes blackened by the smoke but otherwise fine.







As for the other group, Schmitt was straight up out of ideas on how to deal with the giant wood hound that was slowly approaching them despite their hailstorm of gunfire they threw at it. Even their MAG and its 7.62 ammunition wasn’t enough to make any lasting damage to the bloody thing, the creature reassembling faster than they could damage it.

The staccato from the MAG stopped once more, Carlos calling out that he was reloading a new belt of ammo. The weapon was running hot and was in dire need of a barrel change, but putting in a new belt was already took too long to afford that kind of luxury. The hundred meters that separated them from the giant beast had steadily shrunk to sixty, then forty.

“Any of you guys got an idea?” Schmitt called out as he slammed a fresh mag in his gun. Three mags left, and then he would be down to his pistol.

“I do but you may not like it Chief!” Boris screamed from the back of the truck, the griffon resting his weapon on the cabin of the truck.

“Screw that shit, do your stuff before I change my mind birdbrain!” Yielding command to a subordinate like that may not be the best of ideas, but the dragon would rather be a bad Chief Engineer than a dead Chief Engineer.

“Alright. Everyone focus fire on its legs!” The Russian had an idea. Whether or not it was true, he would soon find out.

The four sailors turned their aim from the monster’s center of mass to one leg while Boris stopped firing and dug around the back of the truck. He couldn’t properly remember where they had put it, much less in the dark like that. He blindly swept the floor of the cargo bay with his claws, looking for a particular item… There! His talons clasped around the edge of a plastic beer case. Boris pulled the thing to him, finally finding their store of Molotovs.

Alright, Artyom may have told them not to light them on fire when they were alive, but it was fine if they lacked the legs to charge them, right?

“Welp, time to find out…” Boris muttered in Russian as he pulled out a zippo lighter from his pocket.

From the turret, Carlos observed a lit Molotov cocktail soar just above his head, the projectile’s burning rag almost touching the cockatoo’s yellow feather crest. The impact coincided exactly with the moment his machinegun finally managed to break through the creature’s tree trunk of a leg, sending it collapsing.

The burning projectile crashed right on top of the giant wood hound’s head, instantly setting its mane on fire and thoroughly coating it with burning liquid that started to seep between the gaps in the branches that made up its body. And that’s when the sailors noticed something: the moment the flames started to dig inside of its body, the green glow that coursed through the hound’s body… well it didn’t fade away completely, but it must have been reduced to a third of its initial intensity. It’s broken leg stopped reassembling, the still living (if they were even living that is) creature making a last attempt at attacking them by pushing on with its hind legs.

That movement just put it in a better position for being flanked by Artyom. The ex-VDV’s team just rounded the corner of the building behind it, the sight of their boatswain instantly making everyone cease fire in fear of hitting him. As for the blue dragon, the giant wood hound only fazed him for half a second before he breathed a long gout of fire along the monster’s massive flank, the dragon’s fire digging much further inside its half hollow body than Boris’ Molotov ever could.

With one long agonized howl, the giant creature collapsed in a pile of burning timber, branches and vegetation. Its own movement towards them had done them a service: the body was now well clear of the entrance gate, allowing their unimog to easily get out of the parking. 

Sri, Artyom and Sandra quietly walked around the burning carcass of the wood hound, Sandra slowing down a bit when she passed its gaping maw that was now spewing smoke and embers in a simulacrum of Artyom’s own fiery breath. The blue dragon scared her if she were honest about it, his red eyes and gleaming white fangs making for a terrifying sight against the dull red glow of the fires that now rampaged around the area. Looking around, she could see her former workplace now ablaze, the broken windows billowing smoke and the roof antennas starting to bend under the stress caused by the heat. On the parking lot, nearly every car (including hers) was now a burning wreck, acrid clouds of smoke emanating from the destroyed tires and making her eyes water. As she followed Sri, keeping close to the Indonesian, a tall orange shape stepped in front of her, kneeling slightly so that the size difference wasn’t that big. Another dragon, this one a female with gentle blue eyes instead of Artyom’s aggressive red.

“Miss Jensen I presume?” She asked.

Sandra nodded meekly.

“Nice to finally get to see you. My name is Schmitt; I’m Amandine’s Chief Engineer.” She said, extending a claw in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Sandra said, her usual enthusiasm reduced by the carnage around her. She extended her hoof and shook the proffered claw.

“It’s ‘sir’ actually, but no big deal.” Schmitt smiled gently. “Long story short, the change that made you a pony made me female. Bad lottery pick I guess?” He chuckled. “Now, I assume you’d like a ride to our ship?” He said pointing a claw back to the truck in which his shipmates were already climbing.

What happened then was a bit of a haze for the slightly shell-shocked mare. She remembered being helped in the back of the truck, getting a seat next to a bipedal dog with a wrist injury while a griffon of all creatures offered to take a look at the hoof she had injured days earlier. A burly humanoid parrot took the wheel and drove them away from the building, away from… her life. She kept staring in the direction of the radio station long after they left it behind, only able to see a red glow over the horizon. Before long, the adrenaline wore off and the little thestral nodded off in the back of the truck, surrounded by unknown, heavily armed sailors.
> Chapter 25: The Port of Copenhagen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yellow slitted eyes opened groggily. What had she been doing again? Right… The radio station, the rescue, the fire...So much fire and smoke, and then red eyes in the darkness that sent shivers down the mare’s spine. Hold on, no, the red eyes belonged to one of the good guys. All that stuff was still hazy and her having just woken up wasn’t helping.

Her sensitive ears twitched and the fog on her mind dropped enough that she stopped to look around herself. Someone had removed her headphones, and they now lay next to her aviators on a nightstand by the single person bed she was in. It looked like the sailors had put her in a cabin on their ship. There were noises all around she could pick up easily: whirring from the A/C, rumbling from the generators and all other kinds of machinery that made out a ship like Amandine; she could even pick out movement and voices just beyond the door of her cabin.

The place was decently sized, if bare. The cabin was a narrow rectangular room with a single person bed placed just under a porthole which had its blinds pulled down. Light streaming from behind them told her the sun had already risen. The walls were left white and undecorated except for emergency instructions and an evacuation plan hanging on the wall by the entrance. Sandra took note that the cabin had many cabinets and closets recessed in the wall on one side, and a door labeled ‘bathroom’ on the other. She also had a desk to go with the nightstand, next to which she could see a couple power outlets and an Ethernet connector.

Next to the entrance, a couple hooks had been put on the wall with a shoe rack just below. An inflatable life jacket was hanging from one such hook, and her bag from another. On the opposite wall, an interphone had been installed at mid height… for a human. To her, it was a bit tall, but not unreachable if she propped herself on the wall with her forehooves and used her wings to pick up the handset.

The dark purple batpony slowly shook her head and got up from the bed. The sailors had fitted it with a set of white sheets and a wool blanket before leaving her here. Not uncomfortable, but there was room for improvement.

Sandra hopped off the bed, landing softly on the carpet that covered the cabin’s floor. A short sniff told her that her fur reeked of smoke from the fire at the radio station… but a rumbling in her belly told her a shower could wait. Surviving for a couple days on only a few cans of food had left her quite famished. She flexed her wings and used them to grab her headphones which immediately went to cover her ears, the loud noises of the ship’s activity dulling down to a more tolerable level. It kept surprising her how flexible the appendages actually were. She remembered once reading about bats having flexible bones in their wings, but this was a whole new level of agility. Granted, the webbed wings didn’t hold up to actual hands, but they could act like large hands in a pinch. The aviators stayed on the nightstand; the mare’s focus having turned to a note left on the desk instead.



‘Miss Jensen,

  Welcome to M/V Amandine

  For your comfort, we left some soap and towels in the wardrobe. We assume you didn’t get much chance for hygiene while stuck in your radio station.

  You are free to take your time to rest, but be aware that the Captain wishes to have a word with you once you are settled. Ask any nearby sailor to be led to his office when you feel ready. Please try to visit him before 14.00 or you will have to wait until he gets back from the Rhine Forest.

  Food is available in the cafeteria. The Chief Cook has been warned that you may not wake up on time for breakfast (07.30 to 08.30) so that he would leave something in the pantry for you. You only need to ask in the kitchen for that.

  We have noticed you didn’t have any clothing on when you were rescued. For safety and decency reasons it is compulsory to wear something on board. Sri (the hippogriff you should have already met) can help you with refitting one of our extra sets of coveralls. In your case, hoofed creatures don’t need to wear safety shoes but please do make use of a band to keep your mane hair from snagging on machinery.

Yours truly,

Georgio ‘Nala’ Farkas,

Chief Steward’



Simple enough then, Sandra thought, her eyes drifting towards the wardrobe in question. Go get some food, find Sri to get clothed and then she would go back to the cabin to get ready for her talk with the Captain. Simple enough.  







While the Danish radio operator was waking up in her cabin, a group of three sailors was slowly exploring the direct area around the two ships in one of their Land Rovers. The Captain had been quick to send them out in the morning in order to secure a perimeter around the quays. With the sheer amount of wood hounds they had found around the station, further precautions needed to be taken as soon as possible.

Inside the Land Rover, Nikola was behind the wheel, the Bulgarian gargoyle having recovered enough to finally get back to work more or less normally. His ribs still ached a bit and he would have to wait a few days more before the stitches on his muzzle could be finally removed, but he felt good enough to do a bit of recon. By his side in the passenger seat was Aleksei, his superior busy looking at a map of the area.

“So what was the idea again?” Thanasis asked from the rear. They had taken a Defender 90 for that little mission, the fact that it didn’t have seats in the back not bothering the sphinx in the slightest. His new body was a poor fit for car seats, and they were driving slowly anyway.

“ISPS regulations from before the incident stipulate the terminal should be fenced off from the rest of the city.” Aleksei explained as the little 4x4 swerved around a container crane and drove past the Rhine Forest which still had her gangway raised at that hour. “It would be much simpler if we could just use the terminal’s checkpoints instead of making a barricade ourselves…”

“… Except we don’t know in which state the fence is.” Nikola continued. “Or if there is only one checkpoint for that matter.”

“But why would there be more? Isn’t that unnecessary?” The sphinx asked, one ear twitching in confusion.

“Most of the time yes, but some terminals use multiple: one for inbound vehicles, another for outbound. Something about streamlining the process or whatever.” Aleksei said. “What actually matters is that if there is more than one we will need to deploy more surveillance teams and figure out where they put the CCTV controls.”

“For the Captain’s research?” Nikola asked, downshifting one gear to keep the vehicle at a slow pace. Rhine Forest and Amandine were now behind them, with the rest of the terminal ahead.

“That too, but it comes second to knowing if we have something to keep an eye on the perimeter without sending out patrols or having a tall lookout. Cameras would make all that work easier.”

“A tall lookout?”

The light green hippogriff pointed a talon towards one of the container cranes. The structures towered above both ships in the harbor. They all had a platform with a railing just above their cabins, next to the counterweights.

“Sniper on overwatch basically.” She explained.

“Because we have a sniper?” Thanasis asked.

“Micha would be one… sorta. But the shooting part isn’t necessary, just someone with binos to point out breaches.” She shrugged.

Their 4x4 eventually reached the edge of the fence… which in all honesty wasn’t that tall. A mere two meters of chain link fence topped with razor wire kept unwanted folks from accessing the terminal. There was an extension against the edge of the quay that kept people from climbing around it as the only further protection, but on the bright side tall posts had been planted at regular intervals, each capped with a camera on a swivel.

Aleksei took note of it all, tracing the path of the fence on her map with a pencil. Nikola steered them to follow the fence around the terminal, driving his Defender at a reduced pace.

“By the way Aleksei, I’m curious about what you guys saw on Rhine Forest.” Thanasis said to break the silence.

“Well… she’s an interesting ship for sure. Not a common type at all, that much I can tell you and that includes her propulsion systems.”

“True as it may be, that’s not what I meant.” Thanasis said with a shake of his head, making his dark red mane rustle. “The crew’s what we all want to know. In fact we’ve barely seen any of them come out since their line handlers went back inside.”

“They do have a few interesting species on board.” Aleksei conceded. “And gender change is as much of a problem to them as it is to us.”

“Interesting species?” Nikola said. “That’s just teasing now. Can’t you just tell us outright what those species are?”

“Some are like us. One of their bosuns is a gargoyle.” She said. “Then there are the more original species like the centaurs.”

“For real? As in, half-horse half-men?” Thanasis asked.

“Yeah, but they got red skin for some reason.” Aleksei said with a click of her beak. The Defender rounded a corner of the fence, revealing a parking space for the terminal’s straddle carriers, the tall vehicles the stevedores used to drive to move containers around. “Then there was some sort of black anthropomorphic hedgehog that their nurse turned into.”

“Wait, nurse? As in, an actual nurse?” Nikola asked, almost stopping the Defender.

“Yeah, a trained nurse to go with their doctor. A real one, not an Officer with a medical certification like Vadim. Turns out helping those guys might have been an even better idea than we first thought. But that’s not the last of it…” Aleksei said with a smirk on her beak. She let tension build up for a second or two before finally spitting it out. “Female minotaur.” She told in a low voice.

“Shit you’re serious?” Thanasis said, only for the hippogriff to shake her head. “What did she look like?”

“Well, he would be more polite. It was one of their barge pilots, a Greek guy. But the result…” She whistled. “A motherfucking Amazon that’s what. Muscles like you’ve never seen, and tits to make a Russian bride look like a surfboard. Lemme tell you, the guy looked pissed.” She chuckled.

“I can imagine.” Thanasis said with raised eyebrows.

“But that’s not the best part. Hold on to your seats, you guys know how most of us seem to have uh… what’s the word? De-aged a bit if you catch my drift?”

“Well duh.” Thanasis said. “I’m supposed to be forty-seven and you Niko that was… forty-eight?”

“Six actually, but yeah, I feel pretty fucking far from that.” The gargoyle said, one hand brushing through his black mane. The Bulgarian had had it styled in a short cut on the sides, but still kept it rather long otherwise. “Even got some hair on my head again for that matter. Govno, I haven’t had any in ten years.”

“Their Captain, he got the whole nine yards with the change. Gender? Guy’s now a gal. Age? Bam, teenaged anew because of the fur-pocalypse. Species? Tiny pink unicorn. The best part? Imagine a creature like that talking with a German accent and a tangible hint of suppressed anger.” Aleksei told with a mirthful gleam in her eyes.

That had Thanasis choking down a laugh.

“The poor guy.” Nikola said in fake concern. It was pretty clear by the small smile on his muzzle and the tone of his voice he was trying not to break his façade. 

Their discussion was cut short by their discovery of the first checkpoint of the terminal. A set of gates next to a glass building marked the first access point. The trio was quick to dismount their vehicles and go explore the building.

The inside revealed nothing particular: the place might have been modern and clean before the Event struck, but now it was clearly starting to suffer from disuse with dust building up in places, and humidity in others. Damage to the electrical installation was minimal, allowing them to easily access the camera grid and remotely close the gates. Aleksei added the location on his map and they left once they were sure the gates were locked.

Someone would have to come back later to set up the defenses and extract the CCTV footage from the Event so that their research could progress, but this wasn’t their role at the moment (and they didn’t have anything to store the data anyway). The group piled back inside their Land Rover and continued on their way through the terminal. Their earlier hunch of a secondary access eventually turned out to be right, with an outbound checkpoint installed on a bridge within the facilities. The access being situated on a bridge and on a less exposed flank meant they wouldn’t have to put as many sailors on watch there, but Aleksei didn’t dare think how bad things could have turned out had they not located it.

The trio eventually got back to the ship, their quick recon done. Just before they reached the ramp, Aleksei and Thanasis both got off to leave parking the Defender to Nikola. The sphinx and hippogriff started walking up the side of the wide ramp at the exact same moment a Unimog from another recon team chose to exit the ship. Its driver, not having seen Nikola’s 4x4 in time, swerved to avoid the smaller vehicle, almost crushing the two sailors that were on the side of the ramp. Thanasis managed to jump back and neatly dodge the truck, but Aleksei got clipped in the head by the truck’s mirror, sending the Latvian tumbling off the ramp and down in the water.

Every activity by the ramp stopped abruptly as echoing cries of ‘Man overboard!’ resonated around the car deck. A blue flash of light went off as Aleksei’s body hit the water before disappearing under the surface. Once the truck was out of the way, Thanasis rushed over to the side of the ramp in hopes of catching his superior with his telekinesis, only to stare in dismay at the disturbed surface of the water. Someone immediately reached for a radio to warn the bridge of the incident and more sailors streamed out of the ramp to look for their fallen shipmate.

Down in the water, Aleksei was having a… unique experience to say the least. The moment she had hit the water she felt a buzzing of sorts build up in her chest suddenly, accompanied by a freezing sensation in the back of her mind and down her spine. She instinctively willed the sensation to go away and then, to her utter surprise, a blue flash of light appeared, a popping sound resounding inside her mind as she sank deeper. The oppressive feeling of not being able to breathe in the water went away all of a sudden, along with the feeling of the water pressing down on her and the murkiness that came with looking through the water.

Weirder even, was how she suddenly lost all sensation in her talons and how… odd her rear hooves were feeling. The sinking hippogriff passed the ship’s propellers and rudders on the way down, the enormous steel structure still spotless from its last coat of red antifouling paint. She knew she should have felt pressure build up in her ears as she went deeper like that, but that wasn’t the case. She could see clearly, she could breathe, she felt… fine.

Aleksei was finally shaken from her confusion when she hit the seabed below the ship, her landing kicking up a small cloud of sand. Looking around, she could see the tall dark wall of the quay by her side, covered in mussels and algae. The seabed around her was made of rippling sand, with bits of oysters-covered rocks and sea grass breaking up its continuity. Above her, Amandine and her extended ramp cast a huge shadow over the seabed, the sound of her generators creating a constant droning noise. A school of fish swam across her field of vision, the silver skinned creatures completely ignoring the sailor that was laying on the seabed an arm’s length away from them.

Amandine’s Third Engineer stopped all that staring and finally wondered why in Hell she wasn’t drowning at the moment. She looked down at her unresponsive talons; and then did a double-take. Instead of the usual avian appendages she had slowly gotten accustomed to during the last few weeks; she was met with a translucent membrane where her talons used to be. The membrane was a shade darker than the light green feathers that covered her ‘arms’. She still had a ‘wrist’ to speak of, which connected to the membrane, but the usual feathers of her avian half had been replaced with some kind of streamlined, waterproof fur that wouldn’t look out of place on a sea lion.

Bringing the fin closer to her face for inspection made her realize something else: she couldn’t see her beak anymore. The hard mandibles that had appeared overnight in the middle of her face had now been replaced with an equine muzzle that reminded her of Bart’s. But the muzzle wasn’t even the most bizarre: her orange coveralls had completely disappeared after that sudden transformation, leaving her in her birthday suit and able to gape wide-eyed at the most significant of all changes: her hooves were gone! In their stead was a large muscular tail that ended in a white set of fins not unlike those on her arms. Coupled with those were the nearly-transparent fins that seemed to have replaced her wings; the sight of which left the Latvian gaping at the changes in shock. 

Echoes of voices coming from above the surface brought her staring to a halt. Right, she had just fallen overboard and had been underwater for a couple minutes now. That ought to leave any of her shipmates alarmed. The hippogriff (or whatever she now was anyway) shook her head forcefully, getting a glance at the fin-like membrane that had replaced the mane-crest of feathers on her head in passing. Now to get to the surface…

Having no idea on how to properly use her tail and wing fins yet, Aleksei settled for just using her arms to swim upwards. The motion felt natural and she quickly gained speed through the water, her smooth fur providing little resistance against the water. She had sunk quite deep beneath the docks, but the simple motion of a breaststroke using only her arms was enough to propel her quite fast despite her tail and wings trailing limply behind her. In a matter of seconds, she broke the surface of the water and discovered that despite her seeming ability to breathe underwater she could still breathe regular air just fine.

Surprised gasps and cries were heard the moment she surfaced, a couple sailors turning to point towards her. She saw Thanasis peer over the railing of the ramp and stare down at her with a surprised look on the sphinx’s features.

“Aleksei?!” The Greek sphinx called out. “Is that you?” What he saw was a creature with a color palette identical to that of his hippogriff superior, but its physical features didn’t match at all. That and the mermaid-esque creature was naked.

“Jā, it’s me.” Aleksei answered with a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Man we thought you were dead!” Thanasis commented. “You were down there for like three minutes! What happened?”

More sailors were coming. She could see Vadim come closer to the railing, a first-aid kit and thermal blanket ready to help any potential victim, and next to him was Alejandro. The Chief Officer wasn’t looking too pleased at the moment, in no small part thanks to the fact that had she not transformed into… some kind of equine little mermaid, she would likely have drowned.

“I turned into a freakin’ mermaid that’s what happened.” She said, pulling her tail out of the water to show it. “Can breathe underwater too it seems, but no idea how or why.”

“That flash of light?” Thanasis asked.

“Was me… probably.” Aleksei said looking up at the sailors gathered on the side of the ramp. “The moment I hit the water there was this… sajūta.” She scrunched her muzzle. “Hard to describe really, but when I wished for relief I just changed into that shape.” She hefted up a finned arm for the others to see. “Lost my claws in the process. Shame, I was barely starting to get used to them.”

It was a testament to how quickly the crew had gotten used to that kind of weird event occurring that they weren’t even that surprised at the sight of their Third Engineer turning into an equine mermaid. Alejandro quickly ordered someone to fetch a line and a sling to get Aleksei out of the water before storming off towards the bridge, fuming. That reaction time to what should be considered an emergency had been way too long and there was no way that could have flown before the Event.

No reason to let it fly now either then, the parrot thought on his way up the stairs. It was high time to plan some extra training for the crew before their own complacency got someone killed.

Back next to the ramp, a couple sailors threw the sling down in the water which Aleksei tucked under her armpits. The fins on her arms made for a much worse alternative to talons so it took her a minute to properly grab the rope before they finally hoisted her out of the water. Vadim’s feathery brows rose as the rest of her aquatic body came in full view. Her overall size put her slightly above the harbor seals they frequently saw around the North Sea, though her light green fur and numerous white translucent fins made it impossible to mistake the two.

The odd part was: where were her coveralls? And all the gear she was carrying with that? The flak jacket, rifle, walkie-talkie, all that she had left with to go on recon earlier had mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Thanasis helped her up the side of the railing using a nudge of telekinesis, Aleksei flopping down on her side next to the edge of the ramp.

“Do you require medical assistance?” Vadim asked, quietly coming up next to the hippogriff with his medical gear on his back. “Just asking eh, I know it’s almost summer but the water isn’t that warm yet.”

“It’s fine, thanks.” Aleksei declined the help before staring down at her long tail. “That, however, definitely isn’t.”

“Can’t you just… you know, turn back?” Thanasis said, garnering nods from the surrounding sailors that had gathered onto the ramp.

Aleksei was about to answer that she had no clue how before closing her mouth (and having a mouth instead of a beak again felt weird). Maybe she could at least give it a try. She closed her eyes and concentrated on replicating the feeling that had preceded the change. The buzzing in her chest, the freezing in her spine, and there was this one thing on the edge of her mind she could swear had not been there earlier. She tried to ‘grasp’ that… energy of sorts with all of her focus. The moment she reached for it with her mind, she knew she had hit her goal as gasps were heard around her. Through her closed eyelids she spied another flash of light, and then she was a hippogriff again.

A thoroughly drenched hippogriff clad in a wet set of coveralls.

“How’d you do that?” Vadim and Thanasis asked her at the same time, both the sphinx and the griffon’s wings rising up in surprise.

“There was this thing… a sort of feeling in my spine, I think…” Aleksei started. “… I just willed to grasp it and then ‘bam’.” She said with a wave of her talons. “Hippogriff again.”

Thanasis seemed to have a bit of an understanding of the occurrence that Vadim obviously lacked, the griffon leveling a dubious stare at his colleague. He shook his head before ordering everyone around to just get on with it. Most of the sailors working in the area had stopped to gape at Aleksei’s transformation and mysterious reappearance of her gear. Enough delays had been built up already, the terminal needed to be secured ASAP otherwise they wouldn’t be able to carry out their work safely. As for Thanasis and Aleksei, both headed for the ship’s office to communicate the result of their earlier recon.







A dark purple thestral mare slowly made her way up the stairs with a hippogriff following close behind. Sandra had taken the time to get ready for her meeting with the Captain, she was fed, clean, and now clothed thanks to Farkas already having prepared a new set of coveralls just for her. Sri had even helped her by making holes in the back of the coveralls for her wings which she very much needed as makeshift hands. The hippogriff had been rather helpful despite supposedly being on light duty thanks to an injury received during her rescue. What surprised her even more was when the hippogriff corrected her and told her that ‘she’ was actually a ‘he’. Gender changes were actually even more widespread that she had first thought, though the hippogriff didn’t seem that offended by the mistake.

“Captain’s office is just behind that door.” Sri said pointing a talon towards Sandra’s destination. “You ready for that?” He asked her.

“Yeah… I am.” Sandra nodded, pulling the headphones off her ears and slowly trotting over to the door. They were pretty much a necessity for someone with sensitive ears like hers unless she wanted to hear every single bit of radio chatter (the sole fact she could hear it still puzzling her), engine noise and footsteps around the ship. “Mister Sri?” She asked tentatively to the hippogriff before he could go back down the stairs. “Could you come with me for the meeting, please?”

The hippogriff quirked his head at the request but didn’t otherwise object. The Danish mare… well, while she wasn’t exactly clingy she seemed particularly intent on sticking close to her rescuer. Not that odd, but he would have to get her to meet someone else eventually. He nodded.

Inside the Office, Dilip was standing facing the window with Alejandro behind him, the Spaniard busy giving some explanation about a ‘mermare’ incident and lackluster emergency training, with the Captain nodding in acknowledgment from time to time.

“Three bloody minutes Dilip!” Alejandro cried out. “If that’s how long it takes us to react to a man overboard situation how bad are our prospects in case of fire then?” The parrot said.

“Pretty poor I agree.” Dilip admitted, his eyes drifting towards a small warehouse within the boundaries of the terminal. “Here’s my suggestion: Artyom was already planning to set up a kill house for combat training. We got plenty of smoke grenades in storage, so go ask him to set up the house so you can do firefighting training as well. Once you’re satisfied with the performances, then we can move on to a full-blown exercise on board.”

“Will do. And that ‘mermare’ thing?”

Dilip turned around, spotting Sandra and Sri waiting in the back of the office.

“I suppose we will have to figure out if that’s something that concerns all hippogriffs at some point. But…” The pariah dog smiled, his gaze focusing on Sri. “…We might just have gained a couple divers on our crew.”

Alejandro almost protested to his superior’s seemingly casual dismissal of the matter before clicking his beak in annoyance. Whatever, he had some training to plan. The hyacinth macaw gave the Captain a sharp nod before walking away, giving Sandra a curious glance as he went past her. The Captain went back to his desk, motioning with one cream-furred paw toward the seats in front of it.

“Take a seat please. I’m happy to finally get to see you Miss Jensen, I heard you were injured?”

“Nothing actually serious sir. Just a minor cut I got on some glass shards.” Sandra said, lifting up a bandaged hoof for emphasis before hopping on the offered seat and sitting down on her haunches. “If anything, Sri here got much worse off rescuing me.” She said, motioning to the hippogriff next to her with her webbed wing.

“Ah yes. Back injury?” Dilip asked, earning a nod from Sri. “Do keep to light duty Sri, folks like you are very much needed on board.” He turned back towards Sandra. “I trust you were treated well up until now?”

“Of course Captain, my thanks to all your crew for helping me out.” She paused. “But I can’t help but wonder…”

“What’s gonna happen to you?” Dilip guessed. 

“Yes…” She said; her cheerfulness almost immediately disappearing as her thoughts drifted to how everyone had disappeared.

“Miss, you are a certified radio operator, correct?” Dilip asked.

“Uh yes, of course. Certifications, and I even have a bachelor’s degree to go with that tech. But…”

“You’re young, new to the job?”

“Only a couple months of experience.” She admitted. “This was my first job you see…” She added with a small shrug of her wings.

“Nevertheless this does give me a justification to… hire you, so to speak. We wouldn’t abandon anyone out alone in a city where monsters have been found now, would we Sri?”

“Of course not, sir.” The ivory-colored hippogriff answered automatically.

“That being said, I like people I accept on board to be of use to the workings of this vessel. My willingness to lend assistance only goes so far you see. Amandine isn’t exactly running a charity.” Dilip explained. “But if you can be of some use? Then consider yourself welcome.”  The Captain said, raising his arms in a welcoming gesture. “So what do you say?”

“I uh… of course I’d rather stay with a group than be alone.” Sandra said. “Now… I don’t have much with me.” She said, scratching the back of her head with a wing, ears low.

“Do you live far from here?”

“Downtown Copenhagen.” The mare said. “My houseboat was in Christianshavn.”

“Then it’s highly likely we can send a team to retrieve anything you wish from there.” The Captain reassured her. “Probably not today since we’re still busy securing the terminal, but we should be able to do it this week.” He then extended a paw towards her. “So, Miss Jensen, shall you join my crew?”

Sandra looked at the offered paw for only a second before reaching for it with a hoof. The Captain gave the hoof a firm shake before leaning back in his seat.

“Welcome to M/V Amandine then! I should have a proper contract for you by tomorrow.”







Soon after his meeting with Sandra, Dilip was seen leaving Amandine and heading for the Rhine Forest with Boris and Rahul in tow. Now that security teams had been dispatched to secure the checkpoints around the terminal, the trio could afford going unarmed, which would help not threatening their potential new allies. As he walked on, the Captain brushed a speck of dust off of his epaulettes, making sure his uniform was spotless. The Indian was still clad in his usual pilot shirt and cargo shorts. He had a hastily modified pair of slacks in his possession, but the article of clothing just didn’t fall the right way on his digitigrade legs. He was also carrying a briefcase containing some of his own research files he wished to show Rhine Forest’s Captain (a unicorn by the name of Gerig if he recalled correctly).

Behind him, Boris and Rahul had roles of their own to achieve on the Rhine. The two of them should be particularly familiar with some of the practical aspects of the changes. A show of goodwill by sharing clothing templates and cooking tips for the different species was probably a good way to get in the new returnees’ good graces. Dilip had made damn sure both of his ‘aides’ knew how important that little bit of diplomacy was. The two may not have actual dress blues of their own, but at least they made a show of putting on fresh sets of coveralls and properly waxed shoes. Boris’ set even had that zipper system for his wings on the back of his coveralls he had seen several winged sailors begin using as of recently.

The three of them came to a halt at the bottom of the Rhine’s gangway. Her ramp had been raised, with a single yellow hippogriff with a blue mane guarding the top. By the appearance of his coveralls, Rhine Forest really would need their templates to refit their clothes. Dilip gave the sailor a wave of his paw to garner his attention.

“Good afternoon.” The Captain called out across the distance that separated Rhine Forest’s deck from the quay; her deck wasn’t much higher than the quay but it was quite a jump to get across, probably four or five meters. “I’m Captain Prateek from Amandine, is Captain Gerig available for a meeting?”

The hippogriff gestured for them to wait a second before he dipped behind a steel beam to grab a walkie-talkie, allowing the trio to spot the ranks on his white coveralls that labeled him as an engine cadet. They heard a bit of chatter on the radio before the cadet came back towards the railing.

“Kapitän’s free. Hold on a minute, the boatswain’s coming.” He said with a heavy German accent before reaching for the gangway’s controls and pressing on a button. The ramp slowly came down with an electric whirr.

A minute later, the familiar figure of black furred gargoyle with a grey mane emerged from Rhine Forest’s superstructure, Pavlos. Boris remembered briefly meeting the Greek during his visit onboard of Rhine Forest a couple days earlier. The gargoyle was followed by a small griffon, one that was half-buzzard half-caracal.

Actually no, that wasn’t a small griffon; rather it was a kid griffon, and a female at that from the blue spot she had on her forehead above her beak. Or he most likely: the griffon bore the ranks of a boatswain on his shoulders, and Boris could have sworn Pavlos had mentioned the other bosun as a male last time. The Russian griffon stopped his staring when the young griffon noticed and threw him a harsh glare.

Now, Amandine’s sailors had been rejuvenated a bit by the change but that was something else entirely. Talk about lucking out with the change.

“Good afternoon Captain.” Pavlos greeted Dilip with a nod. “Captain Gerig awaits you in his office.” He motioned with his hand towards the superstructure. “Shall we?”

The three sailors were led to the Captain’s quarters just below Rhine Forest’s bridge. They noted the apparent lack of activity aboard the vessel, which contrasted sharply with Amandine’s bustling car decks. Sure, there were sailors walking around inside the accommodation, but nowhere near what should be expected from a vessel with a crew of fifty souls.

Captain Gerig’s office was not unlike Dilip’s, albeit with different decorations. Pictures and trophies from Rhine Forest’s long career were hung on the walls and inside of glass showcases. A painting of Rhine Forest in Rotterdam (Dilip recognized the harbor) was displayed on the wall just behind the Captain’s desk, the painting partly illuminated by rays of sunshine that streamed through closed curtains.

Gerig was sitting behind an imposing executive desk, the pink unicorn mare looking glumly at files on his desk before he noticed the sailors coming in his office and put on a sterner mask. From the way he was sitting, only the fore half of his body was visible, clad in a hastily resized pilot shirt not unlike Dilip’s. His poofy white mane was held back behind his large mobile ears by an elastic band. Visibly, the German was having a hard time coping with the changes. His blue eyes quickly flicked towards Dilip’s epaulettes and he greeted the other Captain with a sharp nod.

“Captain Prateek I presume?” He asked rhetorically, his best attempt at making his voice deeper utterly failing to hide his new, much softer tone of voice. “I’m happy to finally get to meet you in person. Please do take a seat.” He said, waving a hoof towards a set of three chairs in front of his desk.

“I see you managed to get your ship to berth without too much trouble.” Dilip started after sitting down, Boris and Rahul on either side of him. “How goes your crew?”

“Not too great I’m afraid.” The unicorn shook his head. “I myself have the greatest of difficulties achieving anything without hands. That telekinesis your Third Officer mentioned just doesn’t seem to come to me so I’m stuck using my mouth.” He grumbled. “The centaurs are slowly starting to figure out how to walk around but overall, morale is abysmally low.”

“Would us offering assistance help the matter in any significant way?” Dilip calmly proposed. “I can arrange for a sphinx to come give a lesson on the use of telekinesis later if need be. As for Boris and Rahul here…” He said, nodding towards his subordinates with his muzzle. “… I have brought them to aid your vessel with simple ‘ergonomic’ matters such as food and clothing. What sailors we saw on deck seem to manage but we can offer tips…”

“You’re expecting something in return aren’t you?” Gerig said flatly.

“No need to lie about it. We sent a team on a rescue mission yesterday, it was successful, but one of my deck sailors got injured in the process, possibly a fracture. Boris here told me your infirmary had radiology equipment.”

“Then consider it allowed. Feel free to send your injured crewmember anytime. As for the food and clothing…” Gerig closed his eyes. “The stairs to the bridge are just down the hallway, ask anyone there for directions to the cafeteria.  The Chief Steward usually hangs around there.”

With a glance and a gesture of his paw, Dilip mutely told his subordinates to leave the room. Boris and Rahul stood up silently and departed without a word, both Captains waiting until the two sailors had closed the door before facing each other again.

“You helping us is backed by more than a mere need for radiology.” Gerig said.

“As you were probably told earlier, the planet is pretty much deserted from the catastrophe that occurred. It’s within my interest to keep ties with large groups such as your vessel. Before your reappearance the number of known survivors stood at a whopping two for the entirety of Western Europe, Amandine not included.”

“That bad uh?”

“The part about the ‘reappearance’ leaves us some hope… but I’m afraid the rate of return is dreadfully low.” Dilip admitted. “But that’s not all.” He lifted his briefcase up on his lap. “In here I have a copy of most of the research and data my crew has managed to retrieve and process as of yet. Including files on the monsters we have faced. These monsters have already caused many injuries to my crew and are the main reason we have had to go out of our way to get weapons.” He said, taking out a picture of a wood hound taken during Sandra’s rescue by the Unimog’s dashcam.

“Monsters uh…” Gerig muttered, staring at the picture with a frown. “How many weapons does your crew have?”

“Only enough to arm ourselves.” Dilip said. They may have a lot of machineguns but they really had only taken what they needed from the armory in Zeebrugge. Future survivors should be able to arm themselves there as well… just with a lot less ammo to spare and no fancy SCAR’s or P90’s. “But there is a chance… I have my secretary combing through any intel we have on military bases around here…”

“Don’t you have the local you rescued yesterday anyway?” Gerig cut the dog off.

“You know what; she actually didn’t cross my mind. Maybe she does know where to find guns. Intel aside, surely there are other things you wish to know?”

The conversation went on for a least an hour, with Dilip sharing most of what they knew on what happened (with a marked exception when it came to the HPI, he would have to try and contact Eko to know if the secret could be shared) following the Event. Amandine had gathered a lot of valuable data and items in the last few weeks, including her chart portfolio and the printer that came with it. The admiralty files and ground charts from Zeebrugge were useful intel as well. They virtually allowed them to sail to any port around the Atlantic and Mediterranean Sea provided there was enough water depth not to ground their ship.

Gerig and Dilip were quick to pledge a deal of mutual assistance for the near future. It was in the interest of each and every sailor to stick with as many survivors as possible, and having a larger manpower base would facilitate a lot of their work. There were many crewmembers on Rhine Forest that had skills Amandine lacked, just as some on Amandine had expertise that the Rhine’s complement lacked. Two quick agreements they concluded during that meeting was that Dilip would send Vadim and maybe Boris for further medical training with Rhine Forest’s own doctor; and that they would attempt to arm Rhine Forest as soon as possible. Before even leaving the office, Dilip had already contacted Roberto by phone to instruct the secretary to recoup his intelligence with Sandra’s own local knowledge to find the nearest military base. They also agreed to make use of the barge carrier’s fleet of tugs and lighters to go retrieve fuel from the port facilities as soon as enough crewmembers and weapons were available.

The two Captains had just formed a fleet.







“You sure about that?” Micha asked hesitantly in Polish from the top of one container.

“There comes a point where you have to take the leap pal, and that one isn’t even that big.” Vadim answered after taking a sip of his beer.

The two griffons were finally enjoying some free time in the evening now that things had stabilized around the harbor. Security teams had been assembled to secure the accesses to the terminal and ensure no monster would manage to get the drop on them as long as they were berthed in Copenhagen. The incident with Aleksei had been the discovery of the day, which quickly lead to other hippogriffs on the crew randomly jumping in the dock’s waters to try out if they were able to transform as well. Both Deck Officers had thus repeatedly had to step off the bridge to fish sheepish transformed sailors out of the water.

Now finally able to catch some relief with someone else keeping watch, both griffons had snuck off behind some container stacks to get some time for themselves. Vadim had made a promise to help the Second Officer with training his flight abilities. The duo didn’t leave the ship with much beside a couple beer bottles. Not even a flak jacket or a pistol, the terminal had been secured after all. 

And now, by sunset, they had found an isolated corner hidden from view by the container stacks in the shadow of a container crane. The stacks ranged from one to six containers in height, which made for some great incremental starting points for the two griffons who wished to figure out how to glide properly. They had chosen that specific spot because an earlier recon team had reported some containers loaded with cotton bales and mattresses, which the two had pulled out to make a landing patch for Micha’s sake.

“I mean…” Micha said, glancing between her extended wings and the soft pile of cotton a single container below her. “Is that how you got the gliding down?”

“In my case the landing pad was sand. You got it easy.” Vadim reassured her.

The Ukrainian griffon was resting on his back in the quite comfy pile of mattresses and cotton, merrily sipping from his beer. Hesitant as his friend was, he knew how quick on the uptake she tended to be. Give her a jump or two at one container height and she would be outflying him easily he’d bet.

“Are you positively certain that’s gonna work out?” She asked again.

The grey falcon griffon stared up at his friend with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Hold on a second, weren’t you the one giving me shit ‘bout being afraid of spiders?” Vadim said.

“And what are you getting at exactly?”

“That I’m seeing a griffon that’s scared of heights up here.” He stated before taking a sip of his beer.

“No I’m not! It’s just… there is some justified caution with hurling yourself off of a container.” She protested.

“Exactly, a container.” Vadim said, glancing pointedly towards the much higher stacks around them. “Now I wonder…” He mused. “If we’re griffons; that makes us half-half… so should I call you a scaredy-cat or just a chicken?”

“Neither! Just shut up and let’s forget about this flying nonsense.” Micha cried out.

“Shutting up? By all means, make me.” Vadim said, spreading his wings out tauntingly.

Before he had time to glance up from his beer and notice, Micha sprung up from the edge of the container, wings extended wide. In a second, she glided across the distance that separated her from the other griffon, tackling him and throwing him in a headlock.

“You were saying?” She said before Vadim started laughing.

“Gotcha gliding.” He said, raising a talon. “Didn’t even take a second for you to take the bait.”

Micha released the still laughing griffon with an annoyed growl. She grabbed herself a beer from a pack next to the pile of cotton and downed it in one go.

“You’re an ass.” She ground out.

“A clever ass then ‘cause that right there got you jumping.” Vadim smiled. “So did you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The air in your wings… well, I don’t know if that’s air exactly, but at least a hint of an energizing feeling?” Vadim asked. “I found, the stronger it gets the further I can glide.”

Micha stared off in the distance and ruffled her wings, a small frown on the bald eagle griffon’s features. She did feel something in her wings over the short distance she had managed to stay aloft. Her eyes drifted to the large dark brown wings on the edge of her vision. Was that what she was supposed to get the hang of to control her flight?

“I think I did…” She said in a whisper before heading for the ladder, immediately pulling it away from the single container to a stack of two.

“So now you’re going at it again? What happened to the ‘flying nonsense’?” Vadim smirked.

“Turns out some grey feathered moron knocked some sense into me.” The other griffon said, spreading her wings wide from her position on top of two containers.

The two of them took turns in jumping into the pile of mattresses and cotton, the height from which they jumped increasing as their training progressed. Vadim was still ahead of Micha, though not by much. Between the two of them, they started to get a feel of how to handle their wings in a glide and how it should feel to have lift. The higher they jumped from, the longer they could try to get a feel of the air brushing against their primaries. In Micha’s case the landing technique left a lot to be desired, making the impact rather jarring despite the soft material awaiting her at the bottom. They would not be soaring across the sky anytime soon, but given several other training sessions of that kind maybe they could look forward to some actual air mobility. 

But all of that might be looking too far into the future considering that they didn’t even know how to turn right then, only glide down and crash in style. 

Vadim flew down from the top of the highest container stack around, landing roughly in the pile of cotton and kicking up a cloud of white material. The impact only got a chuckle out of the grey griffon, as it collapsed the tower of mattresses Micha was lounging on after a quick series of jumps. The exercise itself wasn’t too strenuous, but climbing that ladder three dozen times was starting to get to her unlike Vadim who had kept exercising even after the Event. She glowered at the other griffon before pouncing at him with a smirk on her beak.

She caught him just as he was standing up on his hind legs in a provocative manner, the other griffon letting out a surprised squawk before getting into the game and retaliating with a push of his hind legs which threw Micha off of him. The two went at each other for a while in a bout of friendly roughhousing amidst the pile of soft cotton, both enjoying the opportunity of blowing off some steam by wrestling with their best friend.

Soon after, Micha and Vadim collapsed in the pile next to each other, both winded but laughing from the activity.

“Damn, haven’t had fun like that in a while.” Vadim commented after he opened a new beer and passed another to Micha.

“I know right? It just feels so good to let go of everything for a while and just kick back.” She said after effortlessly popping the cap off her own beer with one of her talons. “No duty or ship just for a few hours can’t hurt.”

  They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, both of them staring up at the now dark star-filled sky above them, catching their breath. The temperature was still pretty warm despite it not being summer quite yet, though that didn’t matter much to both griffons’ plumage. Micha cracked her wings before resting back down against the mass of cotton, her wingtip accidentally brushing against Vadim’s.

The small nudge made the Ukrainian turn towards his friend, only to find himself staring at her right in the eyes. They both held the look for a couple seconds before Vadim shook his head and stood up awkwardly, folding his wings.

“I uh… gotta catch up on some reading.” He said before scampering away quickly.

Vadim quickly made his way back to the ship, muttering things along the lines of ‘she-no, he’s a dude’ and ‘best friend, not for dating’. All in all, the poor guy was having mixed feelings about the Second Officer, which wasn’t made any better by the lingering memory of the girlfriend he used to have before the Event.

As for Micha, the griffon involuntarily caught herself staring at Vadim’s hindquarters before the Ukrainian disappeared around a corner, her eyes reacting naturally while the rest of her mind was reeling in confusion.
> Chapter 26: Not a Tank
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean ‘there are no bases in Copenhagen’?”

“Well, there are some but not the type where you’d find the guns you want.” Sandra told Roberto.

In the evening, the secretary had invited the thestral in his office to have her share what she knew of the area. There were several targets they needed to find within the city, most important of all being a base to arm the sailors of Rhine Forest.

Except there was a bit of a hick with that particular task.

“My charts here tell me the city has a navy base.” The black cat said, pointing a paw at a freshly printed map of the city.

“In the past, ja. Now it’s really just a navy museum with a couple old ships for tourists to visit. They do moor there sometimes but that’s about it.” Sandra explained.

Roberto’s scarred ear twitched and he shifted his paw to another spot on his map.

“What about that one?”

“Not much of a base either. It’s a military academy. You might find a couple weapons there or at the Kastellet which is supposed to do military intelligence…” The mare said after checking out the map briefly.

“… But not as many as from a fully fledged base, got it.” Roberto completed the sentence, pinching his muzzle in frustration. “Fine, let’s admit I’m going about it wrong. Did you have any friend that enlisted in the military before the Event?”

“There was the one back in high school...” She mused.

“And did he mention at any point a place, some barracks where he’d have gone to do basic, or even his first assignment? As in, a fully fledged base, not a white-shirts-and-ties office?”

The mare frowned in concentration, her two large yellow eyes crossing in front of her short muzzle for a minute before she turned back to the cat with a wide smile that showed off her fangs.

“Slagelse!” She said. “There was a recruitment center inside of a base he went to. I remember it now.”

“Sla-gel-se…” Roberto typed on his computer, which spat out a location a hundred kilometers away from their position. The place was still on the same island and close enough to a highway that he could reliably justify selecting it as a salvaging target. “Well, grazie Miss Jensen, with that we should be able to arm the guys from the Rhine.”

“Please call me Sandra.” The mare smiled, brushing a webbed wing through her messy white mane. “Was the military base all you needed? Sri said he wanted to show me how things worked on board.”

“There is more actually.” The Italian cat said leaning back in his seat and flexing his legs under the desk. He may have been out of the splint for his injury, but the articulations still tended to ache by the end of the day. “I need your actual address so we can get you your belongings, and I’d like some suggestions.”

“It’s as I told the Captain. My houseboat is moored in the hook of the southern canal in Christianshavn, but I thought I would go along for that?” She cocked her head.

“Of course you will. I just needed the location to know if we could salvage from somewhere else on the same trip.” He said, jotting down the position on the map. The place was basically on their doorstep. 

Glancing up at the batpony mare, the Italian hesitated for a bit, not really knowing how much he could tell her about the HPI. The Captain had yet to mention to whom they were allowed to talk about the organization.

“You see, at the Captain’s behest, our ship has begun to gather pieces of art for preservation.” Not really for the sake of art, they just intended to trade them to a shady UN-born organization for parts, but he needn’t tell her that. “We know they would rot away if left abandoned in decrepit buildings, which is why we put them in deep storage inside of containers with controlled atmosphere. I would not be mistaken to believe Copenhagen hosts some impressive collections now, would I?”

“That’s such a brilliant idea!” Sandra beamed before propping herself up on his desk, one wing pointing at several places on the map. “There, here and there you’d find some pretty neat paintings, particularly there inside of the SMK.”

“I’m sorry, SMK?” The cat asked, one ear lowered in bemusement.

“Statens Museum for Kunst. The national art museum, it’s near Rosenborg castle so you can secure the crown’s jewels on the same trip.” She explained.

The two of them went on discussing for a moment, switching between art related locations and some more practical ones. Roberto had already put the UN city building on the list, but Sandra had to add that there was also a UNICEF supply depot in the city, though she had no idea where it actually was. The Maersk HQ was another target the cat was surprised to add to the list. Schmitt would be delighted to hear of it, busy as the dragon was with trying to figure out a solution for fuel in the long run. That particular shipping company had an offshore and drilling branch, meaning they could possibly get hold of some precious time-saving data there. The clock was still running until fuel left in depots became unusable, and even though six months left them plenty of time they had to find a solution eventually.

By the time the thestral left his office, Roberto was left with plenty of potential targets on his list. Raiding them all would take them quite a while, but the HPI still had to tell them when they would be able to make their delivery, so they had plenty of time to spare.







The very next day, a team was assembled with crewmembers from both vessels. Amandine gladly lent Rhine Forest’s crewmembers two lorries to carry the gear, ammo and weapons they were going to retrieve from the base in Slagelse. One of their unimogs accompanied the convoy, loaded with a couple armed sailors from Amandine tasked with keeping the convoy safe. It took them a while to get the convoy properly prepped for the trip, the sailors from Amandine telling the ones from the barge carrier about their procedures. They had a bit of an argument about which ship would dispatch an officer to accompany the expedition before a game of heads-or-tail wound up designating the Rhine’s Second Engineer, a griffon, as the leader. The guy was shown all the plans and maps before they finally managed to get the convoy on the way, a whole two hours behind schedule.

With Amandine’s crew having to escort the convoy and keep watch of the terminal’s access points, not many sailors were left to take care of other duties. Artyom had decided to stay behind at the terminal to work on building his kill house inside a warehouse close to where they had moored their ship. The Russian didn’t have many hands to help him with that, but plenty of materials to go around and assemble the training ground according to his plans. Alejandro had insisted on the place being able to be used for firefighting training as well, to which the Russian didn’t object, though that made the assembly process a lot longer.

There were a few sailors from Rhine Forest that had come out to help them, or at least to start checking out the contents of containers around the terminal. Most of them were still in the process of getting their clothes and shoes refitted for their new bodies, though that number was quickly decreasing. Farkas had left in the morning to teach their sphinxes and unicorns how to control their telekinesis, which should add a couple heads to their available manpower once she was done.

Around noon, a tanker truck and a Defender left Amandine to go retrieve some diesel fuel from the port’s shore tanks, led by Angelo. They wanted to dispatch some crewmembers to fetch a barge and get more fuel for the main engine, but that task would have to be postponed until they had enough manpower to actually do it. In the meantime, they could only compensate for the daily consumption of the generators.

All in all, a pretty busy start of the day for everyone involved. Very few had any free time to spare, and those that did were sooner rather than later given tasks by passing Officers. In Dilip’s case, the dog had just gotten out of a meeting with Captain Gerig to discuss whether or not the Rhine could be modified in the same fashion as his crew had done with Amandine’s workshop. The topic had then been transferred to the barge carrier’s own Chief Engineer to let the centaur figure out what they could possibly do to improve her. A couple ideas had flown around between the two Captains, but nothing conclusive until an actual engineer could verify their viability.

Meanwhile in Amandine’s cafeteria, Micha had just been relieved from her watch by Geert. The female parrot’s condition with his injured hip was slowly improving, though he still had to keep it immobilized most of the time. On the bright side, his reeducation phase had already begun when Vadim told him he could start slowly walking for short periods of time on the gym’s treadmill.

Micha plopped down in a chair in front of Vadim, the other griffon just being busy sipping from a cup of coffee after coming back from a visit in the Rhine’s infirmary to help Doctor Delacroix take care of the injured.

“Paperwork?” Vadim asked in Polish after spotting a couple sheets of paper poking out of his friend’s pockets.

“Tasks to be done, training to be scheduled, and never enough people to spare for it.” She sighed. “I just got assigned to a small mission in downtown Copenhagen.”

“Art retrieval?”

“Nah, I’m being sent with Miss Jensen to recover some of her stuff from her houseboat.” Micha said, pulling out the sheet of paper for emphasis. “Nothing big, just Sri, her and me in a Defender; shouldn’t take long. How’s it going for you?”

“Just taking care of the injured on both ships. Geert’s hip is getting better by the day, and Roberto and Niko are basically good as new if you don’t count the scars.”

“Yeah, pretty sure the Scarface nickname is gonna stick in Nikola’s case…” Micha commented about the scar that crossed the gargoyle’s muzzle.

“Sorry about that, but I’m no plastic surgeon.” Vadim said before taking a sip of his coffee. “Bart’s bill of health is almost clear as well, so that leaves only the guys on the Rhine.”

“Bad cases?”

“There were a couple worries along the way but they’re all stable. Problem is, their medical staff is still injured, but once they get better I should be able to avoid having to play doctor anymore.” The grey falcon griffon said with a smile on his beak.

“About that uh…” Micha muttered, talons hovering above a sheet of paper in her pocket. “The Captain came up with something for you.” She said, handing the Third Officer the paper.

“Come on now, can’t be that bad.” Vadim said before he grabbed the file in his claws. He looked down at it for a couple seconds before his face fell. “I stand corrected, it is that bad.”

“Well, try to look at it from his perspective; it does make sense to have you do that.” Micha tried.

“My ass it does! Who the fuck does he think I am? Some kinda nurse? Advanced medical training, the hell does he mean by that?” Vadim raised his voice and let out an angry squawk, the ruckus drawing the attention of other sailors inside the room. “Cholera! I’m supposed to steer this goddamn ship and keep watch, so what’s this retarded bzdura with sticking me with medical duties all the time?! Everyone gets to go out and I’m stuck on board with my claws up my ass playing nurse.”

Micha let him carry on with his rant for a minute or two before she kicked him in the shin under the table. The Ukrainian fell back down in his seat and finally shut his beak, they didn’t need an Officer throwing a tantrum in the middle of the cafeteria. 

“Vadim.” She said, looking her friend straight in the eyes. “Doc Delacroix is, at the moment, the most medically certified person we have available. I know for one thing that the training of a Deck Officer is beyond that of a regular nurse, which means you are a direct second to her. Ever heard the thing about not putting all your eggs in one basket? Right now, that’s what we’re trying to correct, roger?”

“Yeah I know bu-“

“No buts.” She cut him off. “I want you to think, for one second, of what would have happened if any of the injuries received during the course of this whole shitstorm had been even slightly worse. What would have happened then uh? Could you have saved Bart if his wound was just a centimeter deeper?”

“No I wouldn’t.” Vadim admitted through a gritted beak, head held low.

“That is precisely the problem. We’ve been lucky. That won’t last. That’s why we need you to get over your sorry ass and take that training. Delacroix is only one person and she’s already injured which further proves my point.”She said. 

“Alright, alright, you’re right.” Vadim stopped her with a raised claw. “No need to run your beak for hours, I’ll do it.” He sighed. “Can’t say I’ll like it though.”

“And you don’t have to. No biggie about the chewing out?”

“Nah… kinda was deserved to be honest.” Vadim shook his head before standing up.

“And where are you going now?” The female griffon asked.

“To the infirmary. Might as well rip off the band-aid now before I change my mind, Delacroix’s gonna want a look at all the medical research I’ve gathered. See you in the evening for flight training?” He asked.

“Yeah, see you this evening.”  She nodded, watching the Ukrainian depart, leaving behind a half finished cup of coffee.







  Micha waited a bit before heading down to the armory. She still had plenty of time before having to leave on her expedition, and from a cursory glance at her maps it wasn’t even that far. Alejandro had briefly mentioned she should be on the lookout for anything they could make use of, but chances were low she would find anything of vital importance in downtown Copenhagen (art notwithstanding).

She definitely would make a detour to see the Little Mermaid tho’.

There wasn’t too much activity inside the armory except for Bart who was working on one of their FNC’s at a workbench. The blue furred unicorn was fiddling with a couple spare picatinny rails with his telekinesis, probably in an attempt to have better optics on their more common rifle variant. The Belgian stallion had his work cut out for him since there was absolutely no standard scope fitting on the black rifles, unlike their much less common SCAR’s which they reserved for experienced sailors like the vets.

Micha rasped her throat to let the guy know she was here, the Corporal giving her a grunt of acknowledgment before focusing on his work once more. She didn’t need his help; she already knew what she was looking for.

The weapons and gear were stored in multiple cages, each with a different mechanical code lock. She retrieved her flak jacket from one, most of the pouches already set for the weapons she wanted to bring along. The initial pouches for assault rifle mags had been replaced by smaller ones for her hunting rifle’s five-round mags, and most of the rear Kevlar plate had been removed to better fit her wings. She still couldn’t open them as long as she had the jacket on, but at least the vest didn’t bust her back like when she first tried it out.

She had been tempted to take a regular assault rifle, but they’d need at least some 7.62 (or .308 in this case) firepower for the trip. A full blown machinegun was a bit much for the task, but her bolt-action hunting rifle would do the trick just fine. She was pretty sure Sri would take a SCAR anyway.

Making sure she signed on a list attached to the cages what gear she was taking; the bald eagle griffon grabbed her rifle and a Browning Hi-Power. Many sailors preferred to take the Five-Seven pistols they also had in store, but according to rumors she had heard about the encounter in Lyngby their ammo lacked in the stopping power department. She was pretty damn sure 9mm Parabellum wouldn’t.

Micha used the armory’s interphone to call Sri and tell the Indonesian to start getting ready for the trip, reminding him that Sandra still needed to be fitted with a set of K9 armor, her equine frame being too small for their flak jackets. They might need some time to do that, what with Sandra needing to keep her wings free considering they stood in for actual hands. 

This left her ample time to grab ammunition for Sri and her (Sandra not being trained to or even able to use a gun) and start preparing their Land Rover. The guys from engineering had already done a remarkable job modifying the little 4x4 trucks for rugged work. The one blue Defender 130 she had pulled out of storage -one with a white paintjob not too dissimilar to their unimog with the UN paintjob- had been equipped with a snorkel, an external roll cage and bull bars. The external framework carried extra headlights above the cab, a pair of winches on both ends of the vehicle and a couple aluminum plates to protect the cargo bay’s tarpaulin from impacts. A pair of spare tires was attached to either side of the cargo bay, and finally a trio of folded antennas poked out of the roof rack, an indication of the radio equipment installed inside the cab.

Honestly, with the exception of a turret ring, the vehicle wouldn’t have looked out of place on the roster of a blue helmet mission. Whoever had done the modifications had also taken the time to put stickers on the wings of the truck that read ‘M/V Amandine IMO 9424871’ in addition to a black anchor symbol over the hood. All in all, Nikola hadn’t done a bad job on the trucks.

Micha took her time running checkups on the vehicle, as redundant as it was considering it had just gotten out of their workshop. Even the tank was filled to the brim, thanks to the addition of a fuel pump in the workshop that made it so they didn’t have to bring vehicles to the lowest deck (in which they had installed diesel tanks for the vehicles only) to fill them.

Sri eventually turned up after a couple minutes of waiting, Sandra following closely behind, her small orange coveralls now covered by a set of K9 armor that let out her wings.

“Sri, Jensen.” Micha nodded to them. “Truck’s ready, your ammo is on the passenger seat. How is your back?”

“Not too bad.” The female ivory white hippogriff said. “Aches a bit, but the wound is fine.” He commented before starting to load his mags. As expected, he had gone with a SCAR as his main weapon, with a FN 303 in his pistol holster. They always made sure each group had one of the less-lethal weapons, just in case they found something that wasn’t a monster.

“Impatient to get your stuff back Miss Jensen?” Micha asked as she inputted the houseboat’s address in the GPS.

“Call me Sandra, please. But yes, I really have nothing to my name at the moment do I?” She said.

“Which we’re gonna correct within the hour.” Micha said. “I don’t think you have a key with you?”

“I keep one under a pot next to the door.” The dark purple thestral said, struggling a bit to open the rear door, the truck’s high ground clearance not helping her small stature.

“At least that means we won’t have to bust the door open.” Sri said, sliding the last bullet in mags and loading it in his rifle. He didn’t pull the cocking handle, yet. “No pets we should be afraid of I hope? Though with how long it’s been…”

“Yeah my goldfish is dead. I figured that.” Sandra chuckled ruefully as she climbed in the rear of the cab. “But was there ever any problem with other animals?” She asked, closing the door.

“Packs of feral dogs can be trouble, but a couple stray shots above their heads usually send them away. If that doesn’t work, well…” The hippogriff tapped a talon against his grenade pouch in which he had a couple stun and tear gas grenades. “Grenades make enough of a bang to chase them away. No Molotov though, Micha?”

“Worried about wood hounds? I thought you guys killed them all in Lyngby?” The Second Officer cocked her head.

“Can’t know for sure. Do you at least have the flammable pepper spray?” Sri asked, almost ready to head back to the ammo containers to grab something.

“Yeah I do.” Micha reassured him. “But come on now, I’m sure it won’t be that bad and we can get away quickly if that happens.”

“Better hope we can…” Sri grumbled through his beak.

Just like they usually did, Micha rolled the Defender to the stern ramp once everyone was seated. They quickly did a radio check before asking the bridge for permission to leave, getting an instant approval. The 4x4 finally drove off the ramp slowly (so as to avoid another Aleksei incident) and headed for the terminal’s exit. 

Sandra’s residence in Christianshavn was a mere fifteen minutes drive away. The trio traversed the city easily, the only block in their way being spilled trashcans and litter caused by the numerous dog packs that roamed the city. Either the population had been culled by the wood hounds and zoo animals, or they had simply fled to the countryside where food was more plentiful because they didn’t spot any on the way. The streets of downtown Copenhagen were completely different from those of Antwerp: where the Flemish port’s streets could be considered narrow and somewhat oppressive, Copenhagen’s were a lot more open thanks to careful urban planning. Most of the buildings and storefronts sported warm, lively colors that had yet to fade away from disuse. Coupled with the local architects’ seeming love of copper sheet roofing, Copenhagen enjoyed a rather colorful palette. The city was also a lot greener: trees were planted at regular intervals, even this deep inside the city’s centre. The surroundings of the Kastellet as it was called (a star-shaped fortress Micha remembered because it was next to the Little Mermaid) even housed a particularly lush park. None of the vegetation bore the marks of wood hounds, which served to reassure the three of them, but it was also made it clear that overgrowth would quickly overtake the city given a couple years.

Along the way, Micha tried to remain on the lookout for possible targets Roberto’s intel had failed to locate. She did notice several smaller museums and libraries, a couple tech companies in modern buildings they might have some use for and even some shops she felt like would yield interesting loot (though the last one was a personal opinion). She would leave it up to the cat secretary to figure out which of the locations were worth hitting.

Their 4x4 crossed the bridge that led to the eastern side of the city, the structure marked by two towers covered in copper plates that had turned green from the patina. They were now in Christianshavn, the district differing ever so slightly from the rest of the town by its simpler, more modern architecture but much more colorful buildings. Many facades were entirely painted, with colors ranging from yellow to red, with the odd speck of blue or green among the lot. Sandra pointed them to a narrow paved street that bordered the canal running through the center of the district.

A couple small houseboats were moored to the along the quays, the shadow from rows of trees that separated the road from the canal protecting them from the warm rays of the sun. Some had even broken away from the quays and sunk in the middle of the canals after being abandoned for so long. The odd thing was that, according to a comment from Sandra, there should be a lot more of them than the number they were seeing. Moored houseboats must have counted as occupied vehicles then, a specificity of the Event they had been quick to notice… 

Their batpony companion pointed them to a converted barge moored in a corner of the canal. The housing structure was built out of the hull of an old coal carrying barge, its machinery now replaced by living appliances and an apartment replacing the wheelhouse. A single ramp led to the main deck, a rusty bicycle attached to it on the quay side. Many flower pots lined the sides of the deck, now either overgrown or dead from dehydration. There were also hints of rust and algae creeping up the flanks of the boat, though not enough to threaten it.

Micha parked as close as she could to the former vessel, cargo bay pointed towards the gangway. As she backed the vehicle in place, she could see Sri observing the area around them like a hawk, one talon ready to bring up his rifle at a moment’s notice.

“Notice anything?” Micha asked him, following the hippogriff’s gaze.

“Just wary is all.” Sri said. “You two grab Sandra’s stuff, I’ll be keeping watch.” He added before opening his door and climbing on the Defender’s roof in one swift motion.

While the veteran was keeping an eye on the area for them, Sandra led Micha to her soon to be former home. As the batpony had claimed, there was a spare key by the entrance, which allowed the two of them to easily enter the houseboat. The inside that greeted them was rather cramped and hard to get around for quadrupeds like Micha. Sandra didn’t really have that problem since she had shrunk quite a bit more than the griffon after the transformation, but she was also much shorter than the furniture.

From Micha’s perspective, she could see a small kitchen and a narrow dining hall on one side, and a hallway that led to the cabins on the other. The atmosphere was slightly oppressive, with dark hues used to paint walls that were cluttered with decorations, pictures and banners.

“You weren’t living there alone I guess?” Micha asked her.

“No I wasn’t.” Sandra shook her head. “Me and a couple childhood friends used to rent it before… you know.” She said with a wave of her wing. “We all came from the same neighborhood and we wanted to stick together for ‘the big life’ in the city.”

“How come the place is empty then? By our experience, if a vehicle is occupied then it disappears along with anyone inside.”

“Gone partying.” Sandra explained. “They were out celebrating a birthday in Freetown. I was supposed to join them after work.” She sighed while looking at a group photo next to the TV. 

Taller than Sandra as she was, Micha managed to get a look at the picture. In it, a group a young adults was sitting at a table on the deck of the houseboat during summer, each with a cocktail in hand and smiles on their faces. 

“If this makes it any better for you, maybe they will get to reappear together.” Micha tried.

“It doesn’t… but thanks.” Sandra gave the griffon a small smile. “You mind if I leave them a message?”

“You can write with these wings?” Micha raised a white feathery brow.

“I’ll manage.” Sandra gave a semblance of a shrug with her wings. She moved towards a small chalkboard next to the kitchen’s door, on which the line ‘Dagens Menu’ was written. The batpony propped herself up against the wall and took hold of a piece of chalk. “This might take me a little while to do that…” She told Amandine’s Second Officer sheepishly.

“No worries, mind if I go ahead and start grabbing stuff for you?”

“Sure! My cabin is the last one down the passageway over there.” The batpony pointed with a hoof. “It’s got my name on the door, can’t miss it.”

Micha nodded softly and moved off to take care of Sandra’s stuff. The passageway was particularly narrow, being only wide enough for two people and even then they would have to squeeze to pass each other. A couple round portholes provided light, sunrays entering at an angle which revealed the amount of dust floating in the air from the houseboat being unoccupied for a while. She found Sandra’s room as indicated, next to the door that led to the boat’s bathroom. 

Contrarily to the rest of the houseboat, the room shed the cramped and oppressive feeling for a more pleasant atmosphere. The walls were painted a soft shade of white, with a blue ceiling in the center of which she could see a skylight. Paired with a single porthole, the two openings managed to brighten up the room and make it appear larger than it really was.

The griffon didn’t waste time gaping at the sight and set to grab a pair of travel bags from under the bed. Bed sheets and a blanket were the first thing to get crammed inside, quickly followed by some electronics she found on the desk: laptop, hard drive, an IPod, pretty much the standard fare for a young adult living in a big city. She didn’t find any Smartphone around, but Sandra’s must have either been lost in the fire or she had it in her cabin on Amandine already. She would be issued one with satellite connectivity anyway.

Photo albums, books and a CD collection came next. Micha didn’t bother looking at the titles, most were in Danish in any case so it’s not as if she could have understood it regardless. It took her a couple minutes to pick what she thought their newest crewmember would like to have before she opened the skylight and lifted the first bag on the deck. Sitting back down on her haunches, she glanced alternatively between the skylight and her wings, the appendages currently restrained by her flak jacket.

“You want to fly?” Sandra asked her, surprising the Pole and making her jump up with a loud squawk.

“Kurde!” She swore. Damn, bloody batpony could be surprisingly quiet. “And, yes, I wish I could try out those wings but that flak jacket is no good for that. You done with your message?”

“Hopefully if my friends reappear they will find it…” Sandra sighed. “I wanted to leave them a vlog but I don’t know how long it will take them so I just left a note on the chalkboard and a letter on the table.”

Micha gave the little equine a sympathetic pat on the back before asking her what more she’d like to take. There wasn’t even that much to pick from, but they still filled the second bag with clothes she might be able to refit someday, old souvenirs and other memorabilia. It wasn’t too soon before they loaded the bags inside their Defender and drove away from the quay. Sandra had a wistful look on her muzzle as she looked back towards the diminishing houseboat before Micha eventually rounded a corner and her former home disappeared from view.

“You alright there Sandra?” Sri asked her worriedly.

“Yeah…” She said quietly. “It’s just… the radio station’s gone… now I just packed away my belongings and left my home…” Her wings and ears drooped. “You ever felt like you turned a significant page in your life?”

“Last time something like that happened to me was when I left the navy.” Sri said. “End of the World aside of course.” He added before Micha could open her beak. “It’s rough when it happens, and you having to venture alone in that new part of your life without any former friends or family to lean on doesn’t help. Everyone is still trying to figure out what they’re gonna make of themselves, so you might as well take the opportunity yourself, see what you can improve on.”

“Have you figured it yet?” Sandra asked honestly.

The female hippogriff’s features soured for a second before he put on a stoic face.

“No I haven’t.” He said in a whisper. “I’m still trying to figure out what my… principles should make of those changes. Anyway, we’re off to see that Little Mermaid then Micha?”

The Indonesian’s sudden change of the subject didn’t go unnoticed, but neither of his two companions felt like trying to get him to open up. Micha made a point of remembering to bring this up with Nikola or Artyom when they got back; the two of them were closest to him and would know how to approach the vet.

Trying to brighten up the mood, Sandra began to tell the two sailors stories about the city as their 4x4 drove towards the famous landmark. She knew a fair deal about the area, pointing out bars and places she used to hang out at with her friends. According to her, the citadel next to the Little Mermaid had a rather nice park for picnics provided you went there off season without the tourists.

They drove past the Maersk HQ on their way there, the logo of a white star above a blue square hanging on the building’s façade. This was not their target for today, the building being way too large to explore between the three of them. Another group would come for that, but later. As for them, they profited from no one being there to enforce pedestrian areas and drove on footpaths that circled the citadel’s moat.  A small rise of ground separated the moat from the actual sea which barely rose two meters above the water level before dipping back down, smooth rocks and concrete on the sea side preventing the construction from being eroded by the tides.

A short ways after a modern pavilion, they finally reached the mermaid. Micha stopped their Defender to go take a look at the bronze statue. There, just a meter or two away from the shore, the statue was placed on a pile of smooth rocks. A bit of patina had built up on her metallic skin since the Event, but it was still very much the icon of the city. Wavelets lapped at the rocks that made out its ‘pedestal’, bits of seaweed starting to cling to the pedestal.

“Now see that!” Micha said with a smile on her beak, one claw reaching for the pocket in which she usually put her phone. “No need to always feel down and gloomy. End of the World doesn’t mean we always have to be miserable.” She commented before snapping a picture of the statue. “That one is going in the Officers’ lounge.”

Not a minute after the three of them left the area; a wet, scaly head peeked above the water, its red eyes staring in the direction the 4x4 had taken. 







A few hours later late in the afternoon, Geert had made his way to the armory after a session on the treadmill. His hip ached from the movement, but the scarlet macaw felt pretty confident he would eventually be able to shed the crutches he had been stuck with for the last few weeks. Having to hop around constantly was starting to get on his nerves.

He walked through the sturdy door that protected the armory’s entrance, voices with an Australian accent greeting him as he made his way inside. Bart was the only one inside, the unicorn having set a laptop down on a table, the device currently playing an episode of ‘Sea Patrol’. As for the stallion, he was still busy trying to figure out a way to attach accessories to their FNC’s.

“Having success with your idea yet?” Geert greeted him in Dutch. Regardless of any differences between his and Bart’s own dialects, having someone to talk to in his mother tongue felt better than speaking English any day. Not that he disliked the other sailors, it just felt more natural.

“Not really, no.” He said with a shake of his head. He still had his olive green mane cut short, and his brown beret tucked under the epaulette of his sweater. “I’ve got some ideas for scopes, but they all need me to do some extensive machining on the rails so I can fit them where the blank adaptor would go… But then again doing so might block off the iron sights if I don’t do it right, and there is the risk of the optics being inaccurate if the fitting isn’t tight enough. Vibrations from shooting don’t get along with delicate stuff like optics see.” He said, pointing his hoof at the dismantled rifle he had on his workbench next to a couple notes and drawings. 

“Can’t say I know much about guns I’m afraid.” Geert shrugged. “Just remember to get it approved by one of the engineers before you do it. I don’t think many would be too happy if you started fiddling with the guns without telling anyone.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Nothing I’ve done as of yet was irreversible, I ain’t dumb. There is this one thing though, that would make it a hell of a lot easier…” The unicorn said; his horn lighting up and a notebook lifting off the workbench. “The FNC isn’t a common rifle by any stretch of imagination; it just uses simple, efficient mechanisms pioneered by other weapons like the FAL, Galil and AK families. There are some countries that have made their own versions however.”

“Indonesia you mean? That we know already, Sri told us.” Geert pointed out.

“Indonesia is one, but Sweden also produced their own variant. With scopes and rails. No iron sights or burst fire though.” Bart said. “I don’t know that much about these, but since we’re so close to Sweden, then maybe?”

“I’ll bring it up with the other Officers to see if we can take a look on the other side of the Oresund for an army base.”  Geert told him. “Guns aside, how are you doing?”

“Wound’s getting better for one.” Bart said. He brushed a hoof against his injured neck, he still had some stitches in but at this point he was almost as good as new. “And I think my English is improving. But I am yet not good enough.”

“Not good enough yet.” Geert corrected politely. “And how’s morale?” The red feathered parrot sat down on a bench next to one of the weapon cages.

“Morale?”

“Yes, morale. You didn’t look too good when you woke up weeks ago, you told me yourself at the time.” He said waving his talons.

“And I had my reasons. I try not to think about it too much, what happened before the Event only serves to make me sad or angry.” The stallion said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know how you cope with life changing events, but I’d rather put it behind me lest it drags me down forever. But I could ask you the same thing, how are you coping with all those changes?”

“Easy enough I’d say. I keep getting caught on the extra joint mobility and prehensile feet but otherwise…” He shrugged. “I literally got promoted the moment we hit Zeebrugge and got a job as Fourth Officer on this ship, can’t complain really.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t complain either in your case. What I was trying to refer to was…”

“The female part, I know.”

“So? I heard about all sorts of cases on this ship. Your Chief Officer didn’t have his sexuality changed, but others did, which I can honestly understand however weird that must feel. Comes with the body you know…” The blue furred stallion got a distant look on his muzzle. “God knows I had some weird dreams about horses… or ponies, whatever. Lemme tell you, hooves aren’t the most practical thing, if you know what I mean. You?”

Despite his sitting position, Geert was still taller than the pony. He starred at him with a flat look for a second before clicking his large black and white beak.

“That’s really all you wanna know, don’t you?”

“Can’t help my curiosity, Officer.” Bart said in a fakely apologetic tone. “You gotta admit, it’s an interesting subject.”

“If you really got to know, I wound up bisexual for some reason, and I’d much rather ignore that newfound aspect and focus on my work.”

“Gonna bite you in the ass later you know? Can’t blame you for the decision and you’ve got my sympathy, but it will. In fact, I’d bet the more survivors we meet, the less you will be treated as male.” Bart warned his superior.

“I’ll take the risk.” Geert said, an annoyed trill escaping his beak. “Treated as female though?”

“Can’t expect anyone to figure at a glance you used to be male.” Bart said, already starting to turn back towards his workbench. “Everyone on this ship may know it, but others? They’ll be calling you Miss and she soon enough and you can’t blame them for not knowing.”

Geert’s narrow shoulders sagged a bit as the remark hit him. He knew that, he had met Jensen earlier that day and had to correct the batpony, hell, he even had to correct Bart the first time he talked to him. Not helping the case were crewmembers like Aleksei, Micha or even Farkas who didn’t seem to mind the change in appellation.

“It’s like struggling against the tide isn’t it?” He sighed.

“If only it was the tide, then you’d be suited to fight back, dutchie. Unfortunately…”

“I know, no need to rub it in.” Geert said with a dismissive wave of his talons. 

Not willing to antagonize the only shipmate he could reliably talk to (and an Officer at that), Bart steered the conversation towards more neutral subjects, electing to start talking about hobbies, sports, anything but the impact of the Event on the sexuality of their genderbent shipmates. Turns out, Geert had some interesting topics to talk about, what with the parrot’s apparent passion for baseball. Not exactly the most common of choices in the Netherlands, but the sport did have its niche despite the lack of any world-renowned team or league. Bart had never played the sport seriously, unlike Geert whose eyes lit up at the mention of some interesting anecdotes on what happened in the big leagues.

Not an hour into their conversation, the two of them were disturbed by the ringing of the interphone. Alejandro was calling from the bridge to tell them to get the armory ready for a large influx of new guns; the convoy in Slagelse was heading back.

“Hold on, weren’t those weapons meant for the Rhine?” Geert asked the Chief Officer.

“They are. They just haven’t had the time to build an armory yet, so we’re keeping them safe in the meantime. Same goes for the ammunition, and from what I was told we can expect a ton of it. You guys think you can manage to make some room?”

And they could. The armory still had more than enough empty cages for the guns, they had made sure to build some extras during the construction of the new compartments in case they picked up more weapon systems or equipment in the future. Little effort was needed on the part of Bart and Geert to ready the cages, which was rather convenient since the time it took them to do it was just as long as it took the convoy to make its way back to the terminal.

And with the convoy came the surprise of the day. They didn’t encounter any hostile monsters during their expedition (though there were hints of monstrous presence in the region), nor did they find any survivor to rescue. What they did find however…

“You stole a goddamned tank?!” Alejandro burst out as he saw the vehicles they had brought back on some trailers attached to lorries they definitely didn’t have when they set out from Copenhagen. 

“Not a tank, it’s an APC.” Rhine Forest’s Second Engineer pointed out. The griffon was a mix of a red kite on his avian half and an ocelot for the feline half going by the name of Valentyn, a Ukrainian. 

“Semantics. What made you think we needed… those!” The hyacinth macaw said, pointing a talon at the armored vehicles on the trailers.

What he was gesturing at was a trio of camouflaged, eight-wheeled APC’s. Each of the vehicles was armed with a remotely operated turret on the front, their guns (fortunately) removed for transportation and the weapon system wrapped in a protective tarp. All of them were also equipped with slat armor around the hull and, from the apparent bolt here and there, additional ceramic armor plates. They were still soundly secured to their transport trailers… and apparently they had even taken an entire container worth of extra parts for the vehicles, all in accordance to Amandine’s standard salvaging procedures.

“For fighting monsters.” The griffon Engineer shrugged. “Should be a lot safer than the unimogs. And they mount .50 cals on the turret, that’s not the kind of firepower monsters can shrug off, no?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we sure like to go out of our way to pick a fight with these creatures.” Alejandro said sarcastically.

“They’re NBC protected. That’s got to have some use, right?”

“So now you want us to venture into Gothenburg?” Amandine’s Chief Officer was incredulous. “Listen…” He said, pinching his beak. “I get the intent, really, I do… but we’re not the military. Those things aren’t toys; we can’t just get in and drive them around like it’s nothing. It takes skill, training and most of all time to train crews for vehicles like that.”

It was exactly at that moment that Bart and Geert chose to come out of the armory. The military unicorn’s eyes immediately drifted to the APC’s and lit up with recognition. Neither Alejandro nor Valentyn missed the look, the griffon quickly putting the pieces together when he noticed the beret Bart was wearing.

“Piranhas, we used them in my unit.” The Belgian slowly declared. “Good vehicle, very sturdy.”

Fortunately for his sake, Bart completely missed the scathing look Alejandro was drilling in the back of his neck. Valentyn on the other claw was giving Amandine’s Chief Officer the cheekiest grin he had ever seen.

“Just put them in storage for now. We will have a word with the Captains later to see what use we can get out of them.” Alejandro sternly said.

The expedition’s other pick in military vehicle didn’t rouse nearly as much protest. They had grabbed an armored ambulance, a Duro as it was named. It was painted olive green, with red crosses on the hood and on its sides. It was also fairly long, with three axles supporting the hull which was raised fairly high so as to give it good ground clearance. Racks on the roof behind the ambulance’s emergency lighting might even allow it to assemble its own medical tent when out in the field. Nobody really had anything to say against that pick, it clearly could be of use if they ever had to send medical assistance to an expedition.

At that point, Alejandro didn’t look too much into what kind of equipment the sailors from the Rhine had picked. The Danish army weapons they had taken from the base were a mix of Canadian assault rifles with some German weapons added in the mix. Among that mix, Valentyn had also taken an honestly astounding amount of .50 cal machineguns, a lot more than what was needed to outfit the APC’s. The Engineer’s idea was to use the extras as crew served weapons to guard their checkpoints and as deck mounts to protect the direct vicinity of their ships.

In any case, all these weapons went in secure storage. Most of Rhine Forest’s crew didn’t have any experience with weapons yet, and security duties would have to be left to Amandine’s crew until they got some training.







Some seven hundred kilometers North-East of Copenhagen, activity was brewing. Stockholm, a city that used to be a beacon of modern society and Nordic culture was now nothing but a desert urban landscape, its inhabitants all having disappeared in the wake of the Event. The city was built in an area that had a rocky archipelago to protect it from the Baltic Sea, the waterways making for an intricate natural network of canals over which many bridges had been built to link the different districts.

On one such island in the very centre of the city was the Royal Palace. On the façade of the grand, square-shaped building, an emblem representing three crowns in a triangular pattern had been carved into the stone arch just above the gates.

This was the sight that greeted the group of ponies that suddenly appeared in the courtyard in a flash of light. There were five of the equines in the group: two unicorns, two pegasi, and one large earth pony. All of them were standing inside of a runic circle that had burned itself into the pavement of the courtyard, clad in travelling gear. Of all the ponies in the group, only one of the two pegasi was actually armed, and even then just with a small hunting crossbow to accompany the gambeson the stallion was wearing. The group’s apparent protector was giving the buildings around them a wary look, which was only shared by the earth pony stallion of the group.

The leader of the group, a red unicorn mare wearing a white hooded cloak quickly ran a check to make sure every part of their crossing had gone smoothly. Magical travel across humongous distances like that was no small feat, and the slightest mistake could lead to somepony, or worse, part of somepony being lost in the process. Once she was certain their situation was stable, she gave a subtle nod before motioning to her companions with a hoof.

“Alright everypony, time to find us some survivors.” She declared confidently. “Radiant, Gust, can you run a quick recon for us?” She asked the group’s two Pegasi. “Remember to stick together.”

“Yes ma’am.” Gust, the crossbowcolt, said firmly before taking off. The other Pegasus followed a couple seconds later, his reaction to the order nowhere near as quick as that of the armed Pegasus.

Back on the ground, the lead mare turned to the last two ponies of the group. The lanky yellow unicorn mare that served as her backup was looking giddy, her large curious eyes flicking in every direction as she tried to take in every aspect of that new alien city at once. Her companion however, had a much more cautious look on his muzzle. Good, she could use a big burly stallion that could keep his head on his shoulders, Earth Pony musculature was much too often dismissed.

“Cheese, Pulp, let’s work on finding a safe building to make camp. I need a safe place to start casting mage sight otherwise finding survivors will be harder than looking for a needle in a haystack blindfolded.”

Doctor Sidereal Venture was now on Earth, and she would be bucked all the way to Tartarus if she completed her route without finding any survivor.
> Chapter 27: Wakey Wakey
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day following the expedition in Slagelse, several of both vessels’ Officers and Engineers found themselves gathered inside of Captain Gerig’s office. The pink teenaged unicorn was sitting behind his desk, chin resting on one hoof in a pensive manner as his Chief Engineer gave a presentation on potential modifications they could do to their barge carrier. As much as he loathed admitting it, Erik had been far quicker to accommodate to his transformation than he himself was despite the centaur mare’s injured status. Bandages were wrapped around his shoulder, the white fabric barely visible beneath his clothes; and his broken wrist was plastered.

Gerig still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that one: he had turned into a mare; and two: now he had to interact with objects using his mind. Seeing objects levitate around him at his command kept throwing him off regardless of how much he exercised with the ability. Him shrinking to the size of a large dog didn’t help his mood either.

Erik on the other hoof (hoof? He meant to think hand…) had seemingly managed to push most of the implications of his own changes to the back of his mind and hurry along with resizing a couple of his clothes for his new centaur body. The humanoid half was rather easy to dress as it was effectively just a smaller human upper body. The equine half though couldn’t just be clothed with refitted human attire due to its sheer size (unlike unicorns and batponies who could adjust a set of coveralls to fit their new frame). What his Chief Engineer had come up with was apparently called a dress sheet, something horse handlers dressed their horses in for competitions. Erik had copied the pattern and used it on some salvaged bits of nomex fabric to keep his quadruped body semi-decent.

And now the red skinned centaur was standing next to the office’s projector screen which was showing a cross section of the Rhine Forest.

“So this modification would remove the two foremost lighter stacks and replace them with containers. The cell guides we already have in place for the lighters would be supplemented by additional ones to make up a holding structure to easily keep them secured.”

“So that’s extra cargo?” Dilip interrupted.

“Not exactly.” Erik shook his head, one of his large ears twitching. He flicked a finger towards some passageways on the cross section. “My intention was to have these containers be used as modular compartments, at least for the bottom layers. The containers would be stowed sideways on, that’s two of them across the width of the ship. They would be connected to passageways on the sides and in the center of the vessel, which also come with connector pieces for water, electricity and firefighting systems. The passageways also allow us to access the cargo inside of the containers while at sea, which we currently cannot do with the most of our barges. By my measurements, that would grant the Rhine Forest a capacity of 144 forty-foot containers, or 288 TEU with a maximum load of 4200 net tons worth of cargo.”

“That’s nice and all.” Schmitt said with a frown. “Also solves your need for an armory while leaving options for additional berthing, workshops or anything you may want. But how do you intend to make it feasible?”

“First priority goes to building a watertight bulkhead between the barge section and the potential container racks, ideally with a cofferdam, double layer structure and bilge pumps. That’s the biggest part of the change after the passageways for the containers, the cell guides should be easy to make. I don’t foresee a need to change the ballast system or any negative impact on stability from the containers, but we may have to load more ballast on the fore end to compensate for changes in trim. The structure for the passageways is not that complicated either, but we will need to use a lot of rubber seals to prevent water ingress inside of the new compartments.”

“What if the water flows below the containers?” Dilip asked.

“The barge stowage sections already have vacuum pumps to evacuate water egress; the sheer capacity they can put out is enough to get us through the roughest of storms.” Gerig told the Indian.

“As he said.” Erik said before moving on to the next slide, one that showed a drawing of the Rhine’s gantry crane. “Now, since I doubt we can expect shore cranes to remain in working order, I also have plans for a modification to our crane system that would outfit it with a foldable extension on either side of the gantry. This, combined with a spreader piece on the crane should make it possible to lift containers, be they loaded on barges or on the quays next to the ship.” The centaur told his audience, pointing to highlighted drawings above the crane’s structure. “Now, the modular containerized compartments are one thing, and provided the plans are given the green light I will then move on to drafting the work procedure for their installation and a list of the required parts and materials. There is one more thing though. Amadi?” Erik asked another centaur, this one a stallion.

Said centaur stallion was the chief of Rhine Forest’s barge department and, just like Erik, a pony based centaur (contrarily to some other centaurs that had a deer half). Stallions were about the same size as mares for this species in particular, but with a stockier equine half and a distinctly more masculine humanoid half (in spite of the mares’ lack of breasts on their humanoid half). Amadi also had a pair of horns just above his large mobile ears, one of which he was currently rubbing pensively. The Liberian’s skin tone had turned from black to a dull red, which combined with his grey ‘mane’ and coat to make him appear older than his actual 34 years of age.

“Yes, I also have some potential modifications to present.” He told the assembled Officers as he walked up next to Erik and moved on to his part of the PowerPoint. It showed pictures of several small crafts: patrol boats, trawlers and even a hovercraft. All those pictures were laid next to a general drawing of the Rhine Forest.

“I believe we can go even further than what Erik here has proposed.” He began. “As you all know, we have a small fleet of six tugboats to manipulate and tow our cargo barges once they’re down in the water. My idea was to further extend that fleet of boats…” He pointed to the slide. “… with auxiliary crafts that would be able to fulfill any task we may need to do, while also having more range than the tugboats. Now, it’s not as simple as it sounds, our tugs’ hulls are designed in such a way that they can be lifted and set down safely without sustaining damage to their structure. Extending that to other vessels is no small matter, but I have already drafted several ideas that may make this viable.” He told them.

The centaur continued the presentation with the next slide, one that showed a drawing of a patrol boat held in place by what looked like a large cradle with floats, hooks for the crane and a simple pump system. Another drawing next to it showed the same boat but with the hooks on the deck and a… structure of sorts below the waterline that was supposed to keep it upright when the crane stowed it on board. The latter system was quickly rejected, but both Captains showed a lot of interest towards the concept in spite of how outlandish it may have seemed. Amadi’s idea even went further than just equipping the barge carrier with a fleet of small crafts when he showed them potential plans for a refueling system that would allow them to do fuel transfers with the small crafts without having to lift them onboard or rig a potentially leaky hose. It was really just an adaptation of navy transfer systems for replenishment at sea, but it had potential.

Shortly after the two centaurs' presentation, the assembled Officers devolved into a discussion on how to make it possible. Dilip was quick to offer Amandine’s crew assistance towards helping build those modifications which would be far more extensive than the workshop and armory they had built back in Antwerp. A lot of arguing concerned the acquisition of the resources needed to make the changes, as well as the boats Amadi wanted to add to the Rhine’s complement. The ships in particular would be far harder to acquire than regular parts and shipbuilding-grade steel.

They did eventually come to an agreement on the modifications, regardless of how large the endeavor would be. Someone even brought up the idea on how the Maersk HQ may have some intel on the location of shipbuilding components.

Before the assembled Officers had time to scatter, Dilip stood up and rasped his throat.

“There is one more announcement that needs to be made I believe.” He began. “It is something everyone on Amandine already knows, but I needed to ask for approval from our… secret contractor so to speak, before revealing it.”

Looks of recognition immediately appeared in the eyes of Amandine’s Officers while those of the Rhine Forest only sported a puzzled look. Were they not supposedly alone on earth now? So why was he speaking of a ‘contractor’ all of a sudden?

“This is something that involves an offshoot of the UN Security Council, a secretive organization going by the name of Human Preservation Initiative. That’s HPI for short.”

“Lemme guess.” Erik drawled. “Super secret group that survived the apocalypse by hiding in a bunker?”

“Basically. They didn’t get away with it completely unscathed, that much Angelo here can tell you. I could drag on for a while about them but passing you the memo will be shorter. What we did for them is helping them shut down the European nuclear grid and things progressed from there.” Dilip explained. “We have a contract with them now, we provide items they can’t get because they’re stuck inside their bunker, and they manufacture parts for us in exchange.”

“At least that’s the idea. We’re still waiting to make our first delivery.” Alejandro added. “They also gave us administrator access to several satellite services, mostly for weather, military-grade GPS and to locate survivors by tracking down satellite users.”

“And was it successful?”

“We have yet to try out the tracking.” Dilip admitted with a shrug. “Main thing is: there is a group of human survivors in America, and another somewhere in Asia, with which we sort of have a trade agreement. I asked them if I could bring your crew up to snuff with that, and they let us. One of their agents may soon contact you via satcom, but not a single word is to be said about them to other survivors if we find any, got it? I’ll send the memo once I get back to my office.”

Gerig crossed his forehooves and stared down pensively at his desk, a white strand from his mane falling down in front of the small unicorn’s blue eyes.

“That’s a game changer you’ve dropped on us there…” He muttered. “You do realize…”

“… How risky it can be to trust a secret group like that, yes. But the ability to trade art pieces -among other things- for parts could save us in the long run.” Dilip said.

The teenaged mare in a pilot shirt lifted his eyes towards the Indian. He could see the rest of his Officers behind Dilip, all of them with puzzled looks. He would have to address that later.

“At least you’re aware of that. What kind of stuff do they have you retrieve?”

“Art pieces are the most lucrative of all; they want to preserve human culture as best as they can, or so they said. We’ve got two TEU worth of paintings right now, and one sealed FEU with prototypes from a lost facility in France. They also value data banks, archives, and raw materials to a lesser extent. At least that’s the case for the contract they had us sign, I have no idea whether or not they’re going to offer such a deal to you.”

And that’s something they indeed would have to wait to figure out. In the meantime, the Engineering Officers of both vessels split off to go discuss the future modifications while the Deck Officers left to begin the daily expeditions around Copenhagen. There was a lot of work to be done, and today was also when they wanted to hit the big targets like the Maersk HQ and the UN City, in addition to doing some training.







A few minutes later, Vadim found himself inside of Rhine Forest’s infirmary with their doctor. The griffon had begrudgingly accepted his fate and went on with the advanced medical training under the French hippogriff’s tutelage. She had given the poor Ukrainian a lot of medical texts to wade through and study, and she also didn’t hesitate to question him at every turn to test his knowledge.

On the bright side, turns out he wasn’t that bad either. The single fact of knowing his medical abilities weren’t abysmally low at least managed to raise the grey falcon griffon’s morale, if only by a small margin.

“And this blood group you claim you discovered?” Camille asked. The doctor seemed particularly insistent on everyone calling her by her first name.

The information didn’t go only one way either. Vadim had a lot of medical notes and research he had made during the last few weeks to share with her, which made it so that his knowledge of post-Event species was better than Camille’s. His own notes on blood groups and medical parameters were a significant help towards the treatment of Rhine’s injured crewmembers.

“Group C as I called it, yes. As I said, I have yet to find an individual that doesn’t share the same group as the rest of the species he has turned into. In your case, I have found hippogriffs to be AC. The marker C, I have also found in group BC on gargoyles and group C on the sole unicorn I sampled.” Vadim told her.

“But by A and B…”

“I mean the very same A and B found on humans, yes.” The griffon said, drumming his talons on Camille’s desk. “I have done compatibility tests with blood samples I retrieved from a military clinic in Zeebrugge, and the blood was indeed transfusable without incident.”

“But so far, your sources only come from an admittedly small sample group. We need to extend that testing to the crew of Rhine Forest, and the same goes for medical parameters.”

“My data on those isn’t complete to begin with.” Vadim said. “I only have a few species so far, but the values are still widely different from humans. Look at the heartbeat of a resting griffon, the dual heart structure alone makes for completely different results.” He waved a talon above his notes.

“A resting griffon indeed. Do you have any values for parameters during and after physical exercises?”

“Not yet I’m afraid. I had the tests planned, but not the time to do them.” Vadim apologized.

Adapting Camille’s knowledge to the vast array of species that composed the crews would prove to be a difficult, lengthy process. Vadim’s talons had only managed to scratch the surface of an entirely new field of medicine, and even Camille was out of her field of expertise if she was honest. A lot of testing had to be scheduled, even though they were still limited by the equipment they had on claw. Camille should be able to do some more extensive blood tests, but nowhere near as much as what a shore lab would be able to, unless…

“So you want to raid a hospital?” Vadim asked.

“Not yet, neither mine nor your infirmary has the room for the equipment I have in mind.” Camille answered. The orange hippogriff was busily taking notes on her computer, all the while she had some manuals open on her desk. She flicked her head to get her blue crest feathers out of her eyes, an annoyed trill escaping her nostrils. “Those modifications they have planned, surely I can request a container or two to fit a lab when it’s done… Oh, and a MRI scanner too, we’ll need complete imagery to know what’s inside if we want to do our work correctly!” She added as an afterthought.

“I wouldn’t hurry too much with the imaging if I were you. Those modifications they have planned certainly won’t be done overnight, that much I can tell you.” Vadim warned her.

For all the good that warning did. The doctor waved away the Ukrainian’s remark and told him it was of no importance. With ideas already written down for her laboratory, Camille moved on to giving him his first lessons on medical treatments, the hippogriff beginning a long-winded rant on trauma to the digestive track and possible techniques for treatment.







A few meters away from the doctor’s office, still inside the infirmary, one patient was waking up. Of all the casualties that occurred after the reappearance of the Rhine, Sebastien Wouters might have been the unluckiest of all. The Belgian cadet’s injuries had resulted in him falling unconscious from the blood loss, thus completely missing most of the Event except for the scant few seconds that preceded the accident that brought him to the infirmary.

On the bright side, he wouldn’t be as roughly shaken as the rest of the crew; on the other hoof he had yet to discover the transformation wasn’t just a weird fever dream of his. And that very discovery was just about to occur as the parameters shown on the medical monitor he was hooked up to rose slowly.

Large eyelids fluttered groggily, revealing a pair of magenta eyes to the world. His mind was still foggy, trying to piece together what had happened and what were the blurry shapes surrounding him. His body felt odd, the sensations coming from his limbs… unnatural. Moreover he was completely sapped of any form of strength. A dull ache in his side and the telltale beeping of a heart monitor soon told him he had been injured, and brought to an infirmary, if not to a hospital. The tube he felt in his throat also told him he had been intubated.

He closed his eyes again. Opening them felt way too strenuous at the moment. He tried to focus on the conflicting sensations he was getting from his body. His ears felt odd, he was pretty sure they shouldn’t be twitching every time he heard something; and he couldn’t feel his fingers. He desperately tried to flex them, believing for an instant that whatever had sent him to the hospital had robbed him of his hands.

The motion, or rather the attempt at one, sent a tremor through his body which made the pain in his side spike abruptly. His eyes flew open and he let out a gasp which sounded more like a high-pitched whinny than anything he was used to hear from himself.

His whinny must have attracted some attention because not a second later he heard some rustling and mumbling close by. Blurry shapes clustered around him, with one prominent grey and blue one coming to his bedside. He felt a hand stroke the top of his head, but the touch felt odd, as if whoever owned the appendage hadn’t clipped their nails in years. His hair felt a lot longer than it had any right to be too, had he been out for so long? Still, the touch felt good and the grey blur made soothing noises to calm him down. He allowed his eyes to close once more.

“Seb’?” He heard. He recognized the voice as that of Carla, but the timbre felt different, rougher. Did his girlfriend take up smoking or something?

He tried to croak out an answer, but his parched, blocked throat only allowed him to release a groaning sound.

“Carla, that’s no good. You can clearly see she’s out cold.” He heard another voice say. That one belonged to one of the engine cadets, Frederik, the youngest of them.

Sebastien let out another groan to contradict the German, the effort feeling as if he was gargling drill bits. And did he just call him ‘she’?

“Shhh, don’t do that.” Carla told him, not stopping her stroking. “We’ll get you some water; that ought to make you feel better.”

“Your medical know-how astounds me.” Frederik said sarcastically.

“Shut your trap and go get the doctor Fred.” Carla told the other cadet icily. 

“Yeah yeah, fine. No need to get angry over something like that. You get to tell him what happened, I’m sure she will like it.”

Sebastien heard the German walk away. His girlfriend let out an annoyed huff, hand wrapping around a lock of his hair (which shouldn’t be possible, he had never worn his hair that long).

“He’s right though…” Carla sighed, switching to Dutch. “Seb’, do you remember something err… bizarre happening before you lost consciousness? Just nod if something like uh, I don’t know… your fingers disappearing happened.”

They did. One moment he was working a winch, and the next thing he knew his fingers lost grip on the brake lever and everything spiraled out of control. He nodded feebly, the muscles in his neck still feeling like putty, but a dreadful feeling was starting to build up in his gut. Was he a cripple now?

“You were injured…” Carla explained. “Fell unconscious from blood loss, so it’s natural you wouldn’t remember anything of what happened…”

Oh no…

“Seb’, do you believe in time travel?”

Wait what?

His girlfriend must have sensed in confusion because he felt her hand stop stroking his hair for a second.

“I swear it’s not a prank.” She said. “We… sort of travelled a few weeks ahead in time. It’s mid-June now. But… you’ve got to see this to believe it. Can you try not to panic?”

He nodded.

“Open your eyes, slowly. But please stay calm; we’re all victims in this situation.”

What was she getting at? Victims? Sebastien struggled to open his eyes, everything around him was still a blur but he forced himself to focus and keep his eyes open until the fog cleared. He could recognize the blurry room he was in as Rhine Forest’s infirmary, and he was on his back in one of the beds, the curtains drawn around it and one grey and blue blur by his side. He slowly turned his head towards it, noting in passing that there were two dark red things in his vision, one above his eyes, and the other, larger, beneath. He forced himself to focus on the shape from where his girlfriend’s distorted voice had come, the image gradually becoming clearer.

The image becoming clearer didn’t make it any easier to comprehend. Instead of the tanned figure of his girlfriend, what he saw was some sort of quadruped avian creature dressed in the company’s usual set of white coveralls. The creature had the head of a seabird (a cormorant probably? He wasn’t sure) and was covered in grey feathers. A mane (or crest maybe) of blue feathers sat on top its head (or hers? Was this Carla?) head, which were the same color as the two eyes that were staring at him in sympathy. A pair of long, mobile feathery ears occupied the sides of its angular head which ended in a dark grey beak with a downward hook at its tip.

“Yes, it’s me, Carla.” The creature told him softly, catching on his confusion.

Then why was the back of his mind telling him ‘dude’ when he looked at her?

“Seb’…” She began slowly. “I’m not the only one that has changed like that. Everyone has. Fred’s like me, a hippogriff now…” She stood up (up until now she had been sitting on her haunches in a chair) and turned sideways for Seb to get a good look at her before sitting back down.

Wait like the hippogriffs in Harry Potter? They weren’t that colorful in the movie last he checked!

“Please, I want you to take this slowly. You transformed, like everyone. In fact you’re the same species as the Captain. A unicorn.” She told him. “Do not panic.”

Carla pressed a button on the side of his bed which made his head rise. Strands of spiky royal blue hair fell down on the edge of his vision, and Sebastien finally got a look at himself. If the creature claiming to be his girlfriend was right then the unicorn he had become was much smaller than he used to be: the bed around him felt gigantic.  Above the white bed sheets, he could see two dark red furry limbs which ended in hooves. One was connected to an IV at the… elbow probably (if it was even called that anymore), and the other had a medical armband wrapped tightly around it that connected to the heart rate and blood pressure monitor above his bed.

She wrapped one grey claw around his hoof and gave it a gentle squeeze, the hippogriff bearing a soft smile on her beak (and how that was even possible, he had no clue). He could still feel her other claw stroking his head, the blue strands of hair on the edge of his vision rustling as she made swirling motions with the appendage.

“See? No need to be alarmed just yet. You’re a tough guy right? Nothing like that can get to you.” She reassured him. “Do you want to see your face?”

Sebastien forced a weak nod.

His girlfriend pulled out a phone out of her coveralls’ pocket, the sight of the item immediately erasing any doubt he had left that the hippogriff might not be Carla. No one else he knew had that graffiti pattern on their phone’s case, because she had painted it herself. She turned on her phone’s camera and pointed the screen at Sebastien.

On the small screen, an equine face with a short, softly curved muzzle stared back at him. Two large magenta eyes looked on in surprise, each of them having prominent eyelashes. At one point on his forehead, the dark red fur that covered his face traded place with royal blue, the hair lengthening in a spiky mane far longer than he had ever worn his hair. A small, soft-tipped horn poked out of that mess of an haircut on his forehead (hence Carla calling him a unicorn); and finally two large ears sat on top of his head, each the same dark red as the rest of his new coat of fur.

And by the appearance of the features on his face, one thought was nibbling at the back of his mind that Fred might have had a reason behind calling him a ‘she’. Still mute thanks in no small part to the tube in his throat, the injured Belgian conveyed to his girlfriend he wanted to pull off the sheets that covered the rest of his body.

“Are you sure you want to do that? There is no hurry you know…” She hesitated, eyes glancing in the direction of Doc Delacroix’s office. Fred was really starting to take his time.

Sebastien made an insistent noise.

Resigning herself to having to soothe a soon-to-be very distressed boyfriend, she reluctantly pulled the sheets off of Sebastien’s body in one swift motion.

The wounded unicorn’s eyes trailed down his transformed body in wonder. Bandages covered his barrel, but he was otherwise naked. Going past the bandages, his eyes landed on something he was pretty sure shouldn’t be there.

For he was damn certain he wasn’t supposed to have teats between his legs. The sinking feeling he had in his gut started mounting rapidly as his eyes scanned desperately for his dick, not finding it anywhere between his legs. He spotted a catheter tube filled with yellow liquid connected to a bag on the bed’s frame, his eyes followed the tube in hopes of finding it.

But the tube just dove between his furry thighs…

The final pieces of the puzzle clicked together in his mind, all thoughts grinding to a sudden abrupt halt.

“I’m so sorry Seb…” Carlas whispered, her claw squeezing his hoof.

Sebastien fainted.







While the Rhine’s cadets were having some transformation-induced drama, the rest of the personnel around the docks were actually trying to get work done. Artyom had finished building his kill house inside of a commandeered warehouse, and he had requested his first batch of trainees for that day. This time, only Nikola had been available to help him, Sri being occupied with assembling a shooting range somewhere else on the docks to give some basic weapon training to the sailors of the Rhine Forest. Bart had joined them to provide some input, his English having significantly improved in a short span of time. The stallion still wasn’t grammatically correct most of the time (and that was putting it mildly) but he could manage to get his point across in a pinch.

Following an agreement with Alejandro, Artyom had promised he would spare some time to do firefighting and emergency response training after the combat part. The crew had to get accustomed to using their emergency equipment and SCBA’s with their new bodies, or the next accident that occurred on board would spell their doom.

Thus now the blue dragon found himself staring down at a rat maze of a kill house from his position on top of a makeshift scaffolding walkway. The position allowed him to keep track of the group inside the plywood structure he had made for their training. Large sheets of plexiglass had been added as a transparent roof to keep the smoke in once they moved on to firefighting training, or just to keep stray shots from escaping the training area (they were only training with their FN 303’s, not with live guns, naturally).

Yes, he knew that was a wasteful use of plexiglass but he had found a couple containers of two-meters-by-three sheets and he would be damned if he didn’t put them to some use. 

The structure he had come up with had been kept simple for the sake of the crew’s status as novices: not too complicated or with too many angles to watch out for, but with as many possibilities as he could think of off the top of his head to highlight certain types of approach. He had even gone the extra mile and made two different staircases and an ‘upper floor’ to force them to think vertically.

Not too shabby for something he had put together in one day.

The rooms and hallways were willingly kept narrow to mimic a ship’s interior. Lacking the time to do it and not seeing an added benefit to it, Artyom had kept himself from placing furniture inside except for the mannequins that served as their training targets. The sailors inside had been given simple instructions about it: red paint on the mannequin meant bad guy, blue was for non-combatants, and green for VIP when the exercise called for it.

Right now, he was simply having them walk through an exercise with red targets. Nikola was inside the maze, the gargoyle trailing behind the group of three sailors they were training and giving them instructions on how to make their approach properly.

“Learn fast.” Bart commented next to him, seeing one sailor shoot the first target in their path.

That first sailor was Ivan, the female osprey griffon that usually kept watch alongside Geert when they were at sea. The Ukrainian’s approach was correct, if a bit slow. His marksmanship left a bit to be desired, two of the three shots he fired out of his pistol at the target missing, but he was a beginner at this kind of training. Behind him, Danny and Nguyen followed; the parrot and the cat sweeping the corners with their own weapons, the carbine variants of the 303.

“Their basics in firefighting must translate reasonably well.” Artyom guessed. Damage control did train them in moving through enclosed spaces like that. “Oi! Keep someone watching your six!” He yelled at them, seeing all three trainees start to focus their aim in the same direction.

Danny was the one to react at that remark, gun swiveling to aim at the door they had entered from. The yellow feathered female parrot was clad in the usual orange coveralls of Amandine’s crew, with a flak jacket on and a pair of protective goggles. They didn’t need to wear hearing protection yet, not until they started using stun grenades for entry exercises.

Said parrot crewmember had quite a few ongoing rumors surrounding her recently. If the ratings’ grapevine was to be believed, she was at the moment the sailor that had gotten the most ‘daring ‘with her changes, so to speak. That or the story of her supposed one night stand with Carlos was complete bullshit. Artyom had a hard time believing the electrician could have managed to convince a formerly macho, middle-aged Filipino like Danny to ‘give it a try’. Her behavior hadn’t changed that drastically following their reappearance.

And yet there were multiple tales of Danny having been seen exiting Carlos’ room. Granted, the Russian vet’s refusal to believe the story was also linked to him having bet a couple bottles of liquor that Micha and Vadim would be the first couple to go at it.

“See something?” Bart asked him.

“Uh… No. Why the question?” Artyom said.

“Look on your face.” The unicorn shrugged.

“Just thinking is all, nothing important.” The Russian said.

Of the three sailors in the current batch of trainees, Nguyen might have been the least enthusiastic of them despite being the only one to have actually faced monsters. Artyom didn’t blame the brown furred cat for that; he was just a cook after all. In fact he’d consider himself pretty stupid to hold any of his fellow sailors to military standards, they weren’t soldiers. He only wished to train them enough that they would not accidentally shoot a friendly if backed into a CQB situation.

The dragon’s grip tightened around the walkway’s railing. He would not lose any of his shipmates to monsters.

“I have one idea.” Bart proposed as they watched Nguyen engage the targets in the next room, the cat making a decent effort of using the doorframe as cover. “Do you know…” He hesitated. “… Combat sports? Karate, Judo?” He asked him, making a chopping motion with his hoof for emphasis.

“Martial arts you mean?” Artyom quirked a scaled eye ridge at the blue unicorn. “I used to practice Systema in the military, but I haven’t done any since ’95. You want an expert in martial arts, ask Alejandro.”

Bart gave him an inquisitive look.

“The Chief Officer.” He explained. “He practices Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, should be able to come up with something if you ask nicely.”

“Bayonets maybe?” Bart proposed.

“That we can do.” Artyom nodded.  “I’ll ask Niko and by the end of this training we can spare some time to show them some close range techniques to fend off melee attackers. That good for you?”

The stallion nodded. Nearly every monster they had met with the exception of the electric mites attacked in melee, so they’d better teach their shipmates some techniques to fend off attacks like that.

Down in the kill house, the trio attempted to make a coordinated entry into the next room. Keyword being attempted: Danny accidentally brought his clawed foot down on Ivan’s tail which made the griffon release a piercing squawk. Both of them tripped and fell down in a heap. Behind them, Nguyen didn’t catch on immediately and failed to see his sprawled colleagues since he already had his carbine shouldered and aimed.

On the bright side he didn’t fall. The downside was that the cat already had one clawed digit on the trigger in blatant disrespect of rule three. Him stumbling on his downed teammates made him press the trigger by accident, hitting everything but the target and landing a nice shot in the middle of Danny’s back (and it was at that precise moment that said parrot decided never to remove the Kevlar plates from her flak jacket again).

Artyom pinched the top of his muzzle between two claws and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Will be long day uh…” Bart said.

And what an understatement this would be.







That day’s expedition to the UN City and the Maersk HQ did yield a lot of intelligence of all sorts. Both buildings were nothing particular to look at save for the UN building’s modern architecture and a collection of Maersk ship models (one of which found a place inside Captain Gerig’s office), but the information they got was a treasure trove of sorts.

The fruits of their research had been brought inside of Amandine’s cafeteria for processing. Roberto was among the three poor souls that were tasked with wading through and sorting all the documentation, with the assistance of the Rhine’s own secretary, a female gargoyle (as in: an actual female, not a former dude) going by the name of Monika, and their Logistics Officer, a cat called Bandile that had white fur with a black spot on his throat.

And even with the three of them it was no small task. The recovery teams had been thorough. Rahul had brought them coffee from the confines of his kitchen, and much as he disliked the Indian dog, Roberto was forced to acknowledge they would need it to sift through the mountainous pile of data.

The UN branches located in Copenhagen seemed all focused on humanitarian purposes and a lot of the data they had retrieved contained guides on the development of settlements, agriculture, basic infrastructure as well as how to assist developing populations. They also found some data on medical assistance from the WHO and UNICEF branches, the latter appearing to be a particularly prominent agency in Copenhagen. Several document referred to the supply division’s depot within the city, but weirdly enough none referred to the exact location of the building as if it didn’t even need to be mentioned. This frustrated the trio to no end as they worked their way through the documents; they knew the depot would hold some precious resources they could use and both Captains had been very clear that finding its location should take priority.

Roberto slammed his empty mug of coffee down on the table with an annoyed hiss. This was the fifth document in a row he was reading that mentioned the target but he still hadn’t found the tiniest clue!

“Frustrated?” Monika commented wrily.

The gargoyle was busy processing the data from the Maersk HQ, which was a lot less obscure and much quicker to sort through. Most of that data was already sorted by the company anyway so they only had to upload it on the ship’s server. The team in charge of the modifications to the Rhine had even already claimed all of the files regarding shipbuilding from Maersk’s former shipyard in Odense. Local intelligence files had suffered the same fate, the team being in need of quickly locating the materials needed for the modifications. 

Funnily enough, female gargoyles like Monika seemed to be bulkier than males, which gave them a matronly silhouette. They did have breasts, but their mane (ashen grey in Monika’s case) didn’t extend to their neck like males. Oddly enough, they had antlers like the males but lacked a tail. The feminine features on their muzzle were unmistakable, the angles more rounded than on males. The pinkish skin on Monika’s muzzle traded place with a tan coat of fur somewhere around her neck.

“I just can’t seem to find that bloody depot!” Roberto complained. “You got any luck on your side?” He asked Bandile, the other cat being also busy with the UN files.

“Can’t say I have.” Bandile hissed. “It just doesn’t make any sense…”

“Damn right it doesn’t.” Roberto sniffed. “It’s like they don’t even think it’s worth mentioning at all. A depot full of humanitarian supplies and containerized units, but no fucking address!”

The Italian stood up to go set down the files he had been reading in the pile they had made for anything related to medicine. Just a couple more operational procedures and equipment lists from the WHO. Their collection of development aid manuals was growing quickly; at this rate they would have no trouble learning how to grow crops of their own if they wished to.

Roberto grabbed a new stack of documents and moved closer to the window where Rahul had set down a thermos of coffee earlier. After refilling his cup, the cat stopped a second to look at the landscape of the docks around the docks, his eyes landing on a white building off in the distance.

“Can you guys come over here for a second please?” He asked the other two in the cafeteria.

Monika and Bandile gave him a weird stare but otherwise complied silently, not really knowing what the Italian was getting at.

“I will have you know, I like to think of myself as a clever person. Today however, I do declare solemnly that we three have reached the rank of utter fucking idiots.” He announced, still not turning away from the window.

“Hey! Watch what you’re say-“ Bandile protested angrily before Roberto interrupted him with a soft tut-tut, one digit raised.

Roberto lowered the digit to point towards a building on the edge of the docklands. Monika and Bandile squinted for a second before their faces fell in embarrassment.

“Fine… We are idiots.” Bandile admitted while Monika just slumped down in a chair.

On the edge of the docklands, in perfect sight of both the ships and the UN city, was a large warehouse with the UNICEF logo emblazoned on it.







A couple floors above, the Captains were having a discussion around a cup of Dilip’s favorite blend of tea. The topic was nothing too serious; just idle talk for the two of them to confront their ideas against each other. They were sitting in couches around the coffee table in the Indian’s office, the seats normally being used when Dilip had to give presentations in his office.

“That’s some good tea Prateek.” Gerig complimented Amandine’s Captain, the pink unicorn holding the teacup in his telekinesis.

“I’m always on the lookout for good blends but Darjeeling always will be my first pick.” The pariah dog said, taking a sip himself. “But please… just call me Dilip.”

“Call me Raimund then.” Gerig told him. “There was one thing I was thinking about when they brought in the data from the UN building…” He began. 

Dilip motioned for him to go on with his paw.

“We know people will start reappearing, correct?”

“Indeed, no clue how fast exactly but they do seem to reappear.”

“And now we have a lot of humanitarian data, and soon aid supplies. You also claim to have access to extensive satellite services…”

“… and you probably will as well.” Dilip completed.

“Irrelevant at the moment. What I mean is, do you think we should look into locating survivors more? Our ships give us access to the entire planet basically, and with this data, surely we can lend assistance to a great many colonies as well.” Raimund said.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t…”

“Come on now! We have everything to gain from survivors getting back on their feet -or hooves, paws, whatever fits- quickly.”

“Do go on.” Dilip said, leaning back slightly.

“Think about it. We find a group, help them set up their colony, train them, and then we can start rebuilding the industry!” The unicorn claimed.

“The industry? You sure you’re not reaching a bit far there?”

“Not at all. Think about everything we need to run our ships. Food, fuel, parts.” He listed. “Food being the most basic of all, we only have to help a couple groups and they will soon be ready to give us their surplus food if we teach them how to grow crops with the manuals we have. I don’t know about you, but I sure appreciate fresh food in my plate. Go further, find certain groups of skilled survivors, train them, and restart an oil refinery, a factory, anything!”

“Sounds ambitious.” Dilip commented. “We’d have to find the survivors first.”

“Not a matter of ‘if’, only ‘when’.” Raimund told him. “You and I both know how important shipping is to the world, and we have the ships to bring these colonies anything they may and will need. One colony making a lot of food? A little surplus for us, the rest to supply more industrial colonies.”

“Are you saying we should start an empire?”

“A trading company.” The mare corrected him. “Trade is what makes civilizations thrive. We can either choose to lie down and have civilization collapse into isolated, backwater settlements or…”

“…Save what we can. Have those who come back find something noteworthy.” Dilip finished for him.

“Noteworthy? I can tell it won’t be just like before the Event, but give us some credit at least. We have to do this; you know we can’t subsist forever on salvaged resources. At one point or another, we will need manufactured goods, and if we don’t plan ahead I bet that HPI of yours will rob us on their prices.” Raimund said as he tapped a small hoof against the coffee table to make his point.

“That’s one thing. We still have to locate survivors you know, baby steps I’d say, baby steps.”

Raimund straightened up on his haunches a bit. In his rant, a strand of white hair from his mane had escaped the rubber band he was using to keep it behind his head.

“Which makes me think, we have all those satellite services, telecomms to attempt locating them but nobody has the time to do it with all the work we already have piling up on our collective back.” He raised his muzzle to stare right in Dilip’s eyes, the gaze in his baby blue eyes disturbingly intense coming from a teenaged mare. “Except for your latest rescuee, that is.”

“Not a bad idea.” Dilip admitted. “From what she told me, she has a bachelor degree, so she’s far from unskilled. If I fashion her a workstation, maybe in her cabin, I can probably have her comb through every available network and scan satellite pictures. Won’t be enough though, but I may have an idea to help with that.”

“Entertain me.” The unicorn said, spreading out his forehooves.

“Remember the research data I have on monsters and the Event? The demonic circles?” The dog asked.

“Some neat files, rather well made. Why?”

“One of my intentions with those was to trade them to the HPI for extra credits, and maybe ask if they’re interested in the medical data on the species we’ve turned into as well since my Third Officer was looking into that too. Now… what if we traded that intel for the locations of survivors? I’m willing to bet they have several such locations in their database.”

“That might just work. How complete is the data?”

“For now? Sufficient that I can give them a first batch, but I still have much to do before I can call it complete.”

“Then we’ll try tomorrow when they call me.” Raimund nodded. “And you will give your new radio operator a workstation?”

“I will talk to her about it.” Dilip stated before serving himself a new cup of tea. “There is one more thing though…” He began hesitantly.

“You sound like you’re about to walk on burning coals.”

“I might as well since this matter involves you directly.” He told the other Captain flatly. “It’s something I have noticed occurring ever since our crews came across each other. This wasn’t a problem when it was only my ship because they knew each other before the change, but we’re starting to have some issues with the genderbent sailors.”

“Explain.”

The problem wasn’t in fact too complicated to notice. If sailors from one ship could be expected to know their shipmates and keep treating the genderbent sailors like their original gender, such wasn’t the case with other crews. Several -thankfully minor- incidents had already popped up when newly-made females took umbrage at being called Miss by a sailor from the other ship. This wasn’t helped by the fact that some minded way more than others and that, contrarily to Amandine, Rhine Forest had started off with a mixed crew that had actual females and even in one case, a female-to-male transformee. 

All in all it made it extremely hard to keep track of how they were supposed to treat who. They couldn’t rely on sight to figure out what they were supposed to call the person they were talking to, and it was unlikely this issue would get better as they found more survivors. Not with the 25 to 35% genderswap rate they had measured so far.

Raimund slumped in his couch and started massaging his temples with his hooves. This wasn’t the kind of issue he wanted anything to do with, yet here he was, directly involved in it.

“I’m just saying…” Dilip said with a shrug.

“It’s fine. I understand.” Raimund sighed. He grabbed his cup of tea and downed it in one go, the still warm liquid from his latest refill burning its way down the mare’s throat.

“Frankly, I want to leave that decision up to you. You having had your gender swapped means they will respect the decision. I can’t justify making it on my own.”

“We’re sailors Dilip. We’re practical folks. They won’t like it… but I say we stop calling a parrot a dog because it can bark, so to say.” Raimund uttered slowly. “They won’t like it, I won’t like it, but it’s necessary for the sake of practicality.”

“So be it.” The pariah dog intoned with a soft nod. “Now, it’s getting late and I still have to approve several expedition plans. Hopefully our guys should have located the depots and supplies we want by now…” He said, standing up.

Raimund hopped off the couch as well, stopping for a second to adjust her clothes with her telekinesis. She did have her pilot shirt and a pair of elastic shorts adjusted for her frame and tail, but they were still pretty loose.

“Still got some work ahead of myself as well. Gotta review the results of my crew’s weapon training for today.” She said.

“I heard they did well enough, your group of vets made sure of that. Do you want to come by later for dinner? I know you’re stuck on a vegetarian diet but my Chief Cook has a pretty good coconut curry recipe.”

“Sure, why not?” The mare accepted. Good cuisine was never something to scoff at.
> Chapter 28: Tug Life
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning rose on the next day to see a group of tugboats pull a column of barges towards another sector of the city. The tugs, coming from the Rhine Forest, were just small twenty-meter long boats that lacked the endurance to set out for full voyages, but  they made up for it in sheer bollard pull. Their flat bow and stern sections, with rubber shock pads on both ends, made for poor speed through the water but the construction was ideal for what they were doing at the moment: towing barges.

The Rhine’s fleet of cargo barges didn’t actually have their own propulsion. The sturdy yellow box-shaped crafts relied entirely on the tugs to be moved around the docks, but they still were pretty convenient to ferry around large amounts of cargo. Each of them could hold a respectable 380 tons, which could be either liquid or dry cargo depending on the variant they brought out of the bowels of the large black barge carrier. In this case, both Captains’ orders had been pretty clear: fill every single one of their tanker barges to the brim with fuel (and lubricants too, but they didn’t need quite as much of it). The whole load should bring them to about 7500 tons of assorted fuel (HFO for Amandine, marine diesel for Rhine). The sheer quantity should last them for a while and they might even reach the spoilage date if they didn’t sail around too much. As far as they knew, Schmitt had estimated they had until the end of November before the fuel stored in shore tanks became unusable.

The tanker barges weren’t the only ones attached to the column. Roberto had found the location of a small repair yard within the boundaries of the city; and while its dry-dock was far too small for a behemoth ship like the Rhine, they intended to strip it of every shipbuilding components they could find. 

The city district they were headed to was a nautical mile or two south of the container terminal they were moored at, outside the boundaries of Copenhagen’s former layer of fortifications that protected the eastern side of Freetown and Christianshavn. Strips of reclaimed land branched out towards the sea from there, each covered in industrial buildings that were thus kept away from residential areas. The bulk of the column headed further south towards the area where they had located the city’s shore tanks a couple days earlier, all of them clustered near a power plant.

A single tug split up from the rest, the little craft pulling four barges behind it, all four of them designed to carry dry cargo. Instead of going to the tanker terminal like the rest, the tug sailed towards a strip of land a bit closer to their berthing point. The repair yard they approached was nothing particular, its size preventing it from servicing large seagoing vessels but big enough to manage river crafts and houseboats. Its thick floodgates were closed at the moment, the work area behind them dry and separated from the sea. Several tower cranes sprouted out of the weed-riddled concrete ground of the yard at irregular intervals with two more prominent ones set on rails next to the floodgates. A narrow warehouse was also built on one side of the basin while a pile of decrepit caravans next to some containerized offices occupied the other, with piles of scrap and parts all around.

“God damn; that right there is gonna be a bitch to sort through…” Carlos breathed out. 

The Filipino from Amandine had been assigned to the team, his role as an electrician justifying his presence that day as he would have to pick out some of the equipment for the systems they planned to install. He wasn’t the only one from the roll-on/roll-off to have been assigned on that team: Angelo was with him, the Greek bringing with him his engineering skills and the raw minotaur strength that allowed him to wield one of their MAG machineguns as if it was a mere varmint rifle.

“We got time.” Angelo tried to reassure him. Both of them were standing near the bow of the tug as the pilot steered the craft on the last approach to the quays nearest the dry-dock.

“Time? Need I remind you we got to fill…” He counted the barges behind them. “… Four of those? That’s fifteen hundred tons!” The sulphur-crested cockatoo cried out in a squawk.

“And? Roberto never said we had to fill them all. The materials list for the Rhine takes priority, everything we take after that is just a neat bonus.” The Engineer told his subordinate.

“Won’t make it any faster…”

“Why? You need to go back to Danny now?” Angelo teased. The Filipino tried to hide it, and his white feathers would have hidden it had it not been for the slight rise of his crest and feathery ears. “Gotta put the ‘cock’ part in cockatoo to work uh?” The minotaur joked.

“Terrible pun, and that’s not it at all.” He protested. Okay, maybe it was partly true. “Just enjoying the new gaming rig is all. The Witcher 3 was released barely a week before the Event struck and I just started playing it. Man, that thing…” He shook his head. “You gotta try it, blows my mind I tell you!”

“Eh, I’ll give it a try maybe. I was mostly busy setting up a server with bots for BF4 yesterday. I even got to name one Amandine.” He shrugged. “That and I got a backlog of books to catch up on…”

The two geeks’ conversation was brought to a halt by them approaching the quays. With the tug and barges being much smaller than actual seagoing ships, they could afford to come pretty close to the quays and hop off directly to tie the mooring lines. The process didn’t take long, but attaching the entire convoy of four barges made for a mess of ropes going from one mooring bitt to another.

As long as it held, the minotaur didn’t care too much. He was an Engineer, not a deck guy. Up on the bridge of the tugboat, the barge’s pilot reported they had moored successfully over the radio before shutting down the craft’s engine. The vibrations going through the small hull ceased at once, and the pilot leapt down to the main deck.

The pilot in question was definitely something worth noting, in particular to Angelo because she was none other than Nikolaos, the minotaur cow that had been injured the day of the Rhine’s return to existence. She still was very much injured, with several bandages wrapped around her, but the wounds were clearly not enough to stop her. She had managed to adjust a set of coveralls to her tall, muscular frame since then, but had only achieved a form of chest wrappings to hold her breasts.

Which Angelo definitely didn’t ogle, no sir, not at all.

She also didn’t appear to have had the time to modify one of the combat vests they had brought back from the expedition in Slagelse. Instead, she was wearing a cobbled together net made of web strapping to which she had attached just enough pouches to put ammunition for her own machinegun (a MG3 as they were called, some modernized version of the famed Nazi MG42) and some other tools as well as her walkie-talkie.

“Everything in order?” She asked one of the other sailors that accompanied them, making a show of ignoring Angelo.

Two more sailors from the Rhine made up the team: Mikhail and Yancy, respectively a purple dragon that looked like a bipedal version of Spyro the dragon and a blue and gold macaw. The former was there as their main combat specialist, being a veteran from the Ukrainian army, and the latter was there to assist Nikolaos with steering the tug. Both were armed with Canadian M4 and M16 guns they had retrieved for the Rhine, each weapon sporting rails to fit accessories and optics that Amandine’s collection of FNC’s lacked. Hell, Mikhail even boasted a grenade launcher on his M16 (or C7 as someone would later tell Angelo).

“Tight against the quay, ‘would take a hurricane to rip off those lines.” Mikhail told the minotaur cow. “We good to move on to the ‘yard?”

“Yeah.” She said, rolling her shoulders before motioning towards the warehouse with her snout. “Mind coming with me to see if we can find some forklifts or something? Those cranes don’t cover the whole yard. Yancy, think you can watch the ship while we’re busy? Keep an eye on the radio too.”

The moment said parrot gave her his OK; she leaped over the tug’s railing and started marching towards the warehouse without even acknowledging the sailors from Amandine. Mikhail followed closely behind her, the purple dragon offering Angelo an apologetic look before jumping over the railing after his superior.

“Is it me, or is she pissed at me for some reason?” Angelo asked.

“I wouldn’t say pissed at you in particular… just pissed that you got to keep your dick while she’s stuck as an Amazon of a cow.” Yancy told him offhandedly. “That and the Captain’s new thing about entire fleet.”

“Danny doesn’t seem to care…” Carlos muttered.

“Irrelevant at the moment, but cute.” Angelo smiled, giving his friend a small (by minotaur standards) tap on the back that pushed the much shorter parrot half a meter forward. “Maybe I’ll confront her about it, maybe. Come on now, we got some work to do.”

As it turned out, a couple river barges had been in the process of being refitted in the basin before the Event. The narrow crafts were propped up on struts amidst various piles of plates and parts, their mechanical guts splayed out beneath them.  The boats were surrounded by open sided tents that protected pallets of components from the weather, the pallets serving both to transport and to protect them from rusting away in the numerous puddles of seawater that dotted the basin every time the concrete floor dipped.

None of them encountered a monster that day despite the tanker teams announcing over the radio that they had found a demonic circle close to a recycling plant. Where the monster had gone off to, they didn’t know, but it didn’t turn up while they were busy.

The process of loading the barges at the repair yard was a tedious one. They had to pick which parts were usable for the planned modifications, move the pallets closer to the quays, start up a crane to transfer them on the barges and then secure every single one of them inside the holds. Many of the plates and I-beams they found lying around lacked a paint coating to protect them from corrosion which lead to them being discarded: shallow rust could be fixed with some grinding, but deep pitting forced them to abandon the parts. Having to check whether or not a plate was corroded too much made them lose a lot of time, though Angelo’s ability to lift entire pallets of steel with little effort may have gained as much time as they had lost.

The other minotaur on the repair yard couldn’t afford such physical effort yet, she was still recovering from her injuries. Nikolaos could see Angelo lifting pallets from her position on a walkway in the warehouse, the sight of the bull making a sour look appear on the cow’s muzzle. She knew she wasn’t treating the other Greek fairly, the guy was in no way responsible for her own fate… but it just wasn’t fair. How could he get stuck with a transformation that just made him ridiculously muscular while she got stuck with massive udders on her chest? Granted she wasn’t that bad herself in the muscle department, and she was even taller than the bull, but still!

Her mood wasn’t helped by her new body’s reaction to the sight of Angelo either. She wasn’t exactly surprised to have wound up with an adjusted sexuality after the change, such was the case for most of the genderswapped sailors in the fleet, but the lack of surprise didn’t make it any more pleasant. With a very bovine snort, she turned away and hopped down to the area where they had found spools of electrical wire.

“Still pissed off?” Mikhail asked her casually.

The dragon had just entered the warehouse with a forklift he had fixed. The little loader’s engine had sputtered a bit at the start so he had used the batteries of the tug to jumpstart it. Except for a nasty black cloud from the exhaust, which didn’t even faze the purple dragon, the thing was running mostly fine.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” She growled, piling a couple spools of wire on an empty pallet. “Try to imagine the transformation making you gay, doesn’t sound that funny now uh?”

“I’d argue about the gay part.” The dragon shrugged. “By all definitions, you really aren’t. And even then I don’t think the biggest conservative on any of the crews would be dumb enough to dislike the genderswapped folks for it. You’re your own worst critic as they say; I doubt you would find anybody that gives a shit ‘bout it ‘cept for you.”

The barge pilot glared down at the shorter dragon.

“Don’t give me that look.” The Ukrainian told her. “I don’t… approve of homosexuality myself.” He admitted with a sheepish shrug. “But if you think for one second that I’d give a hoot about what you --or any other genderswapped crewmembers for that matter- do with your new situation, think again. You have my sympathy, but don’t expect me to care more than that unless someone tries to shove a dick up my arse.”

Nikolaos quirked an eyebrow at that.

“… A dick up your arse?”

“I ain’t ever going to Sweden again, that’s all ya’ should know.” The dragon said, pointing a bronze colored claw at her, trails of smoke escaping his nostrils. “As for Angelo, whether you hate him or not, you gotta at least try to cooperate. Christ, you haven’t even talked to him as far as I know!”

“Fine, I’ll give the guy a chance.” She said, rolling her shoulders. “Now if you could move that forklift over to that end of the warehouse I think I spotted a couple rubber sheets for the seals.” 

“Tak.” Mikhail concluded before hopping back on the forklift.

They still had plenty of components to retrieve, and the longer they took, the longer the works on the Rhine would be delayed.







Further North near the ships’ berthing place, two of Amandine’s trucks were seen leaving the container terminal and heading for a large white warehouse not a kilometer away from the vessels. Both were red Volvo eight-wheelers equipped with a hooklift and a little crane that allowed them to pick up any kind of cargo they may find, though they lacked the capacity of the more common lorries Amandine also had in her holds. This was no big deal to the team of five spread out across the two trucks considering they were so close to the terminal that they could easily make multiple runs fairly quickly.

Vadim, Boris and Nguyen were in the lead truck that passed the exit checkpoint of the terminal. The team that was on guard duty had received one of their new .50 cal machineguns just in case. The heavy weapon –now installed on a tripod close to the guards- would ensure nothing short of a tank of a monster would make it past them. Overkill? Probably, but then again there were no morals to speak of when it came to bloodthirsty otherworldly creatures.

The truck following them was occupied by none other than Camille and Anton, the female griffon Angelo and Aleksei had met during the Rhine’s rescue. Camille still had a broken arm, but considering the possible contents of the UNICEF warehouse, they would need as many medically trained personnel as possible.

Less than a minute later, the group was already on site and dismounting their trucks. The supply depot sure was an imposing sight from up close. It rose high up in the sky with the blue letters and logo of UNICEF displayed proudly on its façade. There were some office buildings and loading docks for trucks adjoining the main storage building, as well as a very modern looking lobby whose appearance was only marred by the weeks of seaborne salt that had accumulated on its windows in the absence of maintenance personnel to wash it off. There was also a container bay behind the building that held stacks of blue and white containers, some with UN logos on them, others with a Red Cross or Crescent.

Vadim had them stop the trucks on the parking lot near the lobby. First he wanted them to explore the building and figure out what they would pick… though he figured they would take a lot of the warehouse’s supplies before the day was over. Talks of humanitarian assistance to survivors were going down the chain of command and he was pretty sure most if not all of what they would need for that particular task would be found in that very building.

By his side, he heard Camille whistle as she took in the full size of the building. The orange hippogriff was forced to hop around on three limbs because of her plastered arm. The Doctor couldn’t carry a rifle because of her injury and she had admitted to being repulsed at the idea of carrying a gun, but Captain Gerig had at least convinced her to take a pistol for self-defense.

As if they went around shooting survivors in the first place…

“Impressed?” Vadim asked her.

“Oui, I did humanitarian work in East Africa five years ago. Seeing where this comes from…” The French hippogriff shrugged with her wings. “It’s just so damn big.” She told him with a hint of awe.

Vadim turned an eye towards the trucks. He felt like they needed to keep an eye on them but then again… they were still in sight of the checkpoint so he just radioed the guards to ask them to keep an eye on their vehicles while they were inside.

“Guys… just remember that monsters can spawn inside buildings too.” Nguyen warned them, the brown furred cat having direct (and painful) experience of such a case.

“Duly noted cook, we’ll remember to be careful.” Vadim acknowledged his worries.

“Just remember to mind your stun grenades.” Boris joked as he passed the bipedal cat and entered the building, much to Nguyen’s annoyance.

“They tasered me mid-throw!” He cried out in protest.

“Or so you say.” The Russian chuckled before Vadim sent him a warning glance.

He knew his medical assistant liked to get under people’s skin, but there was a time and place for everything. Much as he hated stopping banter like that, an expedition in unsecured territory was not the moment to start antagonizing the cook of all people.

And he was doing the griffon a service too: Nguyen may not be particularly vindictive, but once Rahul got word of somebody laying it into his kitchen colleague… He knew the Chief Cook wasn’t above ‘spiking up’ certain sailors’ plates. That much the Russian should already know.

Never get on the cook’s bad side.

Unsurprisingly considering the number of still functioning wind turbines; the building still had power running through it. They had no problem retrieving a set of keys from a security office in the lobby that allowed them to traverse the hallways unimpeded. The team of five walked past the office sections of the building before emerging into the actual warehouse part. The ground dropped down one floor, leaving them on a balcony that looked down on extensive sorting equipment made out of conveyor belts and robotic cranes that connected to the loading bays. Beeping lights here and there coming from the equipment along with the constant whirr of ventilation above them told them work was ready to resume at a moment’s notice.

“Never seen a warehouse like that from inside… can’t say I expected it to be this…” Vadim hesitated.

“High tech?” Anton suggested.

“High tech.” He nodded.

Deeper inside, they could also spot towering shelving units loaded with pallets and cardboard boxes, each bearing the logo of one or another known humanitarian group. Boris had the bright idea of booting up a computer next to one of the conveyor belts, which showed them the inventory list as well as the location of every single item in storage. Camille quickly commandeered the computer and started scrolling through the menus after pulling a desk chair close to the computer.

“Any idea what we need to pick?” Vadim asked her.

The hippogriff swiveled around in her chair to face him, the motion making her crest feathers bob up and down despite the scrunchie that held them behind her head.

“Absolument.” She said, a smile starting to creep up on her beak. “Gather up people, it’s planning time!”

Thanks to the still functional status of the equipment inside, the Doctor was able to give each of the four sailors that accompanied her datapads linked to the warehouse’s systems. From her position behind the computer, she could direct them to a specific spot where they could pick up any item she selected on the computer, either with a forklift or on their own. The items could then be transported to the loading bays and loaded on pallets (if they weren’t already on one) where they would later load them on their trucks.

Considering the sheer volume of supplies the hippogriff had them pick up, the task was disturbingly easy to achieve. Camille made them take nearly every type of supply available: medicine, sanitation equipment, shelter tents, even crates of vaccines which they extracted from a refrigerated section of the warehouse. If the item could be of some use for humanitarian aid, she would take it. They also loaded more advanced equipment such as disassembled solar panels and small wind turbines, or even lab equipment for the lab Camille wanted to have installed on the Rhine. Over the course of many hours and even more trips with the trucks, they loaded the supplies inside Amandine’s cargo holds where some sailors made sure they were secured tightly against the decks. The sheer volume they took was considerable at first glance, but it was a testimony to Amandine’s sheer cargo capacity that the amount they loaded barely put a dent in her available cargo space. By their estimations in how she sunk down in the water during the loading, they came just above a thousand tons worth of supplies, less than a tenth of the cargo vessel’s deadweight.

Sooner rather than later, the team moved on to the containers stacked behind the building to figure out whether or not they could be useful.

And they couldn’t have made a better find that day.

The containers they found weren’t actually meant to carry cargo. That was what the loading bays in the warehouse were for. These containers were modular units. In other words: a container with its insides modified to become a room. Which was exactly what they had planned to install on the Rhine once the modifications were done. The container bay held all sorts of containers for various roles, all of them ready to be shipped anywhere in the world in case of disaster.

Guess now it was up to them to get to said disaster site. Not that they knew where the survivors were at the time, but Camille was pretty sure the responsibility should fall on them now that all of the regular humanitarian groups were gone.

The variants they found ranged anywhere from simple housing units they might be able to use as extra cabins to more advanced labs, clinics, communication centers, mobile generators and even some laundry containers and water purifiers. All of these wrapped up in the standard-sized package of twenty and forty-foot containers. They transported all that gear to the quays next to the ships where they would later sorts out which of them they would use as mobile camps mounted on trucks (meaning they would go on Amandine) and which of them would make up the new compartments for the Rhine Forest. There was plenty of time to figure out what to make of them, considering they hadn’t even started the modifications yet.

As they were loading the last container on their truck, Vadim spied Boris looking at a certain female griffon on their team out of the corner of his eye. Now, he would himself admit she wasn’t unpleasant to look at, her lithe snow leopard half being in no small part responsible for that. After he secured the truck’s hook to the container he nudged the other griffon in the ribs.

“Enjoying the sights now?” He whispered in Russian.

The goshawk griffon’s feathers fluffed up at the remark.

“So what if I do?” He replied defensively, only half turning to face his superior.

“Nothing really.” Vadim let out an amused trill. “At least I know you’re healthy. There is just this one little thing…” The Ukrainian cocked his head in fake hesitation. “… Something about you taking the piss on Ukrainians. Would have never figured out you could have eyes for one now, katsap.”

“Can’t you stick to Micha and shut it you jackass?” Boris glared at him. Vadim ignored the jab and shook his head ruefully.

“You could at least give her a few days to get accustomed to the change; they reappeared less than a week ago unless you forgot.”

“Officer,” Boris ground out. “If you could kindly mind your own business that’d be great. What do you know about Ukraine anyway? You spent nearly your whole goddamn life in Poland!”

“That’s not the point; but fine, do as you please if you wish to. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Vadim walked off and went to the truck’s hydraulic controls. “Just one last thing… you may want to watch your tail you amorous catbird, change or not body language is still a thing, and yours is a big tell.”

Boris growled at him before angrily stomping towards the truck’s cabin, Nguyen giving him a confused look, not having been able to follow the conversation.







Dilip watched the first group of tugs bring back a batch of fully loaded barges. A sailor climbed inside the cabin at the top of the Rhine’s gantry crane and rolled it aft of the vessel where it started picking up the yellow painted lighters and stacking them in their proper bays where another sailor would hook the tanker barges to the ship’s manifold and power grid. The system wasn’t that necessary when used for less viscous liquids, but they had taken in a fair amount of heavy fuel oil for Amandine’s main engine, and the substance needed to be kept warm at all times unless they wanted it to clog up the tanks.

“First barges back?” Raimund asked him.

Dilip just nodded, not turning away from the window. They were both inside of the German Captain’s office while they waited for the HPI’s next call. He had made sure to switch to a clean shirt and even groomed his fur before coming, along with bringing all of his research files and the first reports on the humanitarian supplies they were still busy loading on board. He could see the stacked containers on the quay next to the barge carrier, with Alejandro and another Officer from the Rhine he couldn’t recognize busy discussing which ship would take which container.

“Is the computer ready for the call?” Dilip asked nonchalantly. 

“Jawohl, all files are ready, the antenna is broadcasting just fine. We just have to wait for the agent to contact us. You think this will work?”

“Chances are it will if it’s the same agent I already talked with.” The dog said as he stroked the underside of his muzzle pensively. “He might react… oddly to your predicament though. I don’t recall telling him about the age regression effect of the change on certain individuals.”

“Haven’t you rejuvenated a couple years yourself?” The unicorn tilted her head, one ear twitching.

“Yes, but my ship hasn’t suffered from any case as bad as yours. Probably because it’s a smaller population sample…” He mused. “How many cases are there on the Rhine already?”

“Two; me and one of my bosuns.” Raimund frowned. “How old are you supposed to be in the first place?”

“Fifty-four, I think I gained about twenty years of life. You?”

“I was sixty-one before…” She waved a pink forehoof at her whole body. “That.”

  Before they could go deeper into the topic of being young once more, the Deck Officer that was on watch on the bridge called them saying he had just received a call for them. Raimund ordered him to patch it through, and soon they were staring at the face of one certain Indonesian HPI agent. Eko was much like Dilip remembered him: dark skinned (by Indonesian standards) with grey hair and a pair of rectangular glasses on his nose. He had the beginning of wrinkles here and there, which was further enhanced by him appearing to be quite tired. On his shoulders was en executive suit with subtle hints that denoted his position within the HPI’s hierarchy. If Dilip’s memory was correct, he appeared to have progressed through the ranks since the last time he had seen him.

The agent appeared to be sitting inside of a dimly lit office, the camera conveniently oriented so as not to let them see anything they weren’t supposed to.

“Good evening Eko.” Dilip nodded curtly before motioning towards Raimund with his paw. “This is Captain Gerig of M/V Rhine Forest.”

The HPI agent stared dubiously at the young mare across the screen, but tactfully chose not to comment on the appearance of what his intel told him was supposed to be an elderly German.

“My greetings to you both.” Eko said politely. “I believe Captain Prateek has already conveyed to you most of the relevant information about my organization?” He asked Raimund.

“He has.” She nodded.

“Then you will not be surprised to hear I wish to extend the same contract we have with Amandine to your vessel. The terms are the exact same as those of the first contract and I will send it once this conversation is over. Does that suit you?”

“Ja, it does.” The pink unicorn had a hard look in her eyes when she looked at Eko, clearly having doubts about his intentions.

“Excellent. I suppose you will be glad to hear my superiors have deemed it worthwhile to invest resources in third-party… retrieval teams, so to speak. From now on I am to be considered the liaison agent with any and all non-HPI groups with which we have ongoing contracts.” There was a hint of pride seeping in towards the end of the last sentence, Dilip noted.

“Should we thus believe the HPI has long-term wishes of cooperation with us?” Dilip asked.

“As long as I occupy the position, consider it within my direct interest to maintain such activities and justify them to the upper echelons, yes.” Eko told him.

“If I may…” Raimund inserted herself in the conversation. “While I am certainly very glad to have a contract which allows us a source of parts for our ships, I do need to remind my colleague…” She glanced towards Dilip. “… That we also have certain ideas we wish to bring forward.”

Dilip caught on quickly what she was referring to and made of show of pulling out his latest research files for the agent to see.

“These files contain all of my recent research and the data my crew had gathered on the Event up to now. I have included data on the new species people changed into, observations on the wave that preceded the cataclysm, reports on demonic circles and monsters.” He tapped the pile of papers with the palm of his paw. “And there is more on the way. The Rhine’s resident Doctor and my own Medical Officer are working on more advanced research which should be available as soon as we can get a lab running.”

“And you wish to trade this data to us.” Eko guessed. After receiving a nod from both Captains he continued. “This… I can say it is certainly valuable, though I would have to submit it to the R&D department for appraisal.” He idly drummed his fingers against his desk. “Yes, I think they would be interested and might even ask you to run experiments they can’t do themselves. Do you wish to trade all this for extra credits?”

“Actually we’re in need of intel ourselves.” Gerig said.

Eko raised an eyebrow but otherwise remained silent.

“You see, we’ve come into possession of a great many humanitarian supplies and manuals from UN-related agencies in Copenhagen. It is our wish to seek out survivor groups and offer assistance.” Gerig explained. “But for that we need their location, and I am positively certain your organization does know the location of certain survivors.”

“I can’t picture either of you two as a bleeding-heart humanitarian. I’d wager there is an intent behind this, isn’t it?” Eko asked calmly.

“Aye, we think assisting them in setting up like that will allow us to restart certain industries and food production. Trade routes, oil refineries, anything that’s necessary to save civilization from fading away.”

Yet another idea Eko felt like he could use bring to his superiors to possibly scale the hierarchical ladder. He closed his eyes in thought, trying to figure out a way to work out the deal for a second. Once he felt like he had a viable plan he opened his eyes and addressed the Captains a polite smile.

“A worthwhile endeavor then.” He said, clasping his hands together.  “We do have hints of survivor presence in certain areas of the globe, and we can send you this data at the same time as the Rhine’s contract. As for your research data, do you think you can send it this evening? I will need to ask around to the head researchers tonight to see if they have any uh… specifications. Is this feasible? Naturally the data you will be sent will be dependent on the quality of your own research data.”

“This should do.” Dilip agreed.

What came afterwards might as well have been equated to mere courtesies once the bulk of the deal was done. Eko asked them how they were faring and what they had already retrieved to trade to the HPI later, which evolved into some idle talk about European art and certain pieces they knew of and wished they could go out of their way to save. Dilip did try to ask him if he had any idea where they would have to deliver the goods once the HPI had improved their shield tech, but there was nothing Eko could tell him about it yet except that it would be on the East Coast of the United States. Research was progressing, but they still weren’t able to miniaturize the tech sufficiently. Soon enough, the Indonesian agent excused himself before signing off, the computer’s screen turning dark.

“Decent guy for a spook.” Raimund admitted.

“Only to us, he was rather dismissive of my subordinates when they had to take guidance from him; and even we have to read between the lines. You saw his reaction to our plan right?” Dilip told him as he stood up and cracked his broad neck.

“He’s got ideas of his own. What they are, I’d very much like to know.”

“So do I, so do I…” Dilip sighed.





 Warning: explicit sexual content is present in the next scene





Micha and Vadim had continued training their flight abilities every chance they could. Boris had come along one evening to glide with them but he hadn’t joined them since then.

Vadim was secretly glad he didn’t, he very much enjoyed being able to relax with Micha without the Russian overhearing what they were talking about.

Progress was still slow for both griffons. They had gone back to their spot between the container stacks to keep hurling themselves off of them and into the pile of mattresses and cotton. The materials genuinely felt like a nest of sorts for the two avian chimeras, and if Vadim was entirely honest he may enjoy crashing down into it a bit too much. He definitely should be working on his landings more than simply plowing through the pile of soft materials much as he loathed admitting it.

By then, Micha’s fears of jumping had been completely forgotten and she kept jumping from the highest available stack with little to no worry. The Pole wasn’t actually so much scared of heights as she was restrained by her own justifiably strict safety culture. Vadim was aware of what had happened to her father in the past, he could understand how accidents like that would make someone cautious. In most cases on board, this was a good thing.

Not so much when it came to training a natural ability that conflicted with Micha’s still very human-oriented perceptions of what was safe and what wasn’t. Nevertheless, the bald-eagle female griffon had gotten around that issue and was now enjoying the gliding experience as much as he was. From his position on top of a container stack, Vadim observed her lithe form descend down to the ground, her wing positioning starting to become more natural and controlled which allowed her to vastly extend her flight time compared to her first day of training.

Yeah he definitely was staring at her rump on the way down. So what?

Vadim himself was perched on top of another stack a bit further away from the ‘landing pad’. He had chosen this stack in particular because the path forced him to take a turn and he was pretty sure he had gotten the turning technique down. Clenching his claws around the edge of the container he checked the path ahead of him. The multicolored containers formed a narrow corridor in front of him which veered ninety degrees to the side before leading to the landing pad.

One push of his hind legs later, the griffon was airborne. The sensation felt exhilarating, making him feel… whole. He could feel the push of the air against his wings, the wind in front of him that ruffled his coveralls and feathers, the ever so subtle motions of his tail behind him which he had discovered helped him manage his trim. Vadim let out a happy squawk as he built up speed on the way down. Never in his life had he done something so exciting. He beat his wings a couple times to try and maintain his altitude, but his wings weren’t trained enough to keep him aloft yet. His technique wasn’t perfect, and he still didn’t quite know how to position his legs during flight, but he was starting to figure it out.

Three containers after his leap, the griffon angled his body and wings to the side, the motion making him take a soft turn and lining up with the landing pad in which he could see the lounging form of his friend.

Sharp raptor eyes spotted the bottle of vodka in Micha’s claws, the other griffon lazily taking sips from the bottle and not looking in his direction. A mischievous smirk appearing on his beak, he opened one gloved claw and twisted his wings ever so slightly.

Micha didn’t know what hit her. One instant she was resting her arguably tired wings and enjoying a bottle of liquid joy; and the next an orange clothed blur shot past her ripping the bottle from her talons and crashing down in the pile of cotton, bits of white material flying in all direction.

“You’re an ass.” She growled, leveling a mildly annoyed glare at the other griffon.

“’Felt like celebrating my most recent success at turning.” Vadim shrugged with his wings before wincing. They had been at it for a while now; he was starting to feel the strain in his wing muscles now. The sun had even settled by then.

Taking a long gulp of liquor from the bottle, Vadim idly noted they had already gone through two thirds of that bottle. Of course there were another two empty ones lying… somewhere below all the cotton.

“You still up for a few jumps?”  He asked her. Not that he felt like he was himself, he just wasn’t willing to be the first to quit.

Not after she pounded him in the ground in their last round of wrestling. Human females may not be as strong as males; but griffons were equally matched. That much he had learned quickly, the two of them currently being tied regarding who could pin the other down the most.

Micha stood up, extended her wings and flexed them a few times with a wince on her beak. Vadim could smell her scent across the short distance that separated them, the female griffon having sweated quite a bit from all this exercising. Not that he was much better… although her scent was actually quite pleasant to his nostrils. Beyond layers of seawater, grease and gunpowder he could smell hints of pine and forestry, the scent of which instantly soothed his nerves.

“Nah I’m good for tonight.” She told him. “Pass the bottle, I don’t like to leave then unfinished.”

Unbeknownst to Vadim, Micha had noticed her friend’s scent as well. And if Vadim’s shared hints of seawater and grease like her own, it was also laced with the smell of medicine from his work in the infirmary along with a deeply smoky scent. She was just as affected by his smell as he was by hers, the effect not being helped by the alcohol they both had in their bloodstream.

Both of them extricated themselves from the pile of mattresses and cotton, Vadim fluffing up his wings and setting a few primaries back in place using his beak once he was out.

“You use your beak?” Micha asked incredulously.

“Well, duh…” Vadim deadpanned. “That’s how you’re supposed to do it. Don’t tell me you were using a hairbrush or your claws now?”

“But that’s…”

“Perfectly natural! No wonder your feathers are fussed up like that, your beak is made to take care of them, and you’ve got preening glands at the base of your wings to wax your feathers.” Vadim explained. “It’s… important you know, for insulation, for hygiene, for flying. You won’t ever get a good airflow with messy feathers.”

“How do you even know that?” She cocked her head in wonder, the motion jostling her a bit too much because of the alcohol.

“Got an ornithology book from Schmitt.” He slurred, the alcohol was starting to get to him as well. “I experimented.”

“Could you maybe… show me?” Why the request brought a blush under her feathers she didn’t know.

Vadim happily accepted the request. The two of them silently made their way to Vadim’s cabin; Micha accidently bumping into the other griffon’s side a couple times on the way.

Maybe she had slightly overdone it with the vodka.

Vadim took off his shoes and gloves when he entered the room before hopping on his bed and sitting down on his haunches. He eagerly motioned for Micha to come sit next to him, which the pole did after getting rid of her own shoes and gloves.

“So how do you do it?” She asked.

“First off, open up your wing. I need to show you your preen glands.” He began.

The bald eagle griffon opened one of her large brown feathered wings for the Ukrainian to see. The primaries were indeed messed up somewhat, which would explain the slight difficulties she had been experiencing during flight training. They also had lost the sheen she had started off with the day of her transformation, something which made the more instinct driven parts of her mind reel in outrage.

Sensitive as wings were, Vadim was particularly careful not to be too rough in his handling. His claws gently ran over the edge of Micha’s wing which sent shivers running down her spine and towards her loins. Unconsciously, her tail flicked to the side and intertwined with Vadim’s. His talons crept closer to the base of the wing, one of them give a gentle tickle on a little nub at the base of her wing. The simple motion made her let out a slightly aroused gasp, which Vadim didn’t seem to notice or acknowledge.

“That’s your gland.” He told her softly as he stroked the back of her wing with one claw. “You… sort of nip it with the tip of your beak and then coat it with some wax. Then you run your feathers through your beak, easy.”

Micha turned her head and found herself staring in Vadim’s yellow-green eyes, both of them entranced for a second before he snapped away with a polite cough.

“Can you show me how?” She caught herself blurting out before she could stop the words coming out of her beak. Behind her, her tail squeezed around Vadim’s, the other griffon obviously catching the gesture.

“Yeah!” He cried out. “I mean… of course I can.”

Vadim undid the zipper on his coveralls up to his midsection, motioning for his friend to do the same. He needed to keep his feathers uncovered and had discovered that fresh wax tended to stain the fabric of the coveralls. The front half of the suit was pulled back, the sleeves tying it just behind the base of his wings and exposing his coat of fluffy light grey feathers for Micha to see.

Before he had time to open his beak he was pinned on his back by Micha, the female fixating him with a hard stare… though he was pretty sure he could spot a lustful glint in her yellow eyes.

“And what say we stop beating around the bush?” She whispered in his ear, leaning down. Behind her, her tail was quickly swishing from side to side and her paws were kneading the blanket. Vadim caught a whiff of her scent, his mind starting to fog up.

“Are you sure? I mean you were…” But she cut him off by clasping her talons around his beak.

“I am sure. I want you Zinoviya.” She purred, keeping her head close to Vadim’s.

The Ukrainian’s response was to rub the inside of her thighs with his tail, the gesture making the female melt down in his arms with a soft coo. By then he was pretty much going in blind following his instincts. Griffons were not suited for kissing, but they did make use of their beaks for foreplay, each of them running their beak through their partner’s feathers while they used their claws to caress each other’s wings. Their tails were intertwined together once more, one or the other moving to brush against the sensitive underside of the other.

Both of them could feel the heat starting to build up, electric feelings rushing through their nerves and buzzing around their bodies at each stroke of their partner. At one point they switched positions and shrugged off their coveralls, Vadim winding up on top with the both of them wrapped in a tight hug. Neither of them had ever experienced anything quite like it, not even with their former partners before the Event.

Micha rubbed her beak through the darker feathers on the back of Vadim’s neck one last time before the Ukrainian pushed on his arms, lifting himself up slightly and breaking the hug. His mind completely fogged up and running on automatic at this point, he gazed down lovingly at his partner. The white feathers on her head were all fluffed up and she was panting now. Her scent was all over the male griffon’s nostrils, wiping away everything around him but her, the situation being just as true for the female below him. She could feel the radiating heat of Vadim’s member pressing down against her nether regions. She nibbled at his neck with her beak and stroked the base of his wings which stood up straight at her touch.

Not able to wait any longer, the female bucked against Vadim which made the male griffon fall on his side. She pinned him to the bed with her talons and straddled him, hind legs tensed up and her rump bent so that her cloaca hovered just above her partner’s now very hard member. Vadim saw her hesitate a moment, both of them way too out of it to even think about contraception at the moment. 

The fur between her thighs was now dripping wet from arousal, heat radiating from the region and instincts screaming at her to take the plunge. And she did. Slowly, the recently-made female lowered herself closer to her partner’s member, Vadim letting her take it at her own pace. The feeling of his warm, erect dick parting her lips felt… alien to her mind but she relished the feeling. Having a foreign object enter her most private area and rub oh so pleasantly against her insides made her start purring in delight. She bent down on her arms to embrace Vadim tightly, the other griffon returning the gesture and wrapping his wings around her, encasing the both of them in a dim, cozy cage of light grey feathers.

Micha gasped as she finally felt her hindquarters meet Vadim’s. She could feel every pulse or vein of his dick inside of her cloaca, her walls wrapping tightly around him in the most intimate of embraces with her inner muscles twitching intermittently. Every little motion either of them made sent little electric shorts echoing through her nervous system. Vadim wiggled his hips slightly which made the shocks increase in intensity.

This was no human sex. This was something else entirely. Both for Micha and Vadim, the nerve endings in their nether regions would send stimulations coursing through their entire body from the tip of their tail to their beak at the slightest movement. This was a lot less rough than anything either of them had ever done as humans, and surprisingly gentle for a species like griffons.

Both of them clutched the other tightly in their claws as Micha rocked her hips slowly. Both of them were staring deep in the other’s eyes, now completely entranced by their instincts. Their motions were slow, deliberate. They needn’t hurry or be rough during the act, small motions being enough to bring them to new heights. 

They kept going at it for what felt like hours, Micha making a back and forth motion with her gyrating hips and falling to the side after a while. Still connected and on their side, they kept the motion going while their claws explored each other’s body and their tails twisted and rubbed against the other’s. Under them, the blanket was damp from both their sweat and Micha’s female juices, neither of them minding the slightest. Close to each other as they were, they could feel the other’s warmth and heartbeat even through their thick plumage.

And then they felt it coming. The beat in all four of their hearts increased rapidly, the intensity of the pulses going through their nerves rising threefold at once and making them break eye contact. The sensations robbed them of their breath, both completely whiting out from the rush of overwhelming feelings. Vadim felt his member start twitching in a fashion he was actually familiar with, though unable to react to at the moment.

They both climaxed at once, Micha’s cloaca tightening suddenly around Vadim’s pulsating dick. Even if his body hadn’t overwhelmed his nervous system like that, the male griffon still wouldn’t have been able to free himself from his partner’s grip. Not that he wanted to in any shape or form at the moment. His member spurted its life giving seed inside of his partner before slowly starting to soften.

As the intensity of the moment decreased and both griffons could feel themselves drifting away from the exertion their bodies had inflicted upon them, Vadim mustered enough energy to bring a wing against the side of Micha’s head. Gently, he brushed the underside of her beak with his own.

“Kocham cię.” He told her with a smile before drifting away happily, soon followed by Micha, both still cradling each other.
> Chapter 29: Busy Schedule
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vadim was actually feeling quite comfy at the moment. He was slowly starting to wake up after a good session of flight training with Micha the day before. If he was entirely honest he might have overdone it with the vodka as he was now feeling the aftereffects of the liquor, but nothing he wasn’t already used to.

Idly, the grey feathered griffon noted how warm he was feeling despite having fallen asleep above his blanket. He had seldom felt so good sleeping in this cabin.

And then he noticed the breathing that was ruffling his neck feathers. Without moving, he glanced down at the still sleeping form of Micha that had her head nestled in the curve of his neck just under his own beak. The bald eagle griffon was hugging his frame, just as he was cradling hers. She had one wing wrapping around his back, and one of his was keeping her hindquarters close to his in a tangled mess of limbs and fur. Even their tails were intertwined, keeping them in as close a contact as was possible.

He could feel the beating of her hearts, her intoxicating scent infiltrating his nostrils; his instincts relishing the proximity he had with his mate and ordering him not to break the contact. Still not entirely awake and with his mind sluggish from the hangover, he didn’t go against the call of his instincts.

Wait…

Mate?

His jumbled memory finally assembled the last pieces in spite of the hangover. He had actually had sex with his best friend (and technically superior, but he didn’t know which was worse). His breath caught in his throat for a second at the thought.

The seemingly innocuous reaction was enough to stir the other griffon, because he caught her heartbeats increasing. He wanted to break the hug, knowing Micha would have a very good and justified reason not to be particularly happy when she woke up… but it just felt so right.

The green highlighted feathers around her eyes parted to reveal her yellow raptor eyes. Still half-asleep, they groggily looked around for a couple seconds. Vadim caught a barely perceptible groan escaping her beak before her eyes met his, instantly opening fully.

He blinked.

She blinked.

Neither of them moved the least bit.

“Dzień dobry.” He greeted her in a whisper.

Vadim could see the gears in her head turning for a few seconds. She broke eye contact and noticed how close their bodies actually were, her head feathers subtly fluffing up in embarrassment at the sight.

“Did we?” She asked. 

The question was pretty much rhetoric. Both of them could still feel the dampness of the blanket they were resting on around their joined hindquarters, and the two were equally as sore in that region in particular.

“We did.” Vadim told her softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. You?”

Luckily she didn’t appear to be taking this too badly. Surprising considering her situation, but he wasn’t about to start complaining.

“Same. That felt… completely different than anything I ever did before… No regrets?” He asked her.

The female griffon actually snuggled closer to him at that, rubbing her neck against his before settling down.

“I know I should feel bad because of, you know…” She trailed off. “But I just can’t seem to find it in me to do that. It just felt…”

“Natural?”

“Tak.” She agreed. “Plus I remember I initiated it anyway. Can’t really blame you for responding eh…” She chuckled, one of her paws beginning to stroke Vadim’s. “Still, all of that… I… that was the most amazing thing I ever felt.” She breathed out.

“Like how you feel the whole body is involved?”

  She nodded.

“But… what now?” Vadim asked her, genuinely not knowing where to go from here.

“What do you mean what now?”

“Do we leave it at that? Do we each go our own way? ‘cause I remember you technically being married, me having a girlfriend, and a certain desire of…”

“What if we… kept it going until those problems in particular can be addressed?” She cut him off.  “It can’t hurt… right?” She knew she had told Aleksei she wanted to be male again, but nobody said they couldn’t keep each other company until the issue was resolved right?

At least that’s the reason she came up with in her mind. Both of them used to visit red light districts frequently, so this couldn’t be that different from that habit.

“Yeah… can’t hurt.” Vadim muttered, arms tightening around her frame. “I don’t want to turn around, what time does the clock say?”

“Half past seven. You got watch?”

“Only at ten o’clock, I made a deal with Boris. You know what the others will say about us?”

“Some probably won’t be too happy about their bet.” She snickered.

“I wonder how many had a claw or paw in it…” Vadim mused.

She nibbled him in the neck softly. The gesture felt natural.

“Don’t. That’s their business, not ours.” She chastised him.

“You still sure you don’t mind that turn of events? I mean… come to think of it that’s kinda fast.”

“It does feel odd, and I know a couple weeks earlier I wouldn’t ever have thought about doing that, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.” She reassured him.

“And neither do I. Now, you want to keep snuggling for a while or do we do some actual preening?”

  Micha’s sole answer was just to snuggle closer.

The two of them stayed in bed a little while to nurse their hangover before Vadim excused himself to go take a shower. Parting was hard for the two of them, but eventually they had to get on with their lives. Micha flipped over in the bed to rest on her belly, idly thinking about how quickly the two of them had gotten accustomed to their new bodies. She idly looked around while Vadim was in the bathroom, noting the posters, books and CD’s that decorated the room. Vadim was pretty clearly into cars and military history, but she also spied a worn-out violin case poking out of his wardrobe. The Ukrainian had never told her he could actually play an instrument…

Before long, Vadim actually showed her how to take care of her wings and how to use her preen gland on her beak to wax her primaries. Her mate (why her mind was pushing her to use the word, she didn’t know) helped her remove some broken and bent feathers from hard to reach places like the back of her neck. By the time they were done, both of their plumages had taken on a clean sheen not seen since the day of their transformation. By nine o’clock, the pair of refreshed and happy griffons left Vadim’s cabin side by side, their shipmates easily noticing how much closer the new couple had gotten.

Crazy strong stuff those griffon instincts.

The ship’s grapevine was quick to react to that, a short debate about the two griffons occurring in the depths of the engine room before liquor and cigars reluctantly started changing hands (or whatever the equivalent was), some crewmembers smug, others much less. The oldest of the crewmembers like the veterans were a bit partial about it, but nobody was really sure how to take it considering the subtle ways their transformations had messed with their heads.

And in all that fuzz, neither Micha nor Vadim had noticed how they had forgotten to use protection during the act, the two of them still drifting on a cloud of happiness.







That day, the trading of intel with the HPI took place as scheduled. Eko didn’t send them any message that would have signaled them Dilip’s data wasn’t of value to them. Instead, the Indonesian forwarded them the Rhine’s own contract, a note on how the HPI’s R&D department was still figuring what to ask them to do for their sake…

And of course the intel they had about survivor colonies.

They immediately had someone print the documents and bring them to the gathered Captains inside Dilip’s office. The Chief Officers and Engineers were present as well to observe the reveal, and maybe tell the rest of the crews later.

With a bated breath, Dilip reached for the files. The agent had given them the data regarding the Americas, unsurprisingly. He opened the first page showing a map, and a list of locations.

“Havana, Cuba, estimated size: minimum 30. Last observation: 7th of June 2015.” He read out loud.

“Saguenay, Canada, estimated size: minimum 20. Last observation: 1st of June 2015.”

“Veracruz, Mexico, estimated size: minimum… 80?! Damn that’s a lot. Last observation: 10th of June 2015. There is a note too: ‘Potential petrochemical activity’. You know what that mean guys…” The dog smiled.

“We might have a solution for our fuel problem. Does that mean I stop my research on the oil reconditioning project?” Schmitt asked from the back of the room.

“Keep working on it unless it takes you away from the Rhine’s modifications for too long.” Dilip told the orange dragon. “The document does say ‘potential’ after all; we can’t hinge our survival on an uncertainty. There is one more location too:”

“Belém, Brazil, unconfirmed activity. It seems to be all they have on the Americas for the moment, and they added the satellite pictures to highlight the activity. Still… That’s more than a hundred potential survivors to rescue. I don’t think anybody has any protest about that?”

There were none.

“To me that sounds like a straightforward path from now on.” Raimund said. “We finish the modifications on my ship, by then the HPI should be ready to receive our delivery and have given us a port of call. We do it, and then we move on to these guys and actually make use of all that humanitarian gear we salvaged.”

“And once we’re through with these locations, we buy more intel on colonies and move on to rescue more.” Dilip nodded, arms crossed. “Chiefs, do any of you have any concern or protest to manifest towards this course of action? The order in which we will tackle the colonies will depend on where the HPI wants their prototypes delivered, but that shouldn’t change too much.”

Alejandro actually had a few remarks about how they might need to do some research on the areas and have someone (in other words: Sandra) keep an eye on the evolution of satellite pictures around the colonies. Nobody really had anything to say against that, so the Captains sent the Chiefs off to tell the rest of their crews the news and to begin the modifications on the Rhine now that they had the parts to do it.







Considering their manpower base was still restricted by the small number of trained welders and the need to keep the terminal secure, it was hard to assign many sailors to the works on the Rhine simultaneously. Most were still hard at work training with their new weapons and, in the case of Amandine’s crew, their firefighting equipment as well.

  Over the course of the next three days, not a single expedition left the terminal. They didn’t have any free hands to allot to the retrieval of art pieces at the time. Amandine’s crew began running drills inside the kill house and soon enough, on board of their ship as well to give the entire crew a refresher on how they were supposed to react in case of emergency. Aleksei had completed several sets of adapted masks for their SCBA equipment, and they seemed to work just fine. She even made more than strictly necessary to equip the Rhine Forest and leave both ships with a surplus of gas masks.

Artyom increased the pace of the CQB training inside the kill house to make sure that everyone had a go at it. He even got tips from Alejandro on how to teach a handful of basic defensive moves that would allow them to fend off monsters at short ranges and keep enough distance so they could use their guns. Granted, it was not a complete martial arts course and the kill house stuff barely put them at reservist level, but combat skills were deemed secondary.

On the bright side, now he was sparring with Alejandro whenever he got the chance in the morning.

On the Rhine, the crewmembers were training as well. More and more of them were getting comfortable with their new bodies and had started modifying their gear to fit their new morphology. They began unloading the lighters that were stacked in the front rows where the modifications would take place, even hauling some of them out of the water to be dismantled for parts and materials. As soon as the lighters were out of the vessel, all five welders both ships had available began the work of creating the new bulkhead that would separate the containers from the barges. The process was lengthy and arduous because of how the Engineers had designed it, but the complexity was a necessity. Making it sturdier would mean they wouldn’t have to worry about breaches in the near future, and contingencies had to be built-in in case of accident.

Vadim found himself hard pressed for time when Camille fell down upon his schedule and claimed most of his free time either for her medical research or to give him more lessons on medicine. The Ukrainian would later lament about the mental exhaustion she caused him to Micha during their flight training in the evening, but not even once did he threaten to pull away from his medical duties.

Despite everyone being otherwise kept busy by the constant work going on around the terminal, Roberto kept looking for targets of interest they could send expeditions to. Most of them were art retrieval for the sake of the HPI, but he had managed to come up with a few tech companies they could get databanks from, as well as electronics for when they would have to start repairing their own tech. At some point the cat was visited by Bart, the sky blue unicorn telling the secretary about the need for some Swedish Ak-5 carbines to improve their own FNC’s with better optics and ergonomics.

That spurred Roberto to start devising a set of expeditions across the strait to Malmo, the two towns only being separated by a short tunnel next to Copenhagen’s airport. Knowing the level of engineering that went into Northern European infrastructure, there was little doubt the tunnel wouldn’t be usable. Eventually, he went to visit Dilip to present his idea of sending one team on a first trip to Malmo to get them some intel on the location of a base before actually sending out a salvaging convoy with lorries and trailers. The Captain approved of his plans, but the expedition had to be postponed until the crews were done with their training and they freed up some workforce to allot to it. 

The same went for possible leads on where to find the boats Amadi wanted to add to the Rhine’s complement: the ideas were there, but they just couldn’t spare the crewmen to do it.

Much to the cat’s dismay, more time was ‘lost’ when Captain Gerig decided to immediately have most of his crew go through refresher courses on firefighting and emergencies as well, which chained itself into a lot of them going through CQB training and so on… In a way, the cat couldn’t blame the decision and training had to be done, but the barge carrier made up most of the workforce they had in the ‘fleet’. This meant that as long as the Rhine’s crew was training, the rest of the sailors were too busy with the modifications and terminal defense duties to carry on expeditions. It frustrated him to no end because it felt like they were stuck doing nothing at times, and even the novelty of having the hippogriffs make use of their aquatic transformation to maintain the underside of the vessels had worn off surprisingly quickly.

Still, it was a nifty trick that would make them last longer before having to repair a dry-dock though. That kind of advantage couldn’t be understated enough.







“So?”

“So what? You’ll have to be more accurate than that.” Micha told Aleksei.

Both the griffon and the hippogriff were once more working on programming issues from the confines of the engine control room. They had pretty much sorted out the issue with the new pumps and Micha was almost done inputting the data by then. Aleksei on the other claw… She might as well be bashing her beak against a wall when it came to figuring out how to convert the audio files from the bridge’s radio log. Neither of the two would actually qualify as remotely competent when it came to coding, it was just a secondary skill set in an industry that rarely called for it. Not helping their cause was the fact they had been taught to rely on online repertories to write their code, which made for a massive roadblock in the event of an apocalypse.

But this obviously wasn’t what the hippogriff was asking her about.

“I mean, we all heard it through the grapevine ‘bout you and Vadim. Hell, I know you two keep hanging out.” Aleksei said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Surprised no one really, I’m just curious about how it felt like.”

Micha quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Haven’t you tried it on your own already anyway?”

“Come on Micha! You know it’s not the same, and I don’t have someone as close to me as Vadim is to you to take the plunge, and neither am I as ‘daring’ as Danny.” Aleksei said, making air quotes with her talons.

“Fine.” Micha blushed, embarrassment visible even through her feathers. “It was… overwhelming… just incredible… and even Vadim told me it felt nothing like human sex. It was slow and smooth, nothing rough at all. I… I don’t think I would have pushed him to do it had I not been a little bit tipsy at the time.”

“What, even for those that stayed male it’s not the same? Shit…” She shook her head. “Didn’t expect that. You wore protection I hope?”

Micha didn’t answer and lowered her beak ever so slightly.

“Micha!”

“It’s fine I assure you.” The Polish griffon raised a claw to stop her. “The day after it happened I felt incredibly horny all the time and we did it again in my room -with a condom this time mind-. Next day uh… I kinda… menstruated.” She said the last word barely above whispering level before letting her head fall down on the console in front of her. “Felt like shit the whole day before Vadim dragged me to the infirmary.”

“Damn girl you’re getting busy.” Aleksei breathed out. “And the two of you, are you in a…”

“Relationship? I guess we are…” She muttered.  “We just… agreed to forget about it if we ever find a solution to the female issue.”

At that Aleksei gave her a disbelieving look. Like hell they would, she had read enough similar stories (in fiction of course) as is, the hippogriff knew exactly where this was going and telling her friend would only be met with blatant denial. With a resigned sigh, she settled for drilling the bald eagle griffon on more juicy details about her experiences with the Third Officer.

Aleksei liked to consider herself genre-savvy, and in stories like that there always was a threshold not to be crossed. Poor Micha had catapulted herself way beyond that point and there was nothing she could do about it but watch.







On board of the Rhine Forest, a door slammed shut inside the accommodation. It was one of the rating-sized cabins, this one currently occupied by one of the half-dozen cadets the barge carrier had serving in her complement.

All in all these cabins were not too dissimilar to those of Amandine: a simple room with storage compartments for the sailor’s belongings, desk, bed, and a small door that led to a bathroom shared with the adjacent cabin. The biggest difference would have been that the walls were actually painted beige instead of white. That particular cabin hadn’t been decorated overly much by its occupant, since the cadets had only embarked recently on the vessel.

In that case, said occupant was a dark red unicorn mare with a spiky blue mane that was huddled in a blanket on the bed. She had been released from the infirmary recently under the promise that she would take care of herself and rest a lot. Not that she had any problem with it, the blood loss caused by her injury having made her particularly weak.

She also definitely wasn’t hiding from the rest of the cadets.

“You’re hiding from us.” Carla said in Dutch.

Okay, she might be.

The grey hippogriff was standing on all fours next to the door with a concerned look on her beak, ears held low.

“I’ve got issues to deal with!” Sebastien protested, tightening the blanket around herself with her telekinesis.

“Last I checked I had the exact same issues as you have yet I don’t hide in my cabin like a cornered rat.” He accused her.

  He wasn’t exactly wrong, their issues were just reversed. While her girlfriend (now boyfriend technically) had switched gender, so did she. She couldn’t even really complain about the lack of hands on her part, what with her newfound ability to interact with objects using her mind. But the gender change… it was just so chocking to one day wake up like that. Could she really be blamed for making use of her injured situation to stay in her cabin all day long? She did leave the room… once a day to go eat from the pantry when fewer sailors were around before she reported to the infirmary to have her wounds inspected and receive her daily ration of painkillers.

“You’ve been avoiding us. I believe I have every right to be worried about you.” Carla stated slowly.

“You needn’t be really.” She huffed, one ear twitching in annoyance. “I’m doing just fine.”

“Like Hell you are.”

“Really, I am. I just need some time to figure it out on my own. That’s what I usually do with issues like that.” She declared before turning away to face the wall.

If sulking inside her cabin qualified as figuring things out that is. She was barely at a stage where she could look at herself straight in a mirror, and each trip to the bathroom was a harrowing experience to her.

Hoofsteps behind her told the mare the hippogriff still wasn’t leaving. She felt a depression in the mattress when Carla clambered on and sat down on his haunches an arm’s length behind her.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, not even turning to face him.

“You know, I somehow doubt that’s the kind of problem you can sort out by thinking for a while and going on a lonely stroll. Just my grain of salt.” He casually told her.

“Oh really?” She said sarcastically, one of her large ears lowering to the side of her head. “Then what exactly do you do?”

“What we do Seb’. It’s not just me but the rest of the crew too; we’ve got group meetings with all those that have swapped genders. You’re the only one that tries to stick it on her lonesome and look where that got you.”

  The mare flinched at the ‘her’ Carla used in her sentence. Stupid rule decided by the Captain, convenient or not. She knew about the meetings, Doctor Delacroix had told her about it. She just didn’t feel like she needed it. It would just be… too embarrassing to face the rest of the crew as a little mare.

“If it’s the whole crew that does it then why did they send you?” She half-growled.

“Unless you forgot the part where we’ve been a couple for four years now, then nothing I guess.”  Carla said, the hippogriff creeping closer to her. 

  Sebastien felt Carla’s breath against her neck. Where in the past she would have been taller than her girlfriend, the case was now reversed: with the two of them sitting on their haunches, the hippogriff was easily a head taller than her. Carla puller her in a hug from behind, his bigger frame easily wrapping around hers and his shin resting on the top of her head just above her horn.

“I know things are… different now Seb’.” He told her. “But we’ve been an item for so long, and now that most of what we knew is gone, we really should stick together don’t you think?”

  The mare deflated in his hug, conflicting feelings bouncing around her head and pent-up grief, sorrow and frustration starting to threaten to spill over. Carla could feel her start to tremble in his arms. He extended his wings out to wrap around her in a cocoon of sorts.

Admittedly he was pretty confused with his behavior himself. He knew the situation tended to be pretty much the opposite in the past, but now his attachment to the dark red mare he was hugging had turned into something different. He was actually surprised, but not displeased to notice that his love for Sebastien had carried over after the transformation despite the two now being different species. Sure, being attracted to someone of her former sex felt strange, but it was Sebastien he was talking about. The same Seb’ he had known since he was eleven, the same one he had started dating at the age of sixteen. The difference now was that her mind pushed her to act protectively around the smaller mare, but she was convinced the two of them could still make it work.

“You…” Seb’ squeezed her eyes shut. “You mean you don’t mind the change?” Ah, there was the hint of hope in her voice Carla wanted to hear.

“I won’t lie, this is different and both of us will have to make some… concessions to make it work, but there is no one else I’d rather be with than you.” He whispered.

This appeared to be the last straw the mare in his arms needed. She finally turned around and wrapped her forehooves around the hippogriff’s chest before she started weeping. Carla gently rubbed her back as the tears stained his feathers and coveralls, not minding the slightest bit.

Because now he knew he wouldn’t be alone he thought with a small smile on his beak.







One day later, Bart made an interesting discovery. The unicorn had been kept busy most of the day near the kill house and shooting range, both to train sailors in combat and to receive some training himself. His coat reeked of smoke and sweat from the firefighting exercises he had gone through, but it felt satisfying to know he would be able to assist his new shipmates in case of fire.

He had also spent some time trying to figure out how to use guns with his telekinesis. Granted he could move them around easily, but aiming them was another matter entirely. If he just held them above him he wouldn’t be able to know where his shots would land, so he had to improvise. His hooves weren’t able to pull the trigger, but his telekinesis was. In this manner, the Corporal had started ‘cradling’ his rifle in his forehooves so that he would be able to look through whatever optics he fitted to it. Then, he had grabbed the entire gun in his telekinesis to float it around while he held it. It wasn’t exactly easy, but it allowed him to walk on two hooves as long as he held on to the gun.

On the plus side that method made recoil virtually nonexistent. If he didn’t have to carry the gun on his back when he wasn’t aiming it he would have no problem using a machinegun like their MAG’s or the Rhine’s MG3’s. Such a shame that his body strength had decreased that much when he changed into a unicorn.

Bart took off his sweater and coveralls before tossing them in the laundry basket next to his bed. Glancing inside, he idly noted he would have to run a laundry soon. To be honest he had been pretty lazy when it came to refitting a new wardrobe to his frame. He had the possibility of obtaining more clothes (and thus avoiding frequent trips to the laundry room), but he just felt more like hanging out in the armory rather than requesting sewing supplies from Farkas.

When he undressed, the unicorn stole a glance at the scar on his neck. Despite Vadim’s efforts at making the wound look good, he could still see a ripple of pinkish scar tissue peek out of his sky blue coat of fur. The stitches and bandages had now been removed, and it didn’t ache anymore, but the mark on his body would remain as a parting gift given by the wood hounds of Zeebrugge.

Sounds of rushing water in the bathroom adjacent to his cabin told him Nguyen was taking a shower. He had quickly discovered that the cat cook that was his ‘bathroommate’ tended to forget locking the door on his side, much to both their horror when Bart accidentally walked in while the Vietnamese was taking his shower. Several swear words in Vietnamese, Dutch and some confused apologies in broken English later, Bart stuck a Post-it note saying ‘trust your ears, not the door’ in Dutch on the bathroom door.

It still amazed him how quickly he had gotten accustomed to life on a ship with so many foreigners from all around the globe. And he was the one who kept badmouthing the navy every chance he got before the Event!

Technically they were merchants, not navy, so he was still free to do it.

His horn lit up and a drawer opened in the cabin’s desk, a bottle of water flying out of it and towards his awaiting mouth. Much as he disliked the loss of his hands, he had to admit there were some practical advantages to this whole telekinesis gig. He was still having difficulties moving more than two objects at once, but he certainly wasn’t lacking in precision.

In fact it even helped him be better at his job as the ship’s ‘gunsmith’. He was able to reach places he knew he never could have even with specialized tool, and removing grime from a rifle’s chamber was now done effortlessly with a mere glimmer of his horn. Anything that was related to guns, he could easily achieve with the magic of telekinesis and some ingenuity.

Well, not really anything. He couldn’t conjure the parts they needed to modify the FNC’s out of thin air for one. That would have to wait until they found a stash of Ak-5 in Sweden.

Bart’s musings were stopped by a soft glow on the edge of his vision. The curtains were drawn and the lights off, but he could spy a small glow emanating from one of the drawers under his bed. Odd, he didn’t remember putting his flashlight in that one. It was the one with the sword… Then again he could be mistaken.

He pulled the drawer open, intent on turning off the light before it burned through its batteries, only to find that it was the drawer with the sword. The same sword he had gotten from his unit’s regimental museum, the one that had belonged to the Administrator-General of the Congo Free State.

And the pink diamond in its pommel was glowing. Not like a car’s headlights or anything that intense, in fact he was pretty sure the glow wouldn’t be noticeable in broad daylight, but in the dim light of his cabin he could see the gem imbedded in the pommel release a faint pinkish light. He pulled it out of its scabbard, and it turned out that the heavily engraved blade was glowing as well.

Actually, now that he lifted it in his telekinesis, Bart noticed how hard it was to make the telekinetic wrap around it. Nothing impossible, but by comparison it was much harder to lift than a machinegun from the armory. He could even feel a slight feeling of dread deep in his gut when he looked at the gem.

“Hoe raar…” He muttered under his breath.

Gently depositing the sword on his bed, the unicorn grabbed the dirty set of coveralls in his laundry basket. There was no way in Hell he was sleeping with that in his cabin; this was going straight to the armory until he could get someone to take a look at it.







The next day marked the 21st of June, and on that day the Captains were finally satisfied with the training of both crews after countless hours on the range and in the kill house. They were deemed fit enough with their guns not to accidentally shoot their teammates in the back and with recent enough training in firefighting and emergencies that they wouldn’t watch the ships burn down helplessly. A fire drill would have to be scheduled on board at some point, but the fully fledged exercise could wait a week or two.

The first expeditions to be sent out were the usual art retrieval and other HPI related missions in the city center proper. They sent a couple trucks to small scale museums to empty them and bring back the art pieces, but Captain Gerig herself ordered them not to go for big targets like the crown jewels or the SMK just yet. She wanted to send a bigger convoy that would be able to do it in one go.

Beside those expeditions, another that finally left the terminal was the one headed to Sweden. Micha managed to get herself on the roster for that one by using her having already been to Sweden as a justification, though she couldn’t convince Dilip to let her bring Vadim along. Her mate was otherwise busy keeping watch and studying medicine under Doctor Delacroix, the French hippogriff apparently having a very clear path for him to follow.

A pity truly, but she had an expedition to get on with. Half an hour after breakfast, Micha was seen driving a Land Rover off the ramp of Amandine. She quickly stopped by Rhine Forest to pick up a crewmember to complete her team, and then they were off towards the town of Malmo. The city was built on the opposite side of the Oresund, a mere fifty kilometers away from where they had moored their vessels by road.

The sole thing that made the trip doable by road and allowed them not to use one of the Rhine’s tugs was the highway that crossed the strait. It first dove under the waters in a (thankfully still ventilated, they had checked) tunnel near Copenhagen’s airport before emerging on a small sandy island covered in lichen halfway through the strait and crossing the rest of the way via a bridge.

A clever solution made by local governments: it created a path for trains and cars while still allowing ships to traverse the Oresund and reach the Baltic Sea. Considering the standards of construction in Northern Europe, Micha wouldn’t be surprised if it survived another half a decade of decay and lack of maintenance before collapsing.

“So what are we looking for exactly?” Danny asked her from the passenger seat.

“Intel.” Micha simply said. “We need to find a Swedish military base.”

“Then why are we going to a city and not the countryside? Last I checked they rarely built bases downtown.” A yellow male hippogriff piped in from the back.

Or Frederik as he was called. A young eighteen-year-old engine cadet that came from the Rhine Forest. A cadet really was the only thing Captain Gerig had been willing to spare for her expedition, not that she minded. As long as her minimal team size of three was fulfilled, she had no reason to complain.

For whatever reason, Gerig had decided that the half-dozen cadets on his crew would be issued sub-machineguns instead of the carbines and rifles the rest of the barge carrier’s crew used, which is how the young German found himself with a silenced MP5 in his talons.

“We don’t want to comb an entire province worth of countryside just to find a base.” Micha explained. “Malmo’s one of the biggest cities in Sweden, it’s bound to have a recruitment center or a reservists’ office we can find. Then we can get the address to the… regional HQ or whatever it is they call it.”

“And how exactly do we find it?” Danny said with a hint of doubt in the golden parakeet’s voice.

“Either we get lucky and just happen to find a storefront with soldiers on it… or we attempt to be a little more clever than that and check out the yellow pages at the town hall. I’d rather go for the latter personally. Frederik, can you grab the backpack I left in the back seat?”

The hippogriff sitting in the back lifted a small canvas backpack in which Micha had put extra supplies on his lap. Following another instruction from the griffon behind the wheel, he opened it to reveal a trio of small blue books along with Micha’s supplies and extra ammo.

“English to Swedish dictionary, that way we can translate and know what to look for exactly. I looted them yesterday from a book shop.” Micha told the other two. “I’ve already been to Sweden once, not in Malmo I’ll admit, but it’s the same brand of book I used on my trip. Works well enough if you know what word you’re looking for.”

“Wait, you’ve already been to Sweden?” Danny burst out.

“Further north, biking trip with my… wife.” With what had happened between her and Vadim recently the word left a bizarre taste in her beak. “Biked all the way around Lake Vattern three years ago. Can’t say I can speak Swedish but I know a few words and some tips on how to get around.”

At the mention of a wife Danny gained an understanding gleam in her eyes. The yellow feathers parrot gave the griffon a complicit nod that went unseen by Frederik. She knew how it felt, her situation with Carlos being pretty much identical as Micha’s with Vadim, though much less intimate. It felt good, natural… as long as they didn’t think about before the Event. She used to have a wife and family herself before, all the way back in Manila.

How hard it had become to associate herself with such a distant life.

Soon, their Defender reached the end of the bridge to Sweden. They could see a vast expanse of dry, yellowish grasslands ahead of them, interspersed with shrubs and short bushes at regular intervals. Here and there, small dunes held in place by hardy grass broke up the monotony of the landscape. They bordered the roads and blocked off most of the view they had of Malmo.

Exiting the highway, they reached the city within minutes of driving. It wasn’t nearly as big and sprawling as Copenhagen, but much like the city on the other side of the strait its city planners had planted a lot of vegetation all over the place. The greenery only faded away once they were in downtown Malmo proper to trade place with an architectural style not unlike Copenhagen’s, albeit with much less modern buildings or frills.

Just as planned, they found the town hall on a plaza decorated with circular patterns and multiple fountains that had dried up weeks ago. A green statue of Charles X Gustav covered in patina was staring straight at the building through its inanimate, soulless eyes from its position atop a horse in the middle of the plaza. The town hall itself was built on a base of pale grey stones. Red brick walls rose up from the base, contrasting with the black stones of the quasi-gothic arches that enshrined the windows of its façade. The motto of the city was engraved in golden filigree just below the top of the building, where marble statues inside small alcoves lined the copper-sheet covered roof. 

Micha only spared a few seconds to take in the architecture before she parked her Land Rover in front of the main door.

They were forced to break it open in order to get in, but it was a possibility they had foreseen before leaving Copenhagen. A liberal application of a crowbar and much swearing later, the now slightly splintered door swung open.

The inside of the building fit its outside appearance, though the lower levels they visited bore the marks of modernization in the shape of computers and modern appliances.  They were careful to approach the situation as if monsters could get the drop on them any moment… but it was not to be. Not a single demonic circle was found that day.

Between the three of them, they managed to extract a host of useful data from the city hall, including the location of a Swedish army base some eighty kilometers or so further inland in a place called Revingehed. They spent the better part of two hours sorting the files and notes before loading them in their Land Rover. Most of what they loaded was in Swedish and they only really had a vague idea of what it was about by a few keywords and the title, but that was for Roberto and the Rhine’s secretary to sort out. And maybe their Logistics Officer as well if he was unlucky enough to get roped into the translation effort.

“So that’s all?” Frederik asked in disbelief as he carried one last stack of repertories and leaflets out of the building.

“What do you mean that’s all? We got an entire truck of intel!” Danny cried out just behind him. “The hell were you expecting, cadet?” She asked him.

“Dunno really.” The hippogriff shrugged with his wings after dropping his load in the back of the Land Rover. “I just expected it to be a bit harder than that is all.”

“Bases are not some kind of closely guarded military secret you know.” Danny pointed out. “Not bases like that anyway, from what I understand it’s a regional command centre.” She added with a click of her beak.

“But you’re not saying all bases are as easy to locate as that.”

“Of course not!” The golden parakeet laughed. “But I don’t think we’d have any use for the contents of a super secret nuclear silo or whatever.”

“True, true.” Fred nodded. “Still, I kinda expected it’d have taken us a little bit longer than that…” He trailed off.

“Bear with me. I’m a certified welder, the moment we get back I’ll have to go back to working on the modifications. You’re just gonna get stuck watching a checkpoint for the rest of the afternoon.” Danny told him. “Been doing so much of that lately, can’t get the smell outta my nostrils.”

“Nobody said we had to hurry you know.” Micha interrupted the two of them from the city hall’s entrance. “I’ll let the two of you in on a little secret about this expedition…” The griffon said quietly as she crept closer to them. “I, for one, willingly overestimated the time it would take by three hours or so in order to get some time away from the port. Now I don’t suppose you have a… shop or whatever you felt like robbing during the apocalypse?”

Neither Danny nor Fred said anything. They just nodded complicitly before piling back in the Land Rover.

All three of them had a bucket list of sorts regarding what kind of stuff they’d happily loot, and they spent a little while mingling around town in their truck. They couldn’t exactly take much since the 4x4 was already filled to the brim with raw intel, but there were a couple things they could spare room for. Danny for one had them load a box of assorted dried and canned fruits (according to the parrot, they tasted heavenly to her transformed taste buds, enough not to make her regret meat) while Fred settled for breaking into a book shop and taking a couple books from what looked like a fantasy themed shelf to Micha and Danny. Not that the two higher ranked sailors would have known what 5th Edition was, but apparently it was popular among the Rhine’s small circle of cadets and the book shop was stocked with the English version.

As for Micha, she decided robbing a CD store was worth her time. They found a small shop near a park not too far from the town hall, and so Amandine’s Second Officer found herself browsing through rows upon rows of CD’s, vinyl’s and music memorabilia. She was a pretty big fan of heavy metal and hard rock, and there were a few best-of collections in there that found a place in her backpack, including some she knew she already had back home in Gdansk.

Considering how unlikely it was she would ever see her home in the near future, looking for replacements wasn’t a bad idea altogether. 

Before they left, the female griffon quietly padded over to the Classical aisle. Not that she liked it overly much… but Vadim looked like he did if the CD’s in his cabin were anything to go by. She snuck a couple such collections in the backpack she had adapted to fit her new form while Danny and Fred were busy looking at guitars. The bag itself wasn’t too different from a human one, but she had been forced to add several transverse straps to keep it in place due to her quadruped stance.

Motioning to her companions that it was time to go, Micha finally moved out towards the exit of the small shop, her backpack now a little bit heavier. She stopped on the threshold just to take in the sight of the park on the other side of the street. A little one-meter high fence separated it from the city, grey stone trading place with lush vegetation. Gravel pathways snaked their way between trees that had been planted just far enough from each other to create shade without cluttering the scenery. The lawns were overgrown and the hedges and bushes around the park’s ponds were now spreading out of their intended spots… but it still was a pleasant sight to behold.

And then a feather glided down to the ground not even a meter in front of her beak. She stopped. Fred and Danny stopped just behind her.

Slowly, Micha craned her neck upward. High above her, on the edge of the roof, a pair of yellow raptor eyes stared back at her in curiosity.

There was a griffon looking down at them on the roof.

She was obviously a female: ruby red feathers surrounded her eyes, not unlike the green ones around Micha’s. In fact the other griffon was half bald eagle like the Pole, her other half being that of a cougar. The only reason she was able to tell she was half cougar being that: one, Vadim was half cougar; two, she was only wearing a tattered t-shirt on her frame.

Micha was also pretty sure the griffon was a kid… or chick probably in that case (or cub maybe?). A particularly young kid if she compared her size to that of the only young griffon she knew of, Izaak, Rhine Forest’s second bosun.

The feather she had spotted falling down didn’t come from the chick. No, it came from the pigeon the kid was in the process of munching down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The chick finished her… meal and then proceeded to stare straight at Micha for a couple seconds.

“Hey…” The Pole tentatively said, waving at the kid with one of her claws.

That got a reaction out of the kid, because the instant Micha raised her limb, the smaller griffon stood up and screeched at her before leaping off the building, much to the surprise of all three sailors below her.

The chick was obviously more skilled at gliding than most sailors in the fleet because she managed to cross the street by frenetically flapping her small wings and landed in a tree. She turned back towards them and let out another screech before jumping towards the next tree deeper in the park.

It took a whole five seconds for their collective minds to start working again. Micha shook off the surprise with a soft growl before running off after the kid in a full sprint.

“Get the truck and try to get around the park!” She barked at the two sailors behind her before she leaped over the park’s short fence.

The Polish griffon didn’t look back to check if they had heard her order correctly, instead being entirely focused on chasing the fleeing kid whose tail she could see disappearing through the brush some hundred meters ahead of her. She had lost the advantage of altitude and was now rushing through the overgrown hedges.

Good, that meant she was as much of a glider as Micha was, she wouldn’t have her fly off in the sunset then. She was pretty sure that under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have had any problem catching up with a running kid, but unlike Vadim she had yet to train her running skills on a treadmill. Not helping was the fact that she was currently burdened by the not insignificant amount of gear she was carrying.

Micha was no soldier, and having to sprint with a heavy flak jacket weighing her down along with a fully loaded backpack, expedition gear and her hunting rifle whose stock bounced painfully against her hindquarters gave her more than enough of a handicap.

Apocalypse or not, you can’t just abandon a kid in a city, and that one being only clad in a tattered t-shirt didn’t leave her thinking she had an adult with her.
> Chapter 30: Shiny and Tasty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Micha barged through a grove of willow trees at full running speed. The heavy fronds hanging from the branches whipped at her face and snagged on her beak and jacket but she didn’t lose track of the kid running away from her by the banks of the ponds. It took all of her concentration not to trip on the roots that coiled around the trees at her feet, but she was gaining on the kid.

With the rhythmic thumping of her paws and claws against the grass, the distance that separated the older griffon from the chick steadily decreased from a hundred meters, to sixty, then thirty. Micha could feel the burning pain of strained muscles in her thighs as she pushed harder on her legs to catch up…

And then the kid just had to outwit her.

She thought she had managed to corner the little griffon when she started to run towards a small windmill built on an artificial hillock. Obviously she was wrong because the kid clambered up a flight of stairs on the exterior of the structure and used them as a launching ramp to catch some air under her wings and increase the distance that separated her from the Pole. That had Micha release a frustrated squawk because of how her heavy flak jacket prevented her from opening her wings. In a matter of seconds, the distance she had managed to gain on her quarry evaporated into nothing.

But she didn’t give up. She saw the other griffon veer south towards the opposite side of the park and she followed suit. She hoped the kid wasn’t clever enough to lead her away from her hideout, maybe if she kept it up long enough she could manage to corner her and then…

Well, bring her back to Amandine probably. You can’t just leave a kid unattended like that. Not with monsters around.

The chase led them to the edge of the park where the smaller griffon quickly snuck under the fence and ran for a block of buildings on the other side of the road. Frederik and Danny in the Defender tried to intercept her, but the 4x4 certainly wasn’t meant to race around the streets. Micha kept running after her across the street, her orange clad form passing her beleaguered colleagues in a blur.

The group of buildings the kid had ran off to formed a courtyard of sorts in the center, with lawns, benches, and a playground occupying the space next to a modern looking pavilion. Behind the kid, Micha saw her dive inside of a broken window next to the playground. In all her hurry, she jumped after the chick.

Not a bright idea. She just had enough time to grab the broken edge of the window to catch her fall. The window opened up to a three-story fall inside of what appeared to be the lobby of an underground mall. Bits of broken glass harmlessly dug in her Kevlar reinforced gloves as she held on and looked around for a way down.

Micha managed to grab onto a pipe next to the window and slide down to the ground with a low growl escaping her beak. The hall that greeted her opened in four different directions with shops all around. There was a circular staircase in the center of the hall, wrapping around a now dry fountain with plastic ferns. It connected to the pavilion she had seen way up above her, and there were some picnic tables and a lobby counter at its bottom.

The place was pretty dark, with the only light coming in from the windows and the staircase. The dusty, abandoned hallways quickly turned to pitch black the deeper she peered in. This struck her as odd, because despite the abandoned status of the building she was pretty sure there was still some current in the city’s power grid, what with the usual Northern European use of green energy.

Actually no, she doubted a kid would know how to flip the fuses, let alone locate the electrical cabinet.

Now to figure out where said kid had run off to… The bald eagle griffon’s head swiveled around to look for any possible hint of activity or even the telltale clicking sound of talons on the tiled floor. Everything inside was covered in a layer of dust… except… She could see an area where the layer was thinner, and the rays of sunlight streaming in highlighted dust particles in the air around the eastern wing of the mall. Quietly so as not to alert the younger griffon, Micha crept in that direction with her body as close to the ground as possible.

There were more hints of activity. Some of the fences protecting the storefronts had been broken open at a low height and some discarded bags of snacks and junk food marked out a path for her deeper inside the mall. Micha followed the path ahead of her, her sharp eyes scanning the murky darkness that surrounded her, mindful not to step on any of the trash littering the area lest she reveal her position.

Skylights pierced the roof at regular intervals, allowing some much needed light inside the mall and forming bright circles amidst all the darkness. She carefully circled around them so as not to make herself easier to notice while she kept following the trail left behind by the kid griffon. Bizarrely, the technique on how to stalk without making naturally came to her. Instincts? Most likely, but it was rather odd to notice now considering she was tracking down a member of her own species.

Eventually, Micha reached a cul-de-sac in the mall that was occupied by a toy store. She wasn’t even surprised the kid would use that as her lair.

There was a hole in the storefront’s fence, just slightly shorter than Micha was. She could see some fluorescent stickers marking its barely visible edges. A half-loaded garden wagon waited next to the entrance, its bed currently occupied by boxes of junk food, plush toys, and a toy lantern.

Disregarding the wagon, she crept through the hole on her belly, mindful not to have her gear snag on the jagged edges of the hole. What did the kid even use to make that? Her talons?

The inside of the toy store was lit dimly by a number of hand cranked lamps set up here and there on top of counters and aisles. It looked like a big store, but she would readily bet much of that was owed to the darkness inside. Micha stood up in front of the entrance hole and started looking around for the kid, now pretty sure she would find her here. There were hints of her presence all over the place ranging from opened toy boxes to piles of snacks on top of some shelves. She didn’t distance herself from the entrance just yet in case the younger griffon was waiting for that to sneak away.

Her eyes landed on a large pile of plush toys. Were it not for the telltale gleam of raptor eyes she would have mistaken the small chick staring back at her for one of the toys. Micha quirked her head to the side in curiosity. The kid didn’t appear angry or scared now… just a bit confused it seemed. She could see her cute little eyes study her intently, the gears in the mind of the younger griffon probably turning frenetically at the moment.

Micha didn’t move from her spot. She just sat down on her haunches and casually shrugged off her backpack.

“You run fast you know kid? Hard to keep up with you loaded like I am. This bag is kinda heavy you know?” She commented offhandedly in English as she gave her backpack a slap with the palm of her claw, carefully studying the kid’s reaction out of the corner of her eyes.

Not unexpectedly, the child didn’t appear to understand what she was saying. She forced herself to remember some basic sentences in Swedish she had learned last time she had been on vacation in the area. Now was not the time to dig around her bag for a dictionary, although…

With one free claw, Micha started feeling for a specific bag inside her backpack while she kept her eyes on the kid hiding among the plush toys. She could see her nervously clutching a lime green soft blanket in her talons, young eyes meeting hers in apprehension.

“Hej.” Micha tried. “Vad heter du?”

  The small griffon just tilted her head and blinked at her.

Great, either she was too young to talk or she wasn’t even Swedish... not really much of a surprise in Malmo actually. What other nationalities were there in this town already? Arabs didn’t turn into griffons, but that’s about the only ethnicity she would expect there. A tourist maybe? No, not in May. Too early in the season to visit with kids. 

Plan B then.

The claw she had in her backpack grasped at a sealed plastic bag she kept with her. Her snack stash. The sealed bag was there for a reason, herbivores around the crew tended to react badly to that particular smell.

It being smell of dried meat. Micha knew her own palate had changed after her transformation to favor a more protein-rich diet (though she could still process veggies and starch, she just didn’t need them quite as much) and as such her already present fondness of cured meat had only increased. It was such a shame that they had to spice up their meat all the time, but she was pretty sure the herbivores would get used to the smell at some point.

Another thing she was pretty damn sure of was that the kid griffon that had survived on junk food for... however long she had been in Malmo, would just love some kielbasa from the Second Officer’s personal stash. Before the Event Micha had always made a point of resupplying her stash from her favorite butcher whenever she went back to Gdansk. She was nearing the end of it now, but maybe this kid deserved a share.

The chick visibly perked up the moment she pulled out the bag and opened it, a hungry look appearing on her features and a soft purr escaping her throat.

“Want some?” Micha asked, holding out a sausage for the kid to see.

The small griffon stood up hesitantly. A couple of the plush toys she had been hiding under slid off of her tiny back, allowing Micha to look at her in more detail despite the darkness surrounding them. She was wearing a tattered white t-shirt with ‘Andy’ printed on its front and back. From the looks of it, the garment hadn’t been cleaned in a while.

She could also see how emaciated the kid actually was. Her ribs were clearly visible beneath the fur and feathers around her midsection, and the very hungry look in her eyes told her the junk food clearly didn’t satisfy the needs of a growing griffon. Her plumage was unkempt, with bent feathers sticking out at odd angles.

And she smelled. Badly.

Micha ignored the pungent smell of a griffon with poor hygiene and instead gave the kid an encouraging nod as she slowly crept out of her hiding spot, still keeping her blanket and one dolphin plushy close to her tucked under one of her wings. She tensely approached the older bald eagle griffon, belly held close to the ground and muscles taut, ready to scamper off at a moment’s notice.

Micha still occupied the only escape route.

With an encouraging smile from the Polish Officer, she snatched the offered sausage and retreated back to a safe distance before sniffing at it hesitantly.

“It’s good. Will taste better than a pigeon I think.” Micha told her in Polish. For all it was worth she might as well speak her own native language.

The sausage was devoured in seconds, much to Micha’s amusement when the kid let out a cute hiccup but came back for more. With a small chirp and a pointed talon towards Micha’s backpack, she managed to get a few more sausages out of her stash, her own need for food overcoming her fear of the unknown, much bigger griffon. She laid down on her belly to enjoy the meat and drink greedily from Micha’s canteen for a moment before she rubbed herself against the Officer like a housecat and, with a low purr escaping her throat, fell asleep from the food-induced drowsiness.

“Cute kid.” Micha’s beak parted in a wide smile.







“You kidnapped a kid.”

“Did not! She was abandoned!”

After careful maneuvering with a sleeping griffon on her back and the kid’s small stash of belongings with her (just a couple toys, the dolphin plushy and the blanket really), Micha had managed to get her in the Defender and back to Amandine without too much trouble save for a bit of uncertainty when she met the rest of Micha’s team. Thankfully, having some good food after however long she had had to survive on snacks made her drowsy enough that she didn’t throw too much of a fuss.

“You don’t even know her name.” Vadim pointed out.

The small griffon was merrily snoozing away inside one of Amandine’s cabins after Vadim had given her a brief medical inspection. Except for her being in need of a damn good scrubbing and a steady diet, she appeared to have gotten off her predicament fairly lightly. The two Officers were just outside her cabin discussing what would become of her.

“Andy, probably. I mean, it’s written on her t-shirt.” She told with a shrug of her wings.

“That nasty rag she was wearing? Yes, I read that before I tossed it in the biohazard bin. Doesn’t mean that’s her actual name.”

“Well, we just need to check if she responds to Andy then.”

“Do you even know what language she speaks?” Vadim asked.

“Nope.” Micha shook her head. “Not Polish for sure, and not English or Swedish either. Then again… it’s Malmo we’re talking about.”

  Vadim rolled his eyes as he tucked his medical satchel under one wing.

“Look… A merchant vessel isn’t the place to raise a kid.”

“Neither is an abandoned city.” She waved a claw towards the cabin’s door. “I mean, you’ve seen her awake just as I have. She’s almost feral for Christ’s sake!”

The Third Officer let out a tired sigh.

“Mich’… I will back you up when you decide to bring it up to the Captain that you want us to keep her. I believe you when you tell me there weren’t any parents around but… the rest of the crew…” He hesitated.

“The rest of the crew what?”

“Come on now, don’t be daft.” He pointed a talon at her. “Half bald eagle…” Then at himself. “…half cougar…” Before pointing it at the closed door next to them. “Half bald eagle, half cougar. You catch my drift?”

“They wouldn’t…”

“Totally would, Boris at least I can guarantee.” He assured her. “And this will probably raise some eyebrows on the Rhine too.”

Micha deflated slightly, a resigned growl escaping her beak. Vadim padded over to her wrapped a wing around her side.

“I’m not saying you did the wrong thing. Just saying this ain’t gonna be easy.”

Micha instinctively pressed herself closer to what her brain kept calling her ‘mate’. She nipped at his neck feathers but didn’t say anything.

“I just need to ask you one thing…” Vadim added in a whisper. “Is this about the kid you had coming before the Event?”

“What if it is?” She asked defensively.

Vadim threw her a sympathetic look.

“Nothing wrong at all. It hurts doesn’t it?”

  Micha allowed herself to bury her head in his neck.

“She was near full term… I was going to be a parent Vad’. And now… I just can’t bring myself to abandon a kid like that you know? I have to live with the fact that my own flesh and blood will grow up without a father, but maybe I can at least help the one kid?”

“I understand.” Vadim nodded.  “Kid’s gonna be out for a while, want to go out for some flight training, blow off some steam? Captain’s busy anyway; we don’t have to tell him just yet and I’ve been cooped up all day studying medicine.”

“You’re on.” Micha replied with a small smile.

It still surprised Vadim how easily he could fall into a relationship like that with what used to be his best friend. Not that he’d ever complain, it somehow felt more natural and fulfilling than any of his former relationships.

That and the female griffon did have a nice rear end to look at.







Whatever the buck was going on on this planet, they definitely hadn’t been prepared for it.

Doctor Sidereal found herself panting from magical exertion in front of the body of a particularly vicious tatzlwurm that had crossed their path, its carcass bearing scorch marks from her spells as well as broken bolts courtesy of Gust’s hunting crossbow.

They had been traversing the Swedish countryside just fine minutes ago, following a road next to Lake Vattern that crossed through numerous abandoned fields when the creature had burst out of the ground and immediately started attacking them. The non-combatants in their group of five had immediately scattered and galloped towards the barn of a deserted farmstead, leaving the trained mage and the crossbowcolt to deal with the threat.

Sidereal knew she was lucky. Rogue tatzlwurms usually required a full hunting party to take down. That one…

Her thoughts were interrupted by Gust landing by her side, the pegasus’ usually eccentric demeanor replaced by cold professionalism.

“The others should be here in a minute ma’am, no casualty. Are you injured?” He asked her as he checked the status of his crossbow.

“Just a bit tired, thank you.” Sidereal said. “Say, you’re an Everfree Ranger right?”

Gust nodded.

“What can you tell me about that one?” She asked, motioning towards the carcass with her horn.

The gambeson wearing Pegasus frowned.

“A juvenile for sure. The darker crest on its head says it’s from deep in the Everfree, probably the southern grove though the wavy scale pattern around its eyes could also mean it’s from Whitetail Woods. We’re lucky it’s a young one, older specimens have much more resistant scales. What’s odd is… at that age it should be with its broodmates, not alone in the countryside…” He explained.

“Or on an alien planet. I don’t think this planet is supposed to have Everfree monsters inhabiting it.”

“I don’t know about this planet but that…” The stallion waved his hoof towards the carcass. “… That’s definitely an Equestrian breed. Weirder even is that tatzlwurms need a lot of soil to live in, they don’t like rocky areas, they can’t dig properly and it hurts their teeth. If you look down the hole it came from you can clearly see the dirt layer is too thin for it to thrive.”

“So what is it doing here?” Radiant Course asked as he landed behind them. The team’s second Pegasus served as their navigator and technical expert.

To say he was out of his league with human tech would have been the understatement of the year. Luckily, the grey coated Pegasus with a black mane seemed to take it in stride.

“No idea.” Gust shrugged. “Nopony ever told me during the pre-expedition briefings there were honest-to-Celestia monsters on Earth. Critters? Sure, but no monster.” 

“At least we’re lucky we had an Everfree Ranger along.” Cheese Cake said as she trotted around the dead tatzlwurm to take a look.

“We are. But the other teams…” Sidereal whispered. She could swear one of the returning teams on the first wave had come back babbling about a troll. Nopony really believed them at the time, and the report had probably been lost in bureaucratic limbo…

“Hey! I found something!” Cheese cried out from the other side of the carcass.

The lanky unicorn was pointing her hoof at… some sort of sigil burned into the flesh of the dead monster.  The runic symbols were of a type she didn’t recognize, but it definitely didn’t come from anywhere in Equestria, or any allied country for that matter. The symbol formed the general shape of a circle with thirteen different runes at irregular intervals on its border. A bigger one occupied the center of the sigil, with lines connecting it to the smaller ones that were themselves connected to each other by several lines as well.

She immediately pulled a notepad out of her saddlebag and set to copying it. It had been clearly stated to her that her role on this expedition was as magical support to the Doctor and as their scribe.

“Anything you recognize Doc?” Pulp, the group’s only Earth Pony asked.

“No. Runic magic isn’t used in Equestria, and anywhere else in the world its use is clearly –and obviously may I say- forbidden on living creatures.”

“A rogue mage then?”

“For all this tells us, yes.” She nodded. “I… have no idea what the purpose of this sigil is. You’d have to ask foreign mages for that, and even then I suspect they’d have difficulties with it.”

“What makes you think that?” Pulp asked

“For what little I know about runes, they usually stay similar to their nation’s local alphabet.” The Doctor explained. “That doesn’t match any civilization I know of.” She waved a hoof at the symbol.

“What if the locals did it?” Radiant said.

“Disregarding the fact that they’re not supposed to have access to magic because it kills them?” Pulp reminded him.

“Fair point. So what do we do?” Cheese asked, stowing her notepad back inside her saddlebags with her telekinesis.

“We keep going.” Sidereal stated firmly. “Tonight I’ll send a report of the engagement, but going back and forth from here to Equestria costs too much energy. If we go back now, the entire expedition is as good as scrapped.”

“What if we find more monsters?” Cheese gulped.

“Then we have our dear Ranger to protect us.” The red unicorn said glancing towards Gust. “I believe if he can somehow traverse the Everfree without getting chased by each and every monster there, then he can help us here?”

Gust nodded grimly.

“How far is it to the returnees you detected Doc?”

“We’re halfway there. A big group too, too big to call off the expedition.” Her eyes flashed white for an instant when she called up a spell of mage sight for a second to ensure they were still galloping along the right track.

“What’s the size of the group?” Pulp asked.

“More than five dozens.” Sidereal’s eyes returned to their original color.

“Wasn’t the biggest group ever found less than thirteen?” He asked.

“Eleven to be precise, Uzbeks they called themselves.” She nodded before clenching her eyes. The magic field enveloping this planet was completely different from Equestria’s. Its energies were still swirling wildly, much more chaotically than she had ever seen back home. “Cheese, did you draw the sigil? I’ll need it tonight for my report.” She asked, one hoof pressed against her throbbing temple.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Good. Radiant, you still got our path planned?”

He did. The grey coated Pegasus steered them south towards the cluster of minds Sidereal had detected so far away. They kept following the edge of Lake Vattern for a while, its dark blue waters shimmering on their right and rolling hillocks on their left as they trotted on. Small red painted farmsteads dotted the rural landscape on either side of the road they were following.

The rough black asphalt of the road they were following still amazed the ponies. It forced them to keep to the side of the road to avoid chipping their hooves, but the sole feat of laying down such hard road on the entire network just for their self-propelled carts was a feat of engineering already considered excessive by Equestrian standards.

That humans could seemingly lay down work of that quality on almost every single road they had seen was not only impressive, but it also casually made a mockery of modern Equestrian infrastructure. Only a few large cities could afford roads like that, and even then it was just the likes of Manehattan, Canterlot and Fillydelphia.

And that wasn’t even addressing the extent of the wire poles they could see crossing the landscape and following the roads.

Just how good were human engineers exactly?







Later in the evening,

Dilip leaned back in his chair and looked directly at the griffon couple sitting in front of his desk. And there was also the kid griffon (cub? Chick? You’re never too sure with chimeras) sitting between them, currently distractedly nibbling on a piece of beef jerky and looking around his office with eyes filled with curiosity. The two Officers had actually managed to make her presentable to Amandine’s Captain, though the oversized clothes she was wearing clearly came from one of their wardrobes.

“This isn’t really a choice you’re bringing me you know?” The pariah dog told them before letting out a long sigh. “I always hated that kind of fake choice that forces your hand anyway.” He muttered.

“Sir?” Micha cocked her head.

“Not your fault Przemo.” Dilip shook his head. “You did the right thing by bringing her. I just felt like complaining because really, what can I do beside approve your choice? I’d be a pretty bad person were I to order you to abandon this child. Does she have a name?”

“Andy apparently, though I have no idea what it’s a short for.” Micha told the Captain. “Vadim did run a quick medical checkup on her, she appears to be healthy, if a bit underweight.”

“And how old is she exactly?” He asked, staring directly at the child.

The little griffon stared directly back at the dog in wonder, the red feathers surrounding her eyes disturbingly similar to Micha’s green ones.

“We don’t know for sure.” Vadim said. “She doesn’t talk, but she moves around alright. Three years old maybe?” He shrugged.

“So you really haven’t found much about her. Regardless, she may stay on board, but this ship isn’t meant to ferry kids around. Any moment she slips out of the accommodation could be one where she gets hurt because of heavy machinery. You two shall be her caretakers. Now, I don’t ask you to be the ones to keep an eye on her all the time, but make sure someone does, understood?”

“Aye Captain.” Both griffons said at once.

“And make sure she gets dressed properly too.” He said, eyeing the ill-fitting clothes the child was wearing.  “Now, that’s one thing out of the way. Do you two remember what I said about flying when we reappeared?”

Micha and Vadim threw each other a sideways glance.

“So you do remember.” He continued calmly. “Good, I was worried about the state of your memory for an instant. I must say, I’m disappointed by your actions. Yours in particular surprise me Przemo. I thought you were more conscious of safety procedures than that.”

“Sir!” She tried.

“I’m not done yet.” Dilip raised a paw to stop her. “We are not in a position where we can afford to have casualties, in particular if such a casualty happens to be my Medical Officer considering the current status of Doctor Delacroix.” He said giving Vadim a pointed look. “But I’m not a stubborn person. So why didn’t you two try to change my mind with proper form? Neither of you is alien to the concept of risk assessment nor of preventive measures as far as I know.”

The two griffons in front of him had the presence of mind to lower their heads in shame.

“I can understand you two wanting to try out your wings, and if the cameras showed me correctly so did Boris. What I don’t understand is… whatever the fuck you two were thinking when you started this.” He said with a wave of his paw.

“We did take measures. Kept a radio on claw, fashioned a landing pad…” Micha began.

“Then why didn’t you just come to me with the proper paperwork instead of sneaking around behind my back?” Dilip cut her off. The pariah dog pinched his muzzle in frustration. “Whatever… You do understand I can’t let this slide? The dragons came to me with ideas to safely exercise their fire breath, so have the hippogriffs for their aquatic shape and the sphinxes for both their telekinesis and the paralyzing breath…” The dog stopped talking for a second to serve himself a glass of water which he immediately gulped down. “Punitive actions are in order.”

“I understand.” Vadim nodded softly.

Dilip twirled a pencil in his paw as he looked at the two in front of him, and at the smaller griffon that was now wondering why the mood had gone down so suddenly. Not that he could be too heavy handed considering the amount of work that needed to be done around the docks.

That being said, flying…

He put down the pencil and brought his two paws together.

“I won’t be too harsh, but this better not happen again in the future alright? You’re both on laundry and kitchen duty for the next three weeks, ask Farkas to get your tasks from her. You tell Boris he’s included as well.” He paused. “In addition, I want you both to prepare a refresher briefing for the rest of the crew on our safety procedures and the means that can be used to set up non-routine tasks. Once you’re done with that… how good have you gotten at flying?”

“I beg your pardon sir?” Micha asked quizzically.

“Flying.” He said, making a flapping motion with his paws. “How good are you?”

“At the moment we’re just starting to learn how to retain our altitude and maneuver properly around containers. Gliding and landing are fine on the other err… claw.”

“That will be good enough for now. I want a flight training program for all winged species on my desk no later than tomorrow evening, copy?” He ordered.

“Captain?” Vadim quirked his head.

“Might as well get a benefit out of your initiative. If we can profit from the sphinxes’ telekinesis or the hippogriffs’ aquatic shape, then we can find some use for flyers as well. You both will be the instructors. Any objections?”

“No Captain.”

“Good.” The pariah dog waved one paw in a dismissing gesture. “Now get out of my sight.”

The two griffons nodded and left without a word, ushering the child he had just put under their care towards the door.

Alejandro was right though. They did make a cute couple. As long as their relationship didn’t hinder the workings of the vessel he wouldn’t step in. Still, a shame he had lost that bet. The Spaniard had really taken quite a chunk out of his liquor stash.







In the center of Copenhagen was a large park with carefully grown gardens that housed several of the city’s largest museums. Most of the gardeners’ work was now undone by time as roots crept through the pavement of the numerous small paths that allowed visitors to have a stroll through the area. The gardens weren’t completely overgrown yet, but the sight that greeted the incoming convoy of sailors would have had the former gardeners tear their hair out in horror.

Of the many museums in the vicinity, two were the center of the sailors’ attention: the SMK, and Rosenborg castle. Incidentally, both just happened to be very close to each other in the near center of the park. They first stopped the convoy of four vehicles –two lorries with reefer containers on their trailers and two armed unimogs- in front of the national art museum.

The structure was rather imposing from up close: a large staircase marked its entrance in the middle with its door nestled behind a line of white stone pillars which rose high above visitors. Its sturdy base supported walls made out of yellowish bricks interrupted at regular intervals by bas-reliefs inserted in the stonework. Its windows rose high and tall before trading place with a line of sculptures that connected the façade to the roof.

Just above the main door, the pillars supported an arch which had the text ‘Statens Museum for Kunst’ displayed proudly in golden letters.

Geert was pretty sure the style was neoclassical.

The scarlet macaw stepped off her struck with a barely concealed wince. Her hip may have been getting better, but that didn’t mean it was painless yet. She had traded her crutches for a walking cane (and a healthy dose of painkillers every morning too), now able to put some weight on her bad leg. The moment her feet were on the ground, she reached for a pocket in her coveralls with her free claw and stuck a cigarette in her beak.

With the amount of work they had been stuck with during the last few days, she damn well needed the nicotine.

Geert walked over to the lead truck of the convoy, the white UN unimog in which she knew the Captain was riding with Artyom and Sandra. The Captain lowered his window when he saw the parrot approach.

“Need a repeat on the plan?” Dilip asked her.

“Negative sir. My half of the convoy stays here, priority towards paintings and ancient art, non-paintings come second, last order of priority for modern art. Correct?” She asked.

“You got that right De Vries. Report via radio on your progress; warn me every time you bring back a full truck to the terminal. Copy?”

“Aye Captain.” She nodded before walking back to her truck.

Seconds later, the lead unimog and one of the lorries moved off towards the castle to scour it for important art pieces. The Captain should have an easy time figuring out what to pick with Sandra on his team working as his own personal guide.

Geert only had a guidebook to assist her. Not that finding important paintings in the country’s national art gallery should prove particularly difficult. Hell, there was even a worn out banner on the façade of the building displaying names like Picasso and Rembrandt. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ivan approach behind her, the osprey griffon having been assigned to her team as second-in-command.

“Large museum.” She told Geert.

“Yeah we won’t be doing this in one trip for sure.” The parrot nodded. “You got someone to watch the trucks yet?”

“Engine cadet from the Rhine on overwatch in the ‘mog.” The female griffon said, pointing her talon towards a teal furred unicorn stallion on top of the truck’s cabin. “Where did you get a walking cane anyway?”

“Shat it out this morning. Hella painful.”







To say the interior of the castle surprised Dilip would have been an understatement. The Indian had allowed himself to be fooled by the seemingly simple exterior of the building that had a red brick structure supported by grey stonework all the way up to the green copper sheets of the turrets that towered above the decorative moat.

The castle was really more of a palace.

Every single square meter of its interior was richly decorated; from artfully molded ceilings that bore paintings mimicking the Sistine Chapel to tapestries hanging off the walls that must have dated back to before the rise of the Old Masters. 

Honestly it was even a bit overwhelming.

With the rest of his team guarding the vehicles, the Captain had Sandra lead him and Artyom through the twisting halls of the palace. It wasn’t the batpony’s first visit of the building, and she happily chattered about the history of the palace as they walked on towards the treasury where the crown’s jewels were safely stored. They certainly wouldn’t be the only thing they brought back from the palace considering the wealth of treasures the dog could see all around him. Hell, he doubted they would be able to load everything: most of the ancient furniture and moldings would have to be left behind, maybe even the throne.

Eventually, the three of them stopped in front of a thick silvery vault door at the bottom of a staircase. Pale white LED lights illuminated the space, which, from its modern appearance, was a recent addition to the palace’s structure.

“…so they put the most valuable pieces below in this vault.” Sandra explained. “We just need to find where the panels are to open it, most likely in the upper levels above the throne room and the galleries. They’re used as storage for archives and the less impressive pieces; they weren’t open to the public. The controls ought to be around there-ish.”

“Understood. Captain, shall I go get the others to try and locate them?” Artyom asked.

Dilip idly noted how… hungrily his bosun appeared to be eyeing some of the golden decorations around the halls. He must have read the Russian’s expression wrong.

“Please do. Also start looking for anything they may have on stowage precautions, I don’t want all this to be damaged during transport.”

“Aye Captain.” The blue dragon nodded firmly before walking back towards the entrance.

Dilip turned his attention back towards the dark purple batpony that barely reached his waist in height.

“I trust someone took the time to explain you the… finer details behind our so-called art preservation initiative.”

“Sri did.” Sandra said.

“And? You know our actual intentions now. It’s not exactly something we do out of charity.”

“The motive hardly matters.” She shook her head. “Whether you’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart or for the sake of preserving your own ship, the art is still going to wind up in a secure place to survive the test of time. That is what matters.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw much of a fuss upon being told that.”

“Disappointed maybe.” She snorted, one ear flicking slightly. “But I’m not naïve Captain, that’s how the world goes. People donate to charities knowing they will get tax deductions, and in this case the ‘deductions’ happen to be manufactured parts. A good deed done for profit doesn’t make it a bad deed, but it does incentivize people to be good.”

Dilip raised a furry brow at her remark, but didn’t add to it.

The two of them walked back up the stairs to the gallery and milled around while the rest of the team sought how to get the vault open and started loading the first batch of tapestries in their truck. It really was a shame they couldn’t save the moldings and carved marble that decorated the halls, but such were their limitations. They could only make sure the interior of the building would last a bit longer by closing everything once they left to temporarily protect it from the weather, but that was about it. Even most of the antique furniture would have to stay behind.

“Captain, if I may ask. All the humanitarian supplies we loaded the other day, and the containers… Is there an ulterior motive behind it as well?” Sandra asked.

Dilip stopped in front of the throne, paws crossed behind his back, staring thoughtfully at the piece of furniture.

“That is correct Miss Jensen. The idea mostly came from Captain Gerig, but we want to keep the industry alive. If we can kickstart colonies with the supplies, then we can connect them to trade routes and benefit from the production surplus to keep our ships going. It really is as simple as that… as Amandine’s Captain it is my prime concern that she and her complement be kept operational. Speaking of which, I may have a job for you.”

“Do tell.” She stated calmly, trotting up to his side.

“As you and everyone in the fleet should know by now, we have gained knowledge of some colonies around the Americas. Nevertheless, I need a tech-savvy person, or mare in your case, to make use of the satellite services to locate more.”

“What kind of services are we talking about?”

“Satcom tracking, satellite pictures, and of course listening in on the radio waves. Anything that may help to locate more survivors. I trust this falls in the realm of your own faculties? Last I heard you could even overhear radio chatter with your own ears.”

“I can, indeed. Might need a proper workstation for that.”

“Just ask Schmitt for one once we get back, ok? You may even make it a fully fledged radio station as long as you don’t use the bridge’s antennas.”

“Will do Captain.” The mare nodded with a smile.

She did take the job at the radio station in Lyngby with hopes of later progressing to entertainment radio. She just might have a couple ideas for that… once they located an audience.

They eventually found how to open the vault somewhere in the upper floors. Artyom came back to them twirling a set of keys in his claws whilst the sealed vault door let out a hissing noise as the airtight room was finally opened. With a heave, the blue dragon pushed the heavy vault door inward, finally revealing the reason behind them coming to Rosenborg castle in the first place.

The room that greeted them was fairly dark, with the only light coming from LED lamps inside the reinforced display cases holding the crown’s jewels. The rest of the vault had its wall painted dark blue so that all attention would be focused on the jewels and gemstones on display. A few of the sailors that had come down to witness the opening of the vault let out impressed whistles at the sight of the gleaming stones and precious metal laid out before them.

As for Artyom and Dilip…

The moment they laid eyes on the gemstones, both felt a deep yearning well up in their head. An instinct that screamed at them to seize the stones for themselves, for their hoard. The compulsion quickly washed away their conscious mind, to be replaced by raw instinct.

Dilip’s pupils shrank down to pinpricks, muzzle parted slightly and ears raised high. Inside his head, a great battle started between the Indian’s willpower and the feral might of the instincts the transformation had imparted unto him. The beast within his mind reeled against its bonds as the Captain fell down on his knees mutely, eyes drilling holes in the crown in the center of the room. Or rather, the enormous rectangular sapphire in its headband.

Now, Dilip would never dare call himself the most pious of Hindu (curse beef for tasting so damn good), but he did keep to several practices to make up for his own downfalls. Meditating everyday in front of the altar in his quarters was one such action he had sworn himself to do. Mustering all of his mental might, the pariah dog forced himself to tear his eyes away from the sapphire and closed them. With his tail lashing wildly behind him, he started repeating a mantra under his breath.

His mind was a bulwark against which the feral force inside him crashed relentlessly in an attempt at seizing control of his body. He would not allow that, not this day, nor ever. At every utterance of the mantra, he felt the force abate slightly as the mental wall he was erecting in the confines of his being grew stronger. He shut out everything that was going on beyond his own body, vaguely hearing one sharp screeching sound before his world reduced itself to his mind and the feral dog that apparently resided deeper inside of his head.

  My mind is mine, and mine alone. None shall take it away from me.

He could vaguely see it, one twisted version of his own new body circling menacingly inside of the mental prison he had just conjured, walking on all four like a savage. From time to time, the creature lashed out at its prison, testing its restraints, however unsuccessful that was. Dilip kept repeating his mantra for a few more minutes before he deemed the mental prison strong enough to withstand its assaults and allowed himself to drift back to the conscious world.

This is my head, poodle, what made you think you could barge in and take over?

His tail had gone still now, but not after brushing quite a bit of dust off the ground he noticed distastefully.

The sight that greeted him was quite chaotic. There was a broken display case in the middle of the room, bearing claw marks around the torn glass, and shards littering the floor all around it. Artyom was at its bottom, the blue dragon now laying on his back amidst the broken glass and clutching his head in pain.

For some reason, he had a gold chain poking out of the corner of his maw.

“Sitrep.” He said in as collected a manner as he could manage, slowly standing up and casually brushing off the dust on his knees.

A sphinx approached him from behind, Thanasis.

“Artyom just lost his shit the moment he saw the jewels. Rended the display case open and swallowed a necklace before Jensen here knocked him out with… some kind of sonic attack.” He explained.

“Sonic what?”

“She screeched at him so hard he collapsed, sir.”

Dilip turned an inquisitive look towards the batpony.

“Basically yeah, I just did that.” She shrugged sheepishly.

That didn’t explain magical lizards eating gemstones and precious metals, nor bipedal dogs being plagued by instinctual hoarding compulsions. Dilip just let out a tired sigh and ordered his bosun to be carted back to the trucks. Poor guy probably didn’t have the mental discipline the Captain had built over the course of hundreds of hours spent meditating every evening.

Now to correct that…







Later that day after sunset, one lone female griffon was jogging around the docks. The peregrine falcon griffon bore three violet stripes on either side of her head and had a snow leopard feline half.

To her shipmates, she was known as Anton, formerly a male Ukrainian from the Rhine’s engineering department and now a still very much pissed off female griffon. As if changing species wasn’t enough, now she had to deal with a changed gender that apparently came with changed sexuality as well. That had been particularly unpleasant to discover, and she still found herself burning through several packs of cigarettes a day to cope with it.

She had changed from the Rhine’s usual ‘uniform’ white coveralls with the green stripes to a hastily refitted black track suit (more like a regular suit with a tail hole she had torn using her claws, the result accidentally wound up a lot more form-fitting than she’d have liked). Her steel-toed boots had been left by the gangway when she exited the Rhine before she took off running along the quays.

Whether she was running to get acquainted to the still unfamiliar body or to burn off some of the stress she had built up over the course of the last week, she still had to determine. She knew she could have used the treadmill inside the barge carrier’s gym… but fresh air and a bit of solitude away from the rest of the crew couldn’t hurt.

Sharp talons clicked in tandem with the soft thud of her paws against the rough concrete of the quays as she kept running. She soon started to feel the familiar burning of exertion in her muscles as her mind automatically completed the running motion for her. She didn’t block the instinct; she just let it happen and watched her speed instantly increase. God knows how hard it would have been to achieve the simplest of tasks had they not had these when they reappeared. Most of her shipmates blocked them.

She knew better.

Her primal mind going through the motions for her allowed the griffon to slowly work her way through her issues.

Like how she kept noticing the other male griffons ogling her and her hindquarters whenever they thought she wasn’t looking. That alone would have been enough to make her blood boil, but of course she had caught herself sneaking glance at their forms in the gym, the very reason why she chose to go jog outside. The thought of her own libido being her enemy was not particularly pleasant, much less when she realized that the nudes she had of her girlfriend now completely failed to get a rise out of her.

Not that there was anything left to rise.

She could look at the face in the pictures in longing, but love? Not anymore.

With a frustrated growl, she came to a halt on the opposite side of the terminal. Water lapped softly at the quays below her, with just enough wind to ruffle her feathers softly. She plopped down on her belly and stared down at the silvery reflection of the moon against the wavelets.

Every priest she remembered from back home in Ukraine kept saying God was kindness.

She snorted.

Hard to believe. If God was kind, he had a weird way of showing it. First a war to ravage her home, then ripping away most of the world’s population, rob them of their own gender, throw some monsters in the mix and of course make sure they aren’t even human anymore.

Tough love eh.

Her musing was interrupted by two red orbs crossing her gaze. She froze instantly.

Unbeknownst to her, a foreign mind prodded her own and started digging through her own memories. The alien consciousness wrapped itself around her resentment towards both her own government and Russia’s, conjuring images from her memory of mobs going at each other over a split nation.

Anton fell unconscious. She would awaken minutes later with no memory of the event wondering why she fell asleep in the first place.

As for the creature, it sank back down below the waves with a wicked smile on its muzzle. It had just found the tool it needed to sow the seeds of chaos.

After all, sailors always had been her species’ main dish.
> Chapter 31: Still Not a Tank
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The province of Sweden that was connected to Copenhagen by the tunnel was known as Skåne (or just Scania in English) county. It was the southernmost of all provinces in the country, and also used to be one of the most heavily populated before the Event struck. Its location at the very south of the country made it the de-facto breadbasket of the entire country, and it showed to the convoy of trucks now headed for the base Micha’s team had located two days earlier near a town called Revingehed.

Fields and meadows were what greeted them when they left the direct vicinity of Malmo, some having already been seeded prior to their farmers disappearing. The area was rather flat, with only a couple gently sloped hills that rose above the rest of the plains. They could see a couple copses of trees here and there, mostly present around abandoned farmsteads and villages. The only activity they detected for the entirety of the trip were herds of roaming cattle that gave them a wide berth and only resumed their grazing once the loud vehicles left the area. The bulls in particular eyed them warily as they posted themselves as a screen between the large trucks and the vulnerable herds behind them.

Honestly, how cows would fare after the Event was a coin toss. They were pretty big mammals to begin with and thus would not have many predators… but several breeds could not reproduce without veterinarian assistance anymore. None of them knew whether the Swedish breed they crossed path with was such a case, and only time would tell whether the herds would thrive or dwindle away if the cows started dying giving birth to their calves.

They carried on along the highway until they eventually had to veer off the three-lane road and dive deeper into the countryside. The base they were aiming for was in the very center of the province, and the military owning the land there was probably the only reason for the presence of woods instead of fields in the area. 

The forest around them didn’t even appear particularly ancient: it was mostly made up of birches, with the odd grove of willows or pines in-between, each tree separated by a reasonable distance from the others that allowed for good visibility. Yellowish grass grew high between the trees, along with tall ferns and nettle bushes, all that shrubbery easily tall enough to swallow quadruped species with the obvious exception of centaurs… which they hadn’t brought along on that expedition anyway.

A couple small wooden houses and cabins occupied small plots of land along the road to the base, their small lawns now in the process of being invaded by the surrounding forest. Their presence on what must have been military grounds would have seemed odd had it not been for the flagpoles on their porches bearing the Swedish colors. The flags had been left hanging there for so long now that they were tattered and heavily discolored, though still recognizable.

The group accompanying the convoy was actually fairly big by their standards. There were eight of them on that expedition, led by Rhine Forest’s Third Officer, Josselin. The French unicorn was riding in a unimog leading the way ahead of them, the vehicle being followed by one lorry with an empty trailer, and a Defender 90 trailing close behind to cover their rear.

Next to Josselin, in the seat underneath the turret, Bart accompanied the group. The stallion was quickly reviewing a short list of Swedish words he felt like might be useful on that trip like ‘gevär’, ‘vapen’ or ‘vakpost’. He was officially cleared of any medical issue now, and had thus been ordered to watch over Josselin’s back for the expedition.

His military experience should also prove useful to locate the armory, at least if he was correct in thinking there wouldn’t be too much difference from one NATO base to another.

Nikolaos was the one behind the wheel. The addition of the minotaur cow to their team composition turned out to be a wise choice when they finally reached the base proper. She literally ripped the gate open using the impressive strength her transformation had bestowed upon her. Angry as she was to have been turned into a female, she still had the benefit of size and strength to console herself.

A size advantage that was all too easy to notice when compared to the two unicorns she shared the unimog with. She was easily three times as tall as the tiny equines! With a snort, she casually tossed the broken and bent gate out of the way before walking back towards the convoy without a word. 

With a brief word over the radio, Josselin had them drive the trucks to the base’s parade ground.

This was the center point of the base, a rectangular gravel-covered parade ground with buildings all around. As they dismounted, all eight of them could see the command staff’s offices in direct view of their vehicles next to a row of flagpoles. The relatively simply designed three-story tall structure was the highest building around, with the rest of the barracks never exceeding the two-story mark.

“Alright folks, time to split up and locate this armory.” Josselin said, trotting to the front of his gathered team. “I will be exploring the command building over there with Niko and Bart.” He said before lifting his carbine in his telekinesis and chambering a round, just in case. “Cadets, you two will be keeping an eye on the vehicles. Roger?”

“Aye sir.” Frederik and Carla both spoke up in chorus.

The hippogriffs were armed with the same suppressed MP5’s Frederik had been stuck with on the expedition to Malmo. Fred was actually the only one of the two to have volunteered to go on that expedition, Carla would have much rather stayed on the Rhine to keep working on getting Seb to socialize. As successful as the girl-turned-hippogriff-stallion had been at mending his relationship with the unicorn mare, he still had a hard time getting her to leave her cabin for extended periods of time save for visits to the infirmary. He had little to no doubt that the genderswapped unicorn would be hunkered down in her cabin by the time he got back.

He might have to ask Doc Delacroix for tips… when she wasn’t otherwise busy training Amandine’s Medical Officer.

“Sri, Anton, Thanasis…” Josselin turned to the other three sailors on the team. “You get to the other side of the base. I think I saw a couple warehouses there by the hangar buildings, so this might be where they put the armory for all we know. Try to find where they put the ammo too if you can, but no big deal if you don’t.”

The three of them responded with a curt nod before immediately setting off towards their objective. Josselin watched them leave before motioning for his own team to follow with a hoof.

That left the two cadets on their own in the middle of the parade ground.

Watching the trucks.

And all in all doing jack shit.

“You know I expected to actually get to do… more than that.” Fred commented idly as he sat down in the shadow of the lorry.

Sweden might be a Northern country, but that didn’t mean it was cold all the time. Summer was still summer, and the German cadet wouldn’t be surprised if the temperature managed to breach the twenty degrees by noon. Not much of a problem in normal circumstances, but with his yellow, highly insulating coat of fur and feathers? He could already feel the sweat building up.

“And what did you expect then?” Carla fired back before taking a seat next to the other hippogriff.

“Actually get to look for the stuff. I mean, I helped find the base in the first place when I went to Malmo.” He shrugged. “Thought my help would be valued more than just for watching the trucks.”

“Eh, on the bright side we get to lounge in the shade while they try to figure out Swedish military jargon.” Carla said. “Try to enjoy the moment, or do I need to remind you how the others are probably busting their backs in Copenhagen?”

“Except for Seb.”

“She’s injured, that’s different.” He pointed out.

“Is she?” Fred turned his head towards the other cadet. “I swear, that’s hard to notice considering how little your boy -sorry- girlfriend comes out of her cabin.”

“Is that an accusation?” Carla raised a brow at the jab.

“Just stating the facts is all. And yet you keep saying you’re trying to help her.” Fred said as he brushed his talons through his blue crest feathers.

“Which I’m doing.”

“For all the good that seems to do.” Fred snorted.

“I’m trying to take it slow with her…”

“Not all of us got to take it slowly last I checked. Captain Gerig’s pretty much in the same predicament as Seb’, if not worse, but I don’t see her hiding in her quarters because of that.”

“She changed from being built like an athlete to being a tiny Technicolor mare; she’s not hurting anybody by using her medical leave to stay in her cabin! You got to keep your gender and your hands.” Carla protested out loud. “I barely managed to mend things with her, so I’m sorry if I’m taking it slow so she doesn’t clam up on me, damn it.”

“And did it ever cross your mind that it would piss several people off that she’d get to mope inside her cabin while the rest of us have to actually work?”

“Let me repeat myself: she’s injured anyway, badly should I add. She can barely walk back and forth between her cabin and the infirmary, and I even have to help her up the stairs to the mess hall. The fuck do you think she could even do in that state?”

“Something! I don’t care what, update the charts, fill in some paperwork, anything! The welders alone are clocking thrice as many hours as usual.”

Carla glared at the other hippogriff.

“And why do you even care? Maybe you wanted to have your side torn open and half your bloodstream emptied, uh? For fuck’s sake, she’s not even the only injured that’s not working! Marta’s off duty as well, or did you miss the bipedal hedgehog nurse in a wheelchair?”

“Fuck you.” Fred said, snapping his beak.

“Try to come up with some actual arguments to back up your bitching next time, asshole.” Carla told the German with a sharp glare.

“I’ll remember that…” He clicked his beak. “… Carl.”

There was one sucker punch he didn’t see coming that day.







Turns out, the base they were in apparently belonged to an armored unit. How did they figure it out? Well, the tanks and IFV’s inside the numerous hangars in the part of the base they were exploring were one thing.

And that one thing appeared to have drawn the attention of Anton in particular.

“We don’t even need tanks.” Sri groaned.

“That’s not a tank.” Anton said from her position atop one of the several CV90’s inside the hangar they were in. “It’s an IFV.”

The CV90 was Sweden’s own homegrown brand of IFV, one specifically designed to operate in the country’s subarctic climate. The snow leopard griffon was sitting atop the heavily angled front plating of the armored vehicle, a frontal structure that was reinforced with enough composite plating to resist anything short of an actual tank shot.

And anything that got through would have to get through the engine block before it could actually threaten the crew anyway. The Swedes had a habit of favoring heavily armored vehicles, and this one didn’t stray far away from the doctrine.

Behind Anton was a very large turret (for an IFV that is) built slightly off-center of the vehicle. It housed the gun… and that gun really was nothing to scoff at. While many countries saw fit to equip their IFV’s with autocannons ranging anywhere from 20 to 35mm… the CV90 went even further by being armed with a much bigger 40mm Bofors gun. The very same flak gun that had been in service all around the globe for the last fifty years, proving its effectiveness several times over. It also had a coaxial machinegun and a remotely operated gun for the commander on top of the turret, but those 7.62 paled in comparison to the main gun.

“Doesn’t change my point.” Sri insisted. “We already have the Piranhas from Slagelse anyway. What would this bring us?”

“A big ass gun? The ability to go over 80 kilometers an hour cross-country? Or to sit inside and laugh at puny monsters clawing helplessly at the composite plating as you run them over? Come on, I could have asked for the actual tanks…” She waved a claw towards the row of Leopard 2 MBT’s in another hangar. “… but this one can actually carry stuff. Very safely at that, unless wood hounds can somehow use RPG’s and even then I’m pretty sure this thing isn’t scared of that.”

Sri rolled her eyes before turning towards Thanasis and giving him a pointed look.

“What?” The sphinx looked at her quizzically.

“Three of us. I don’t want it, she does. You get to pick whether or not I will have to explain why we came back with a tank and not just guns.”

The Greek glanced alternately between the widely-grinning Anton atop the IFV and the frowning face of his hippogriff colleague.

“Well…” He said slowly, rolling his head and shaking his mane. “It does look kinda cool.”

“You’re in your forties!” Sri cried out.

The sphinx just shrugged with his wings.

“Call it a midlife crisis then. I’ve never been inside a tank.” 

“Fine, be that way.” Sri sighed. “But you get to look for the parts, manuals, ammo, and you find a trailer for the tank. I’m not doing any of that shit for you two.”

And thus, the vehicle fleet found a new addition to its roster in the way of a heavily armed, heavily armored Swedish battle taxi. 

Still not a tank though…







Kids can be pretty sneaky when they want to.

She didn’t know when exactly, but the chick had slipped past Micha at some point during the day. She thought she could afford to have her play behind her inside her cabin while she worked on some papers at her desk.

Obviously, she couldn’t. Andy must have grown tired of the toys the Pole had found for her and had wandered off without her noticing. She was so encapsulated by her work on safety assessments and training preparations that the child had actually managed to leave using the door that was right next to her.

Talk about obliviousness.

It was only when she reached for her printer that she noticed the absence of noise behind her and the open door. Much swearing and running ensued, Micha quickly leaving her cabin to track down the bloody kid.

Not that she disliked her. Far from it. Andy was actually a pretty sweet kid that liked hers and Vadim’s company it seemed. The Ukrainian had been a bit concerned when she told him Andy had apparently eaten a pigeon back in Malmo, but she didn’t seem to have gotten any illness from the flying rat.

Technically Andy had her own cabin on board, and this was the first place Micha went to check. Maybe she had gone back there to get one of her toys… Or not. The small cabin was empty. Not even a week since she had taken the kid under her wing and she had already lost her inside a merchant vessel that was littered with potentially hazardous machinery. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Micha hurried along and scoured every single open compartment she came across in an attempt to find the runaway child. A couple sailors looked at her worriedly as she passed them in a hurry, but she didn’t take the time to stop and explain.

She eventually managed to find Andy inside the galley, the smell of food most likely having drawn the kid there. Hell, even then Micha could feel the smell of fresh bread and spices that permeated the air around the room.

Amandine’s galley was decently sized by merchant vessel standards. Its interior was nearly entirely covered in stainless steel save for the threaded aluminum plates on the floor that dipped slightly towards a gutter that ran all the way around the island occupying the center of the room. Pots and pans hung off racks above the island where Micha was pretty sure a large pot of soup was currently cooking.

Beside the door she had taken, there was also one that connected directly to a narrow corridor from which she knew the cooks could access the utility lift as well as the pantry and the walk-in refrigerator in which they stored part of their food supply. Another opening on the opposite side connected to the buffet and the cafeteria.

And amidst all that, Andy was comfortably sitting on her haunches in a chair watching Rahul go about his day preparing dinner for the evening. She even had a small loaf of bread in her claw, from which she was nibbling intermittently as the Chief Cook babbled on, describing what he was doing to the kid behind him. Rahul was wearing a white apron above his coveralls, as well a hair cap around his head and some white gloves.

“Rahul?” Micha interrupted him politely.

The black lab of a dog lifted his head slightly to acknowledge her before turning back to his soup as he dumped a couple sliced onions in the pot.

“Well hello there Officer. I suppose you’re there for the lil’catbird behind me? Good listener she is, that much I can tell.” The dog said, a small smile parting his muzzle.

“I’m so sorry, I just lost sight of her for a second and she was gone. I hope she didn’t bother you?”

“Don’t you worry.” Rahul waved off her concern with a flick of his paw. “Kid was just hungry, gave her some bread and bacon and then she’s the quietest kid I ever laid eyes on. That’s coming from a dad of four by the way. Vadim’s back there in the cafeteria peeling ‘tatoes anyway.”

She allowed herself to fall down on her haunches and let out a relieved sigh.

“God I was so worried for a moment. So many ways this could have gone badly…”

“Doubt it.” Rahul quipped. “Kid’s way too small to work the latch on the watertight doors that lead out of the accommodation, and anything dangerous in here is locked anyway. It’s not like she can go that far, much less wander off to somewhere like the engine room. Not without someone letting her out in any case.”

“I uh… didn’t actually think of that.” She glanced towards Andy who just returned the stare with her curiosity-filled eyes. “She is quite small…”

“I really doubt you can keep a kid that age locked up in her cabin anyway. No idea what age she is, but with a human kid I’d say it’s around the time they start roaming about.” He shrugged. “Take my youngest daughter back home, when she was four she somehow managed to sneak away and wander off to another neighborhood a whole two kilometers away ‘cause she wanted to see her uncle. Shame I wasn’t there uh…” He chuckled. “The face Sarita had on Skype I swear.”

“You miss them?” Micha cocked her head.

“They will be fine. Youngest one was seventeen now, and I know with the way my wife raised them they’ll know what to do when they reappear. It’s not like I can do anything about it anyway. Half a world away and they may not even be there yet.”

“You’re rather carefree about it…”

“It’s just not my type to worry too much. Not about things I have no input on anyway.” The bipedal black lab tossed a couple sliced vegetables in the cooking pot. “I just let it happen and see how I can make do.”

“Wish I could share the philosophy.” Micha shook her head as she walked up to Andy and ruffled her head feathers. “Gave me quite a scare you know kid?”

The griffon cub just chirped happily back at her.

“Eh Rahul, say… what’s with Vadim peeling potatoes anyway? You never use the stock unless it’s about to go bad, and we resupplied before the Event if memory serves.”

“Nguyen’s idea. You know the French MRE’s we have for those long expeditions?”

She nodded.

“Well, kitten was a bit peeved at being shown up by MRE food, so he took to actually reading some of the cook books we have. What would you know, now he wants to do something other than Asian food.”

“And it’s helped by Vadim and I being stuck on kitchen assistance for the foreseeable future. You got your potato peelers.” Micha rolled her eyes.

“Mayhaps.” The dog clicked his tongue. “On the bright side, you sneaking behind the Captain’s back to fly around brought us goulash. If the reactions to the menu I hung in the cafeteria during breakfast are to be believed, the crew may actually like that.”

Micha tilted her head.

“Why do I have this feeling of dread at the prospect of you two making an attempt at Western cooking?”

“Eh, blame Nguyen for the dubious spice choices, not me. I cook the strong stuff, not the weird one.” The black lab protested as he reached for a soup blender. “I actually remembered to take the lemons away before he got his paws on them this time.”

“That’s a relief… I guess.” She said.

There was an awkward pause that lasted for a few seconds before Rahul spoke up again.

“That’s a really good thing you’re doing for her you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Andy I mean. You looking almost identical to her is a plus but… consider the amount of children that will go unattended with the Event. Any that gets help, or even surrogate parents to keep an eye on them, is a blessing in my books.” He shook his head, shoulders sagging. “Knowing the sheer quantity of kids that had parents but will be condemned to become street urchins because of this… that’s just heartbreaking. I know we can’t help them all…. But I’m glad to be working under an Officer that’s willing to take one under her wing… Kinda literally in your case.”

“Thanks I guess… you know, there are many things we can’t help with in this situation… but you’ve heard the ideas that have floated around as of recently. We’re going to do our best to give people something to return to. Won’t be much, but you can be sure we’ll all do our best to prop up civilization.”

“A tall order for a small group like us.” Rahul commented before reaching inside a drawer with his paw. “Potato peeler, you know what to do.”

Talk about a callback to her time as a cadet. In all her time as an Officer she never had to lend a hand to the kitchen staff. She grabbed the peeler from Rahul’s paw and moved off to the cafeteria where Vadim was peeling potatoes to the tune of some classical music. Andy gingerly followed her, the child’s head starting to bob up and down as she heard the tune coming out of Vadim’s loudspeaker.

“Welcome to potato duty, hope you don’t mind the music.” Vadim said in Polish as he pushed the large bag of unpeeled vegetables he was going through towards her. Andy sauntered over to him and the Ukrainian gingerly ruffled her head feathers. “How’s the safety analysis anyway?”

“For all intents and purposes, it’s complete. Kid had me stop before the end when she snuck away… somehow.”

“Never had to deal with young children have you, uh?” He asked, pulling Andy on his lap and tickling her under her wings. The girl let out a happy laugh before jumping on the table to lay on her belly between the two older griffons.

“Because you have?”

“Sorta. I am… was the oldest of three siblings. Mother always used to ask me to keep an eye on them when she had to work in the evenings. Kids that age…” He eyed Andy who was poking the bag of potatoes with a talon. “Well, not that I know your age kid, but close enough. Anyway, at that age I’d say you either need to keep their attention solely on something so they don’t wander off, or you do something that doesn’t require all your attention so you spot them when they do wander off.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Doesn’t it feel weird to you?” She asked.

“What does?”

“That we… sorta wound up adopting a kid a mere days after getting together.”

“Not really. Kid’s better off being placed under the care of a couple, and she fits better with us than with Danny and Carlos don’t you think? I’ll admit… the resemblance is uncanny.” He took a look at Andy who just blinked back at him before letting out a yawn and resting her small head on her forearms. “You finding a child that just happens to share the same species as us two… I’ve been questioning whether or not higher powers are at hand with this whole stuff…”

“Superstitious now?”

“Just reading the patterns is all.” Vadim shrugged. “In these times it may not actually turn out to be as dumb as it sounds.”







  Elsewhere on the ship, a blue dragon was seen stalking through the passageways of the accommodation. He had finally managed to free some time from his busy schedule, and there was one thing he knew needed to be done.

Rounding a corner, Artyom eventually came to a halt in front of cabin he knew belonged to Sri, at the very end of the passageway. At this hour the hippogriff ought to be back from whatever duty she had been assigned to if he remembered correctly.

Probably keeping watch on a checkpoint around the terminal.

He knocked.

There was some muted shuffling behind the door for a few seconds before his ears caught the soft clicking of the lock being turned and the door opened to reveal a somewhat damp Sri clad in a large t-shirt and sport shorts. The Indonesian veteran looked up at her friend with a flat look.

“Problem?” She slurred.

Well, the smell of alcohol for one. Last he remembered the Indonesian wasn’t one to drink on her own. A few beers to chat around during the evening? Sure. But the liquor he was smelling on her? That was a first. 

“I don’t have a problem. You on the other claw…” The dragon crossed his arms. “… Christ’s sake Sri, I thought we were through with that already. What’s wrong?”

The female hippogriff stared vacantly ahead of her as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Wrong? Fucking everything is.” She said. “That’s all because of that thing the Captain agreed to with the pronouns.” She complained. She ruffled her wings in frustration, which only served to stretch the fabric of her t-shirt.

“Basically every single genderswapped crewmember is, I don’t see the difference with you.” Artyom honestly shrugged.

“’course you wouldn’t.” She slurred before retreating further inside her cabin to grab a half-empty bottle of rum, Artyom following her at a safe distance and closing the door behind him. “I was just getting used to the whole deal; ignore the part where I lost my dick and everyone treats me like usual. That I could live with… somewhat. But now?” She took an awkward swig from the bottle with some drops of the liquid dripping off the sides off her beak. “Talk about getting your beak shoved into your own shit. Oh Sri, you want to try and ignore the fact some weird-ass cosmic event took your dick? Lemme issue an order that pushed the exact fucking opposite, that’ll be great!” She cried out.

“Come on, I doubt he did that to spite you. It’s really just about being practical.” Artyom tried.

The blue scaled dragon discreetly took note of the several discarded bottles that littered the room. That might explain why they hadn’t seen much of her ever since Dilip announced the new pronoun dynamic.

“Screw being practical, I had a plan figured out and he ruined it.” The drunken hippogriff lamented before she flopped down on her bed. “As if that shit wasn’t hard enough to deal with in the first place.”

“Somehow, I doubt alcohol is the proper response to that problem.” He said, leaning against the wall by the bed. “I should know, what with how I ended up after Grozny.”

“Last I checked Chechens didn’t go around calling paratroopers Miss… then again that would have been pretty funny.” She chuckled. “You never really talk about what you did there.”

“There’s nothing worth talking about ’95.” Artyom shook his head with a frown. “Only misery, and much as I like my drinks, I know they never actually helped with the coping. I very much doubt this would change for a light drinker like you. It’s not a path you wanna go down, trust me. Unless you’d like to end up like those drunken vets living off the streets?”

“Suuuure, tell me off for trying to find a solution but don’t offer one.” She glared at him. “I’ve become a mockery of my own beliefs Artyom! A monstrous creature riddled with occult magic or whatever, and I don’t even know what I should be attracted to dammit!”

Artyom just took it in stride and raised an eyeridge at her.

“So that’s about religion now?” He asked. “You know… with our standards on board I’m surprised you’d actually have problems with that.”

“Contrarily to you I have calms about the things I do! I know I’m a bad follower…” She slumped. “Fuck’s sake, I might be the worst Muslim the world has ever seen. I drink, I don’t do Ramadan, eat bacon of all things… Doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty ‘bout it you know? I try to make up for it; I pray err… sometimes… Well, I try to be a good guy. That’s what religion is all about right?” She asked him drunkenly.

“I wouldn’t know.” Artyom admitted. “I’m Orthodox in name only pal, haven’t opened a Bible in half a decade or so. That’s just too much of a hassle with all the work piling up. But if you really want my grain of salt on the matter… then I really doubt any religion had predicted this fuckery. Don’t expect any holy book to tell you what’s wrong and what’s right.”

“Sure helps a lot…”

“I’m no theologist, but if your ideology tells you you’re a bad person because of something that’s out of your control, then you should probably revise it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s heresy Art’.”

“Maybe it is. Hell, go wear a headscarf if it makes you feel better, whatever suits you. And the sexuality matters? Can’t say I have it figured out… but if you’re still into women, or mares in your case I guess? Regardless, then you were that way in the beginning, so no big deal and it’s not really gay. And if you’re more into males after the change…” He shrugged. “Ain’t a big deal either, that’s just regular biology at work.”

“Now you’re just doing mental gymnastics to avoid laying blame on anyone.” She told him with a nonplussed look on her features. She stopped to down the rest of her bottle in one go, her motions haphazard from the alcohol in her bloodstream, some drops of rum accidentally landing on the bed sheets beneath her.

“So what if I am? The situation keeps me busy enough that I don’t want to start hating anyone for something they can’t control.” He said. “Don’t get me wrong, if anyone is going to start wearing rainbow-colored leathers or gimp shit, then I got one hell of an ass whooping in store for them… but that’s beside the point.”

“And what is your point exactly?” She asked, one claw blindly exploring the side of her bed in search of another bottle.

“That you shouldn’t get hung up on your ideology not fitting anymore because it sure as hell wasn’t made with any kind of foresight for cosmically-induced gender changes. Try to adapt it however you wish to… but no priest or imam could have ever forecast such a thing.” He said, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. “In any case, who’s ever going to blame you? The only other Muslim on board is Mohammed and if anything, he’s got a worse track record than you as far as piety goes.”

Sri’s claw halted for a second.

“I’ll uh… I’ll consider it okay?” She said.

Artyom knelt down by her bedside.

“Yeah, you’d better.” A small smile appeared on the edges of the dragon’s maw as his claw flew towards something outside of Sri’s vision. “I’m taking this by the way, alcohol really doesn’t suit you.” He told her, lifting up her last bottle of liquor.

“Art’ you fucking prick…” Sri grumbled.

“Compared to what I’ve been called in the past that’s rather mild.” He replied, already walking towards the door. “Sleep off the booze, tomorrow I’m taking you jogging for a good purging.” He concluded before leaving the cabin.

Sri just stared off emptily towards the spot the dragon previously occupied before a nauseous feeling welled up in her throat and she ran for the bathroom.

Yeah, she really should stick to the odd beer.







Up in her cabin, an orange dragon was pouring over the documents her fellow shipmates had obtained from the Maersk’s headquarters. Schmitt was still busy researching how to ‘fix’ spoiled fuel oil in the near future.

Maersk did have an offshore department, and she could easily find information on oil reconditioning inside their archives. Most of the processes she found documents on were about getting the right grade of lube or hydraulic oil, but she was confident applying it to fuel would pose little trouble.

Leaving oil in storage for a long time came with its own set of problems. Deposits formed inside, rust from the tank, wax, soot, and other kinds of particles that would clog up and foul engine filters. Granted, regular filters could protect the engine from bad fuel but only to a certain extent, but the months (if not years) of spoilage she was looking at were something no filter no matter the quality could circumvent.

And then of course was the matter of water accumulation which required its own step in the filtration process. It needed to be removed from the mixture before it could be pumped into an engine.

She grumbled and twirled a pencil in her claws before pulling out a sheet of paper and writing down what she had figured out so far.

· Water→ Hydrophobic filter
· Solid deposits→ Dissolvent +Mechanical filtration
· Microbial organisms → Biocides

She stopped at that line. There was no filtration system she could think of that would work on every batch of fouled oil they would find. Microbial infestations and deposits tended to vary and needed different substances to be removed properly. Maybe… she could design those filtration stages with a more modular system. That meant they would have to test each batch of spoiled oil they retrieved but it shouldn’t be too much trouble as long as they kept to large batches. How large exactly would depend on how quick she could test samples, but on a guess she wrote down at least a hundred tons.

But the reconditioning systems the documents showed her weren’t meant to be used on large quantities. She could see designs for hydraulic and lube oil, or even for diesel on small, trawler-sized boats, not for the amounts of fuel Amandine’s engine and generators chugged daily.

Schmitt’s claw went for a drawer in her desk and pulled out a used screwdriver covered in bite marks. That was the third one in two weeks she found herself chewing on to soothe her nerves. How her stomach was able to process bits of metal, she had no idea.

Chrome-plated tools did taste quite good though.

Back to the fuel filtration… She pulled out a blueprint showing a fuel reconditioning unit out of a folder, which she set down next to one of a fuel polishing unit meant for boats.

“Ok, so here, there, and there I got the different stages…” She whispered in Luxembourgish. “With that one I get 50 liters per hour, but the other one is at 600…”

  Now she just had to upscale the whole design to the point where it could operate in tens of tons per hour, make it versatile enough to work both for lube and fuel, and make sure it would work every time regardless of spoiling level and different microbial infestations.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Might need a few more screwdrivers to chew on though.







Thousands of miles east of Copenhagen, the sun was just about to rise on Japan, though this would have been rather hard to notice for the Kirin that was currently navigating his way through the Aokigahara, or Suicide Forest as it was known worldwide. Its thick canopy prevented the nascent rays of light from reaching the ground of dried leaves and twisting roots. Many fallen trees and branches littered the uneven, rocky floor of the forest through which dirt tracks carved a sinuous path. The combination of rocks and roots created a mess of a terrain with hundreds of nooks and crannies, some even hidden by moss and vines that basically turned them into small pitfall traps. All in all, this made it hard to safely navigate the bleak forest, particularly with the darkness that came before sunrise.

Hayate didn’t mind. The last month had made him well-acquainted with the dreary forest and he knew that if he wanted to do anything in the early morning it had to be before sunrise otherwise he would once again get lost in the thick fog banks that came in the morning. That and the young Kirin had recently learned how to use his antler to create light.

A whole month. Hayate could hardly believe it was that long already… his former life in Nagoya felt so far away now. A month ago he had been on a trip to the famed forest with his friends. He recalled his girlfriend calling him to take a look at some patches of flowers around a bend further down the hiking path they were following when all of a sudden…

He was alone.

He had fallen down, lost consciousness it had seemed. It had been noon, but he woke up in the evening, with all of his friends gone and the forest silent. His body had changed too, into something he would later recognize as the Kirin of legend when he got a look at himself in a puddle. For hours, he had called after his friends and wandered through the forest, losing his bearings and belongings in the process, unable to use his phone with his hooves. He had soon lost track of where he had gone, trotting on unsteady hooves through the gloomy forest for what felt like days, now left naked after an unfortunate wild bathing incident involving an underground river.

And then, when he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore; that lifting his newly-made hoof one more time would sap him of what little energy he had left, the spirits had appeared.

Well, he still wasn’t too sure if they were spirits, but when he had stopped by a spring to drink some water (at this point he was well past caring whether or not it was sanitary) he had caught sight of a small, icy blue wisp on the opposite side of the little pond. The little floating flame danced teasingly in front of him for a couple minutes before it floated away deeper into the forest.

Of course he had followed it. What else could he do at that point? The young Kirin had galloped across the surface of the pond (somehow, he had discovered he could walk on water at some point) and followed it eagerly. The little blue flame led him through thick shrubbery and numerous fog banks; Hayate completely ignoring the water clinging to the jade-colored scales on his back or the twigs catching on his mane; before he eventually started hearing the sound of running water.

A small stone bridge arching above a brook, with most of the stonework now covered in moss and lichen. That’s what the wisp led him to. It floated inside of a tall stone lantern… and then a path of those same lanterns lit up, each with a little wisp inside it, each its own unique color. Hayate decided to trust the spirits and followed the path they showed him.

Less than a hundred meters down the dirt path, a red torii rose up above him, the gate marking the entrance to a shrine in the middle of the forest. Further down the path, he was able to spot the red painted wood of the shrine with its moss covered shingles. Wisps of all colors of the rainbow floated around him as he explored the place, with its small graveyard for former kannushis, the main building with the altar and a single bedroom above it, and even a small lawn with benches for hikers. It was there that he finally located an abandoned cool box with enough food to sate his hunger.

But still no traces of anybody beside him. Hayate spared a bit of the food he found to make an offering to the spirits at the altar and thank them for their guidance. That day, he finally managed to rest in an actual bed in the bedroom above the shrine, the small room’s sole window giving the Kirin a perfect view of Mount Fuji above the forest’s canopy.

The spiritual guidance wasn’t a onetime thing it turned out. Over the course of a few days, which quickly lapsed into weeks, Hayate relied on the little flames to guide him through the forest. Sometimes he returned to that first shrine (each time either with an offering or to maintain it as a form of paying respects to his new guides); sometimes he found others, but always within the boundaries of the forest. There was plenty of food to be found in the ranger outposts or any of the multiple facilities built for tourists… actually he even managed to live off the land for a whole week under the guidance of one sparkly green wisp before he eventually reached a stash of canned food the forest’s rangers had hidden in a cave.

Life inside the forest was harsh, and with few luxuries… but he couldn’t return to the urban areas.

He had tried once. That mistake had almost cost him his life. The first hour in the city had been great, and he had managed to get a fair amount of supplies for his backpack (by then, the only item he had on him except for a red headband, clothes being somewhat redundant). But then…

Monsters.

Brightly colored porcupine creatures, they threw their quills at him; it was only thanks to the wisps that he managed to elude them long enough to return to the safety of the forest. That visit taught him a lot.

Cities were dangerous; monsters were roaming around.

The forest is safe; he had a deal with the spirits.

And he was alone.

That day, the young Kirin had dejectedly trotted back to his shrine, muzzle held low to the ground. Even the discovery of his ability to do telekinesis using his antler didn’t raise his mood and he went to sulking inside the shrine’s bedroom after making his daily offering.

Every night, the wisps would gather near the altar to consume the food. Hayate never dared to look… he was smart enough to know he shouldn’t.

That brought him back to the now. Hayate was walking down a path covered in fallen leaves and branches that should lead him to a new shrine. A pinkish wisp floated some ways ahead of him. Wisps tended to come and go but that one seemed to hang around him a lot.

He had decided to call it Sakura. The wisp didn’t seem offended by the name so it kind of stuck.

He managed to reach the shrine on the south-eastern edge of the forest before the fog rose up. Hayate had a quick breakfast of canned fish before he set to cleaning the shrine of its moss and weeding the gardens. Multiple wisps seemed to gather around him, coming and going to observe him as he tended to their holy residence.

But everything has to go wrong at some point, right?

Just as he clambered on the rooftop to clean it and remove the moss, the Kirin spotted a speck of dark red light which made a stark contrast with the blue sky. It appeared right above the Mount Fuji’s caldera.

Hayate quickly used his telekinesis to get a hold of some binoculars he had retrieved a week earlier from a ranger post.

The red light was… some sort of swirling mass of lightning. It twisted and turned high above the caldera, with arcs of lightning periodically striking down and kicking up plumes of smoke. It took minutes of observation for the lightning to start forming a distinct shape… something akin to Satanic demonic circles, though Hayate was no expert. A sense of foreboding rose up in the Kirin’s throat, though he elected to stay on the rooftop and keep observing. The wisps around him were starting to flickers alarmingly and fly around in a seemingly panicked state. Even Sakura somehow found refuge in his mane amidst the confusion running rampant in the shrine.

The circle eventually ceased its motions and stabilized. Its size must have spun the entire diameter of the caldera and the lightning that made out its limits created a low droning noise strong enough that Hayate could still perceive it despite the sheer distance that separated him from Mount Fuji.

All of a sudden, the air in the center of the circle turned pitch black. Not just a circle then… a portal. The droning noise disappeared at once, the forest stood still in anticipation. Moments later, Hayate witnessed in horror as a gigantic tentacle emerged out of the portal. The entire appendage was encrusted in black crystals and must have been as big as a freight train… and it was soon followed by more of them which could only belong to the likes of the worst of horrors to ever escape the mind of H.P. Lovecraft. Once its limbs were through the portal, whatever otherworldly creature they belonged to pulled and fell out of the portal with an earthshaking rumble that managed to knock over a few lamps in the shrine. The monstrous creature fell out of sight below the lip of the caldera as the portal slowly faded away, but Hayate still managed to spot four equine shaped silhouettes exit it before it closed off completely. Two with wings, one with a horn, and another that was just enormous, all standing in a circle atop a flying obsidian platform.

Hayate took off to the relative safety of the forest when he saw the horned shape look straight at him with pitch black eyes.

The horned equine just smiled, revealing a mouth full of black crystalline fangs. It always liked a good chase. It just might stay here for a while… Its horn lit up with red lightning.

The other three equines just departed in different directions.

The Kirin didn’t last long.







The portal in Japan wasn’t the only one to open that day. Another one of similar size opened just above Cape Horn at about the same time, disgorging another lovecraftian horror and a couple silhouettes before closing off. Just like in Japan, they split up in different directions, though in their case the black crystals and red lightning were replaced by sickly yellowish lightning and black tendrils of goop.

Several smaller such portals opened up all over the world as well. Some had witnesses like Hayate to spot their appearance, other went completely unnoticed, but in all cases at least one creature poured out of them before they closed off. 

At one point above the Southern Atlantic, one such portal opened up to let an airship through. Any Equestrian pony would have been able to tell at a glance that it was actually a Storm Airship, one of the many military-class airships that had been built to serve the now dead tyrant known as the Storm King. Many of these had eventually fallen into the paws, claws or hooves of criminals, warlords and terrorists.

The old but heavily modified craft came to a rest high above the waves. At a glance, it was visible that the usual propellers of the old vessel had been replaced with shoddy looking thrusters, and that it bore a lot more weaponry along its hull than any airship of the same class ever had. There were also many black tendrils that wrapped around its hull and gas bag, like an infection of sorts. Its crew was no better, many of them being parrots that missed clumps of feathers and bore the same signs of the goop beneath their plumage. Other crewmembers, some grey hedgehog-esque creatures were missing quills or patches of fur and shambled around the deck with vacant eyes, their mouth dripping the same goop that infected the parrots.

Within minutes, the airship turned south and powered away from its initial position. Black storm clouds started to seep away from the gasbag and began to form a storm front with arcs of electricity going through them.
> Chapter 32: Equines on the Horizon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The western entry point into the terminal where the ships were moored was by far the more important of the two. Its glass office building situated next to the entrance rose above the container stacks of the terminal, granting the sailors guarding it excellent sight of the area. There was another access to the terminal two kilometers away, but its position on the northern side (the one with the UNICEF warehouse) made it so that anything coming from the city would first have to pass in range of the western checkpoint before reaching the northern part of the docks.

This was the motive behind the Captains deciding to assign more crewmembers to guard that checkpoint. That still only made it five of them to guard the area and watch the CCTV cameras, but the two .50 cal machineguns on the roof of the building were more than enough to compensate for the small size of their group.

If anything that wasn’t one of their expedition convoys tried to make it past them, then it would have a really bad time.

Few interesting things extended beyond the terminal: there were a few warehouses and parking spaces past the fence the sailors were guarding, but nothing else really. They had a whole kilometer of concrete and widely spread out buildings before the industrial landscape traded place with a marina closer towards downtown Copenhagen. That was actually to their advantage since it left little in the way of hiding spots for monsters to get the drop on them if they were to approach.

With the ongoing works on the Rhine, most of both vessels’ engineering departments were kept busy on the barge carrier, including all their welders (though in their case, not all of them were engineering sailors). That left it up to the deck guys to pick up the task of ensuring the terminal was secure.

Well, not exclusively deck guys. Bart hadn’t been assigned to that department since the unicorn didn’t have the proper skills for that. He sort of was in a grey area where Captain Prateek had placed him under Farkas’ command in the catering department but he was more of a guard/firearm instructor/gunsmith…

On the paper it was kinda confusing; but in practice he just worked in the armory and helped with keeping watch or training the sailors whenever he could.

The only other sailor from Amandine currently watching the checkpoint was Ivan. Bart didn’t know much about the female osprey griffon beside the fact she usually kept watch with Geert while they were at sea. She was probably checking out the cams inside the CCTV room at the time.

As for Bart, the stallion was sitting on his haunches behind one of the machineguns on the roof. He took a long drag of the cigarette held in his telekinesis before tossing the smoldering butt off the roof.

So much for giving up tobacco. Then again, with all the stress caused by his new situation, he at least had a justification behind it.

The blue furred unicorn was wearing his set of retrofitted K9 armor above his coveralls, along with his brown beret. The rise in temperature that came with the end of June, made worse by the sky-blue coat of fur his transformation had provided him forced him to ditch his wool sweater. He still wore his ranks on his armor though.

A couple pouches were attached to the flanks of his armor, some for tools, and others for ammunition or stun grenades. The Belgian wasn’t able to carry as much gear as he used to before the Event, his unicorn frame made sure of that (hell, even if he wanted to his armor didn’t have as much room for pouches as a human’s). 

On his back was his rifle, loosely held in place by its straps. Bart had recently ditched the SCAR used by Amandine’s more experienced crewmembers in favor of one of the newly modified FNC’s. He had modified them himself with parts obtained from the Ak-5’s found in the Swedish army base. The first thing he had done was swap the Belgian upper receiver for the Swedish one which came with a picatinny rail. The lower receiver could have some use, but installing it would have removed the burst fire in favor of an enlarged trigger guard he didn’t need considering he was pulling it with his telekinesis. It could have some use for species with large fingers like the dogs and minotaurs, but certainly not to him.

The Swedish variant also had an enlarged cocking handle. That he had put on his rifle, as well as the adjustable stock and the modified handguard. Said part came with some rails as well, mainly to fit a foregrip he wouldn’t have been able to grasp had he chosen to install it. Still, he had managed to outfit it with some accessories like a combined flashlight/laser.

Combined with the scope he had mounted on it, the unicorn was rather proud of his work. It was… odd how naturally taking care of firearms came to him recently. He knew he should have had difficulties swapping barrels and making all those modifications fit together properly… but it really was a breeze. He had only had a couple hours of work in the armory between the return of the expedition from Sweden (having to bring back the IFV had seriously put a dent in their timetable) and the beginning of his watch on the checkpoint, but he had still somehow managed to retrofit almost all of their arsenal of FNC’s to better specs. It just came to him like a natural talent.

Just as he was reaching for a second cigarette, his ears twitched as he picked up some footsteps coming up behind him.

A purple dragon clad in a white set of coveralls and a multicam-patterned plate carrier sat down beside him. Mikhail if he recalled correctly. The Ukrainian was carrying his C7 strapped across his angular chest. He rubbed uncomfortably at his shoulders before quickly looking around the horizon. Not finding anything of interest, he pulled out a small cigarillo and lit it with his fire breath.

“Wings hurt?” Bart asked distractedly in thickly accented English, his pair of binoculars floating for a second as he spotted something in the distance by the marina.

Just a flock of seagulls flying out towards the sea.

“Kinda, plate carriers ain’t exactly made for creatures with wings.” Mikhail winced.

“Modify it?” Bart suggested, eyeing the bulge the dragon’s wings made beneath his coveralls. Unlike most winged sailors on Amandine, he had yet to spare the time to fit them with zippers for his wings.

“Haven’t had the time yet, plus I can’t exactly say I’m good at sewing. I removed the rear plate but that’s about it.” He shook his head dejectedly. “Anyway, you see anything?”

“Seagulls, a zeehond err… seal too.” The unicorn snorted. He stopped to look at something in the direction of the marina. “Correction: two seals. What time is it?”

“Eleven o’clock, still one hour to go before we’re relieved.” Mikhail told him.

Bart just nodded and went back to looking out towards the city centre. They had agreed that they would keep two pairs of eyes up on the rooftop while the rest stayed down below keeping an eye on the gates and checking out the cams from time to time.

The two of them lapsed into silence for a few minutes. It was actually a fairly nice day, with the summer temperature being alleviated by a soft sea breeze. There were very few clouds up in the sky, the only speck of grey or white being the seabirds that flew back and forth between the town and the waters of the Oresund. In comparison to its bustling pre-Event nature, the area was dreadfully quiet. The two of them could barely hear the sound of the power tools and generators coming from the ships further inside the terminal.

Of course it’s always moments like that that have to be broken up by something occurring. Bart stood up in a rush the second he spotted a cluster of shapes round the corner of a warehouse on the edge of their perimeter. His binos flew in front of his eyes in an instant as he gave a sharp nudge to the purple dragon by his side.

“Contact, front, 800 meters.” The unicorn barked.

There were five of them, all equines advancing in loose formation. There were two of them leading the way up front: one red unicorn mare with a scarlet mane and a large orange draft horse of a stallion that lacked a horn (first time they saw one of those actually). Behind them he could see one lanky yellow unicorn mare and two of what must have been two pegasi because they were hovering a meter or two above the asphalt using avian wings. Only one of the equines in the entire group was actually wearing anything (and even then it was only a medieval-looking gambeson); the rest only carried saddlebags on their backs (with the draft horse loaded with what must have equated to all the weight his companions carried combined).

And they were marching straight towards them.

“Call your guys, get them on the machineguns.” Bart told Mikhail. “I work as guard before, and I am horse too so I will deal with it.”

“Roger that. I’ll be radioing the ships too.” The dragon added as he was standing up. “You think they speak English?”

“I try.” The stallion shrugged, already halfway to the staircase.

He carefully (having already had one stair-related accident too much that day) made his way down the stairs and to the CCTV room. Ivan was there lazily scrolling through the menus on a computer and distractedly glancing at the camera screens.

“Sta op, we got company.” Bart cried out, barging in the room and startling the osprey griffon.

“Wha-, really?! Monsters?”

“No, hors- err, ponies I mean. Five of them.” He told her. “The others are on the roof, you’re with me.”

She hastily hopped off her desk chair and grabbed her own modified FNC. Bart didn’t wait for her and immediately galloped towards the entrance of the building at the same time as he tuned in to the general channel on his walkie-talkie. Mikhail’s voice rose up through the radio above the sound of his hooves against the floor tiles. Looking at his reflection in the building’s windows, he quickly adjusted his armor and beret before going outside.

The door he took placed him with the gates between himself and the five equines approaching the checkpoint. They were just reaching the halfway point when he loosened the strap that held his rifle on his back. A quiet 'click' also confirmed his 303 pistol was ready for use.

With the training sessions he had done on the range, he was pretty sure he could switch to firing position under two seconds.

“Amandine to checkpoint.” His radio crackled. “Don’t let the unknowns inside, figure out their intent and communicate it back to us for the Captains to assess. Over.”

“Roger that. Checkpoint out.” Bart answered, eyes not leaving the group. A flicker of his telekinesis pressed down on his walkie-talkie just to make sure he’d transmit anything that was said between him and the ponies.

He could now see that the gambeson-wearing Pegasus in the group was carrying a small crossbow under his wing. Primitive or not, he was armed.

The group had obviously taken note of the .50 cals up on the roof, but it didn’t seem to deter them. The lanky unicorn’s ears flattened against her skull, but they soldiered on and moved towards him. As they got closer, the two pegasi in the group landed among their brethren.

With the exception of the crossbow Pegasus, none of them appeared to actually qualify as combatants in his mind. Still, better be careful…

“Halt!” Bart yelled loudly when he deemed them close enough; one hoof raised in what he hoped would be interpreted as the universal ‘stop’ gesture despite him lacking a hand.

The group thankfully stopped with the red mare still in front of them.

“If you understand me, state your identity and your business here!” He cried out in his heavily accented voice.

“Greetings.” The red mare intoned slowly. “My name is Sidereal Venture, Doctor Sidereal Venture. My team here…” She waved her hoof to encompass the ponies behind her. “… wishes to have a word with your leader and possibly lend you assistance.”

On the edge of his vision, Bart spotted Mikhail up on the roof listening in to the conversation on his walkie-talkie. 

“Miss…”

“Doctor.” She corrected him.

“Right, Doctor…” Bart shook his head. “Judging by your looks, I do not believe we are the ones in need of assistance. Waar do you come from? Germany? Zweden? Our group explored the city already and we found nobody. There are monsters outside you know.”

Sidereal glanced back towards Gust.

“Yes, we have crossed path with some monsters… but we do not come from this planet.” She said slowly. 

Obviously Equestrian wasn’t the guard's mother language, no need to speak too quickly otherwise she would just piss him off and have to repeat herself.

Bart quirked his head, one ear flicking slightly.

“Wablief? Did you just say you are an alien?” He chuckled awkwardly, quickly checking that Mikhail had heard that just as he had. A nod from the purple dragon confirmed it.

He also took note of Ivan by the building’s entrance, the griffon standing a respectable distance away and hidden in the shade.

“We sort of are.” Sidereal calmly said with a smile. “You see, the authorities on my planet are… aware of the cataclysm that occurred here. So they sent us to offer our help to the survivors.”

“Very funny.” Bart said sarcastically. “But zelfs I know other planets are ridiculously ver away. You need a spaceship, a flying saucer.”

“We teleported.” Sidereal explained as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Bart rolled his eyes, an equine-sounding snort escaping his nostrils.

“Really? Teleportation? Hoor lady, I'm ready to set aside logic with all the stuff that’s happening but teleportation is a bit too far-fetched.”

Sidereal just smirked softly. Her horn took on an intense red glow Bart knew was a sign of telekinesis.

And then with a ‘pop’ she crossed the distance that separated her from the gate in the blink of an eye, coming just a meter short of the surprised Belgian.

“Godver-!” Bart swore, the stallion rearing up on his hooves and telekinetically reaching for his rifle. “Stand back! Now!” He yelled, already switching to a combat position with his less-lethal pistol floating above him.

“I could have teleported to the other side you know.” She stated, calmly walking a meter backwards.

Up above them, Mikhail had to force his gunners not to open up on the ponies below them with the .50 cals despite the surprise.

“I doubt that would have ended well.” Bart ground out as he rested his weight on his floating rifle, barrel pointed at the ground in front of the Equestrian mare.

“Interesting technique.” She said, critically eyeing his stance. “You know you can do more with that horn than float things around?”

“Ja, you just showed me.” He said, glaring at the mare. “One more time, what do you want?”

“To speak with your leader. To teach your people. I know you weren’t a pony before, me and my team can teach your herd how to live with your new bodies. We know what happened.” She told him with a firm look in her eyes.

Bart gauged her for a few seconds, the mare firmly returning his hard stare. He clicked his tongue before returning to a four-hooved stance with his rifle on his back... but his 303 stayed trained on the group. His horn lit up as he keyed in on the radio.

“Checkpoint to Amandine, the group of visitors wants to speak to the Kapitein. They say they know stuff about the cataclysm. Over.”

The waves went silent for a minute or two.

“Checkpoint… your orders are to get them inside a meeting room in the lobby and wait for the Captains to arrive. ETA is five minutes. Amandine out.”

  Sidereal overheard that and smiled. She turned away from the guard and motioned for her fellow ponies to come forward. As for Bart, he discreetly nodded towards Ivan who flipped a switch that set the gates in motion. They slid aside to let the ponies in, Bart guiding them inside the building. A few of them stopped to stare at the female griffon sitting on her haunches in the shade by the door, but they didn’t say a word.

It was highly likely that Copenhagen’s harbor authority used to hold executive meetings in the entrance building before the Event because many of the rooms on the ground floor were actually meeting rooms. Bart led the five ponies into one such room which was… actually rather bland. White walls, grey carpet, and tables arranged in a U-shape around a whiteboard. There was also a projector in the room, though the blue furred unicorn doubted crossbow-totting aliens would have any use for it.

The lanky unicorn in the group was the first to set down her saddlebags with a relieved sigh escaping her muzzle. She kept looking towards the neon lights and the A/C unit in the back of the room as if they were completely foreign things.

Come to think of it they probably were.

“How did you find us?” Bart asked.

“Mage sight.” Sidereal replied. Her horn flickered briefly and her large eyes took on a bluish glow for a second. “It’s a spell that allows me to sense the flow of magic, if I tune it just right I can also detect living beings in large groups. I must say… ponies on your planet generate a lot more magic than us.”

“Magic now?” Bart shook his head. “Whatever…” 

He pulled a chair close to the door and hopped on it, keeping a watchful eye on the five visitors.

“What’s your name anyway?” The orange draft horse asked.

“I’m Corporal De Mesmaeker. You?”

“Pulp Orange. So you’re military?” The other stallion asked as he set down his own massive saddlebags.

Bart didn’t miss how the large equine subtly put himself between the guard and the rest of his group. He didn’t miss the orange presser symbol on his flank either. Not unlike the dismantled gun he had in the exact same place…

Actually every pony he had met so far bore that kind of mark. Maybe it had a deeper meaning.

“I am, but only me. The rest of the guys are merchant navy. My turn now… how long have you been on the planet?”

“Ten days.” This time it was one of the pegasi who spoke up, the grey furred one that wasn’t wearing anything. “We appeared in a city called Stockholm and immediately started going south.” 

He was a bit thinner than the one with the gambeson, his grey fur combining with his black mane to give him a rather plain appearance which was only broken up by the mark on his flank that depicted a treasure map. By comparison, his toxic green eyes stood out like a lighthouse in dense fog.

“Radiant Course by the way, navigator… and sometimes airship engineer.” He presented himself, holding out a hoof towards Bart. “How large is your group I wonder?” He asked in his rough voice.

“Seventy-seven people.” Bart clopped his hoof against the pegasus’. “How do you all can speak English if you’re aliens?”

“English? We’re speaking Equestrian Corporal.” Sidereal said.

“I’m pretty zeker that language I learned is called English Doctor. This is not my mother language, but it’s the one you learn if you want to travel because everyone speaks it.”

“Everyone?” Radiant tilted his head. “Don’t you mean everypony?”

“Wat? No! Please, English is hard enough to learn, don’t use your local expressions.”

“ Regardless…” Sidereal continued. “They told me in the beginning it was highly likely our two worlds would share similarities. One language is just fortunate, though I did have a translation spell ready.”

Bart just stared at her blankly, not having fully understood what she told.

“Hoor…” The guard said. “Nobody in our group speaks English as their mother language. It’s al hard enough, so please don’t make it harder ok?”

“Will try.” Radiant nodded.

Then Bart caught the noise of a truck stopping outside of the building. He heard Ivan exchange a few words with Captain Prateek in the lobby before some footsteps approached their meeting room.

“Captain’s here.” He said, hopping off his chair.

In came Dilip, the pariah dog quickly followed by Raimund behind him. The sight of the pink unicorn filly earned some puzzled looks from the Equestrians, but Dilip moved to the front of the room before they got time to comment on that.

“Greetings to you all. I am Captain Prateek of M/V Amandine.” He told the assembled ponies.

“And I Captain Gerig, of M/V Rhine Forest. Corporal De Mesmaeker here told us you wished to speak to us about the cataclysm.” She added.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a Captain?” Cheese Cake blurted out from the back of the group.

“I will have you know I am actually sixty-one.” She told the mare with a deep frown. “That… cataclysm you claim to know about robbed me not only of my masculinity but of my age as well. Which of you five is the leader of the group?”

“I am. We were aware of the possibility of such… effects, but not to such an extreme degree.” Sidereal said, trotting to the front of the meeting room. “Doctor Sidereal Venture.” She added, holding out a hoof towards the pink filly.

Raimund eyed the proffered hoof critically before begrudgingly clopping hers against it.

“For what I assume to be an academic Doctor you seem rather ill-informed on the very phenomenon you claim to know about.” The German said.

“Not my specialization. My presence here is as part of a humanitarian effort fostered by the Equestrian Crown and its allies. We are one of many similar teams sent out across the divide between our worlds to offer assistance to survivors.” She told confidently.

“Really? How fortunate that you’d just so happen to be of a similar species as what some of our crewmembers turned into.” Dilip said with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“I err…” Sidereal stuttered. “Captain, all the knowledge my superiors imparted upon me was about the ‘what’, not the ‘why’. They told me muzzle to muzzle that the more sensitive information will be communicated to a single group carefully vetted by one of our operatives that’s currently deployed on another continent.”

The Indian crossed his arms and looked her up and down for what to her felt like hours.

“Very well, be that way.” He concluded in a steely voice. He stopped a second to pull a chair and sat down heavily. “Now Doctor, if you don’t feel like telling me the ‘why’, by all means, feel free to tell me the ‘what’ then.” The pariah dog said, arms spread out.

And so she did. She began reciting everything she had been told in the briefings before the beginning of her expedition across the divide. That their Princess discovered their world about half a century earlier finding it to be nearly devoid of all magic, that she also later learned of an impending magical surge of gigantic proportions, that she had been told the similarities between their worlds and the sheer force of the surge would result in humans turning into any of the many species found on Equus, her planet-

“Magical exposure turns humans into ponies? Or whatever he turned into?” Raimund asked disbelievingly, motioning towards her fellow Captain with her muzzle.

“Not really, no.” Sidereal shook her head. “The surge did. Expeditions between our world and yours before the Event revealed that exposure to even low intensity magical fields was deadly to humans…” As were magic deficient fields to ponies but that probably didn’t matter right then.

Replacing every mention of ‘magic’ with ‘thaumic’ seemed to corroborate with the story they got from the HPI… though Dilip would have to be tortured before he revealed their existence to random aliens.

“... As I was told by experts on the subject, the forces of Harmony that guide magic seldom result in… deadly outcomes; which is why it is believed they chose to turn you and your shipmates into Equestrian creatures that could actually survive in the high intensity magical field that followed after the surge.” The Doctor continued with a frown on her muzzle. “It does seem to tie itself with the fact that both our worlds share a lot of similarities.”

Yeah, they definitely weren’t told the entire story; that much Dilip and Raimund agreed on with a subtle glance towards each other. Unfortunately, the Doctor didn’t appear to know it either so maybe she really was just there to offer her assistance.

Also, one cliché point for authorities not telling everything to their subordinates.

“I get the transformation part… somewhat.” Dilip said. “But how come nearly all of the population disappeared?”

“Transforming an entire planet worth of sapient beings takes up a lot of energy. Most of the power of the surge went into placing this population inside of a safe time stream, and then the humans are… spat out, for a lack of a better word, as time passes when the stream leeches enough magic off of the ambient magical field.”

Awfully elaborate for what was done by a force of nature.

Raimund asked her how long they thought it would take for all the population to return to Earth.

“Ah… you see…” She hesitated, eyes looking off to the side in search of an escape route. “That’s the hard part…”

“Ten thousand years.” Radiant said, not allowing his superior to stomp around the bush.

“What?!” All three former humans in the room yelled out collectively.

“As he said.” Sidereal confirmed, muzzle close to the ground. “It should take about ten millennia for your entire population to come back…”

“That’s enough time for civilization to rise and fall again several times!” Dilip cried out, standing up in anger. “I got sailors under my command lady; they had families back home, children even! For crying out loud, my blasted Second Officer's wife was expecting! And now you’re telling me they might not get to see their families again in their lifetime?!”

In a feat of anger, the dog slammed down his paw against the desk in front of him and erupted in a long stream of curses in Marathi that had the Equestrians’ ears fold back against their skulls even though they didn’t understand any of it.

“Captain…” Sidereal tried. “We’re terribly sorry to have to tell you that…”

“Damn right you are!” This time it was Raimund’s turn to be angry. She pointed an accusatory hoof at the red mare in front of her. “You basically just told us that with that whole catastrophe… Thousands of years of development have just been wiped out! Millions- nay, billions of lives sacrificed on the altar of progress and in countless wars have all been for naught! Jack-fucking-shit! Nada! Zilch! Hundreds of countries with histories spanning as far back as two thousand years, gone!”  She shook her head and took a pause to breathe out, center herself. “All of our technologies… many of them incredibly dangerous when left unattended… doomed to be forgotten. Derelict factories now spewing chemicals in the atmosphere and condemning entire towns to noxious pollution…” She motioned with her muzzle towards Dilip, the dog now having sat back down with his shoulders sagged. “Hell, had it not been for him and his crew we would be on the brink of such annihilation the entire planet would probably have become uninhabitable for centuries, if not millennia.”

“Surely you must be joking!” Pulp protested.

“There were no less than seven billions of us, now imagine the scope of the industry that feeds a population that big which is only heightened by our technological advancement… which by the looks of your own tech is far ahead of what you have at your… hooves.” She concluded with a sneer. “That is the industrial might that’s now left rampant.”

“And?” Radiant asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“And? And?!” Bart sat up. “For fuck’s sake you tuberculosis-riddled limp-dicked gluestick can you not understand? When people reappear they will just die! Toxic gas, radiation, polluted uninhabitable landscapes, destroyed fields… and monsters too, of course!” He added, lifting his head up to show them the scar he had gotten from the wood hounds in Zeebrugge.

At least the ponies before them had enough wits to put the pieces together and figure out what had given him this scar.

“That’s enough Corporal.” Dilip said quietly. “I do not believe these… ponies… fully understand the scope of this whole cataclysm or that of our world.” He said, tiredly rubbing a paw over his muzzle. “This has just gotten much worse than we actually dared think… but there is still hope.”

“You call that hope?!” Raimund yelled in a shrill voice.

“At least now we are sure they will return.” He told her, one paw raised in a placating manner. “It may not be much… but we do have the tools to get to them. Now…” His gaze darkened as he slowly turned towards Sidereal. “… What is it you claim to be able to offer us in terms of assistance?”

“Well, for one you all turned into species from our world. I’d wager we know quite a bit about more about them than you do.” She waved a hoof at Radiant and Gust. “Flight lessons we can give too, and I as a rather well-trained mage can teach unicorns about magic.”

“What about sphinxes?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sidereal said.

“Sphinxes. Lion-cat quadruped with wings, they can do telekinesis too.”

“I uh… that’s a very rare species in my country… they’re almost unheard of on our side of the planet. Are there many of them?”

“About half a dozen.” He said, waggling his paw in a so-so gesture. “There is a lot of variety in species amongst our crews.”

“It… can’t be that bad.” Sidereal said with a smile. “Did your crew from very different countries?”

“On my crew alone we have eighteen different nationalities. And the species… we have dogs like me, cats, sphinxes, parrots, griffons, hippogriffs, gargoyles, dragons, minotaurs and… batponies and unicorns too. And of course there are those hedgehog creatures and centaurs on Gerig’s crew.” Dilip said.

“Sweet Mother of Faust…” Sidereal said, slack jawed. “Why? Just… why?”

“Cheap labor basically. The company that owns my ship at least… it’s always a deal. You work worldwide in the merchant navy, so they seek out the cheapest workers for any specific task. Then there are laws that come into play where if you want to get certain contracts you need a certain number of sailors from a specific country or continent… I mean, even crewing agencies do it: ‘we’ll give you the sailors you want, but if you want to keep getting sailors from us then you gotta take these guys as well'.” He shrugged. “It’s all a ploy to minimize the crewing costs and even minimize taxes. That and… public relations really love their nancy speeches about diversity.”

“Doesn’t that get… you know… confusing sometimes?”

“Sort of, ain’t easy, but you get used to it. Most of the time, you get the same nationalities at certain ranks like Ukrainians and Filipinos. Plus generally we all focus on work first and learn to put our differences aside. We’re working to make money, not to feed intercultural feuds. Countries aside, have you heard of those species?”

“Most of them… yes. Our own country Equestria mostly features the four pony tribes. That is: Unicorns, Pegasi, Earth Ponies and the lesser known tribe of the Batponies.” Sidereal explained. “We have some standing alliances with species like hippogriffs, griffons too, to a lesser extent. I’m… never too sure about the dragons since they tend to be rather aggressive but they are on our borders. By the way Captain, in Equestria we call your species ‘Diamond Dogs’.”

“Good to know. So you can teach us?”

“Well… we’ll likely have to send a request message for detailed books on non-Equestrian species but we can and will help with ponies, flight and magic.” Sidereal perked up.

“I’d be an idiot to scoff at the opportunity of assistance.” Dilip muttered as he stood up and walked over to the Doctor. “So…” He held up his paw. "Let's start over... May I offer you my welcome to Copenhagen, Doctor?”

A red hoof connected met his cream furred paw.

“Gladly, Captain.”







Dilip ushered the group of five ponies outside where the unimog he had come with was parked. Roberto was there, the Italian cat quietly smoking a cigarette and leaning against the side of the vehicle.

“Survivors?” He asked, eyeing the approaching Captains and ponies.

“Aliens technically.” Dilip told him. “It’s a long story, mind if I ride in the back while you take us back to Amandine?”

Roberto stared dubiously at his superior for a second before shaking his head, muttering a very sarcastic sounding ‘Ma certo…’ under his breath.

“What is this?” Cheese asked to no one in particular. The lanky mare may have been tall by pony standards but the military truck still utterly dwarfed her.

“You… don’t have cars and trucks?” Raimund said quizzically.

“No… Is this some kind of cart? We saw plenty of these on our way here but we just assumed there was a system to pull them.”

“Sort of I guess? We use vehicles like these a lot to move around on land, it has an engine in the front to propel it forward. They’re ahem… vehicles like that, along with ships and planes are at the core of our civilization.”

“You mean it’s self-propelled? Like a train?” Radiant almost gushed. The Pegasus flew over to the front of the vehicle to take a look at the grill covers. “We never managed to miniaturize steam engines that much in Equestria so they’re only there for large vehicles like airships and the Friendship Express.”

“Actually it runs on diesel. Few vehicles still run on steam nowadays, it’s just too big and slow to react.” Gerig said, struggling a little to climb in the back of the truck.

The seats were raised already, with the tarpaulin’s side raised for view but not completely removed so as to keep passengers in the shade.

“Diesel?”

“As in, petrol. Refined oil, it’s a combustion engine. Mind getting in?” The German asked the Pegasus who was still hovering in front of the truck.

The pegasus’s large eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. In a blur, he flew right in front of the Captain’s face.

“Combustion you say?! Our best engineers can only manage barely-working prototypes of the stuff!”

“Engineer?” The filly asked in a flat tone.

“Navigator actually… but I sometimes assist as airship engineer.” The Pegasus boasted.

“Sit down then, might be necessary when we come in view of the ships.” The pink unicorn filly told him.

By then all of his fellow ponies were sat down on the benches with their saddlebags piled up in the front part of the vehicle. Radiant smiled sheepishly and glided down to take a seat between Gust and Sidereal. Dilip gave a tap on the back of the cabin, signaling for Roberto to get then on the move.

The Pegasus looked like he was having the time of his life when the Italian turned the key and the truck started up with a rumble. Roberto backed away from the entrance checkpoint, leaving the guards behind as he steered them towards the quays where the ships were moored.

The ships were a mere kilometer away from the entrance. That small a distance was actually enough to bring awe in the minds of the otherworldly visitors in the back of the truck. They gaped at the sight of the tall container stacks and the cargo cranes that dotted the landscape of the harbor.

But that reaction was dwarfed by the one they had at the sight of the two ships.

By then they had already finished modifying the crane on the Rhine so that it could be used to pick up stuff alongside the vessel. The five Equestrians were thus able to see some sailors proceed to use it to pick up some large steel structures two welders were busily assembling on the quays next to the large barge carrier.

“This is my vessel, the Rhine Forest. She’s a bit old I’ll admit, but we take good care of her.” Gerig smiled softly.

“Th- this is…” Radiant stuttered.

“Gigantic!” Cheese blurted out.

“Well, as a barge carrier she’s a bit on the heavy side but there are many vessels bigger than her. In fact last I checked before the Event struck, Shell Prelude was almost twice as long as she is. We were busy doing works on her when you arrived.”

“Bigger?!” Radiant looked at Gerig as if she had just sprouted wings and become a Princess. “That thing here is easily five times as long as the average merchant airship in Equestria!”

“Eh, our industry moved away from airships. Too inefficient.” The German snorted. “Either they had a habit of blowing up or they just couldn’t carry enough cargo.”

“And how much cargo are we talking about exactly?” Sidereal asked.

“Captain Gerig’s ship is able to load up to thirty thousand tons of cargo in his barges. That’s the yellow floating boxes see…” Dilip pointed his paw towards some empty barges they had moored alongside the Rhine to make room for the modifications. “As for Amandine, her deadweight is a bit less than half of what the Rhine carries, but she’s made to carry road vehicles. Trucks, cars, trailers… containers too sometimes, but dedicated container vessels are more cost-effective for that particular cargo.”

Radiant’s gaze turned towards the bow of the grey and white vessel moored just behind the Rhine. His large eyes drifted over her sleek bow and rounded flanks.

Gust let out a disgusted cry as the other pegasus’ wings stood up straight.

“Cadance bless me, I’ve fallen in love.” He drooled.

Dilip just chuckled.







It was just impossible to get everyone together for just one presentation. Many sailors had shifts to do around the docks, be it as guards, workers on the Rhine or even just training. Dilip quickly explained that to the Equestrians and told them they would have to organize multiple presentations to the crews of either ship at different times.

“I figure it’s not that big of a deal.” Sidereal nodded. The mare had donned a hardhat when they boarded Amandine at Dilip’s request. “There are multiple things that will need to be addresses and we may need a bit of time to prepare it…” She mused, looking around at the large holds that made Amandine’s inner decks.

To be frank there wasn’t much activity in there at that time of the day. She could hear grinding noises coming from an area near the bow of the vessel the Captain had labeled as the workshop but beside that it was all just containers stacked two by two and parked vehicles, some of which clashed from the rest with their menacing angles and drab olive green paintjob.

Gerig was gone now, the unicorn filly (the sight of which still perturbed the red mare, Celestia knew she was young enough to be her daughter, hard to attach the ‘Captain’ rank to that) claiming she still had a lot of paperwork to go through on her own ship.

“We have offices for that. By the way, I assumed this was implied but I wish to offer you my hospitality on board of my vessel. Should you wish to stay here, we have some free cabins for all of your team. You only need to ask so I can tell my Chief Steward.” Dilip told her, amusedly staring at the form of Radiant who was looking around so fast he looked like he was about to break his neck.

That behavior only earned an exasperated eye roll from his superior though. Celestia knew the pony had been doing that every time they found something new.

“Much appreciated Captain. It’s been a while we’ve been on the road, I feel like my team could appreciate modern appliances and actual beds.” Sidereal smiled.

“Bucking right we could! My back’s killing me!” Pulp cried out from the back of the group as he pulled his saddlebags from the unimog’s bed, the weight difference making the truck’s suspension rise a few centimeters and finally allowing Roberto to take it deeper inside, back into storage.

“Language Pulp.” Sidereal chastised him. “Though to be fair, he is right, hard soil hasn’t done much good to my spine.” She winced.

“You have my sympathy. On the bright side the transformation rid me of my own age-related back pains, so I got that going for me.” Dilip slowly walked over to a large sliding door near Amandine’s stern ramp.

The lift actually. He was never too fond of using it for stuff that wasn’t supplies and injured crewmembers, but he figured the ponies would welcome the help with their saddlebags. One press of a button later, the door slid aside, showing the five ponies what to them just looked like a small room.

“What is this?” Cheese wondered aloud.

“Cargo lift. I figured you would appreciate it, what with all those bags you carry around.”

“On a ship? That’s a first.” Radiant admitted.

“I get the feeling you’re going to see many firsts today.” Dilip commented offhandedly as he shoved his key in the slot that would lead them to the deck where the cafeteria and ratings’ rooms were.

Merchant vessels like Amandine weren’t made with a lot of cabins to begin with. Passengers were a rarity and, in many cases, a legal liability that came with a whole new set of legislations. That didn’t mean they didn’t have some spare cabins to offer the Equestrians. Dilip quickly called Farkas over via the interphone and had her lead the five ponies to their cabins, with Sidereal even getting one of the Officer-sized VIP cabins.

While the sphinx kept the visitors busy, the pariah dog (or maybe he should start saying Diamond Dog now? That was the correct name apparently) snuck away and had what crewmen he could find quickly pass around the message that they were not to ever mention anything that could remotely be linked to the HPI to the visitors.







Not an hour later, the ponies found themselves inside Amandine’s cafeteria for lunch. Not all of them though, since apparently the Captain had invited the Doctor to dine with him and the Chief Officer.

To say they were surprised by the lingering smell of spices would have been an understatement.

“Sweet Celestia, what do they put in the food there?!” Gust complained as he rubbed a gold furred hoof over his runny nostrils.

“Spices, lots of them.” A grey minotaur said as he sat down next to the group with his own plate. “A necessity considering how poorly herbivores react to the smell of meat. Hope you guys don’t mind, the lots of us got used to it overtime.”

“We uh… we can make do mister…?” Cheese trailed off.

“Molnàr, but you can just call me Angelo. I’m the Second Engineer by the way.” He told the unicorn, one large hand held up towards her.

“Well met then Angelo.” She smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Cheese Cake.”

“Odd name.” The Minotaur commented.

“Pot calling the kettle back.” Gust said. “Your names just sound like random syllables put together to us.”

“First off that’s because they’re not English…” He paused to take a bite of his goulash, leftovers from the day before. “… Second, if memory serves centuries ago human names may have sounded more like yours but overtime they sort of…transformed to become what they are because people would just shorten them and mess up the pronunciation.” He shrugged. “At least that’s the way I understood it, I’m no language expert.”

“So where do you come from actually?” This time it was Pulp who asked the question.

“Greece, or Athens to be precise. It’s a coastal nation thousands of miles south of there. Warm weather, many rocky archipelagos and plenty of olive trees. And of course the ruins of civilizations spanning thousands of years too… tends to attract a lot of tourists.” He explained between two mouthfuls. “Would have loved to stay there more, but it’s pretty poor by global standards so I had to find a good paying job elsewhere so…” He waved his large hand around. “Edó eímai…”

“That’s you mother language?” Cheese gushed. “Fascinating! How many are there?”

“Languages?” Angelo quirked an eyebrow. “Dunno… I heard that the total count was well above five thousand but as far as I’m concerned there are only about a hundred that are actually relevant on a global scale. And even then I can only speak two.”

“Five thousand? Holy horseapples!” Gust called.

“Many of those are languages only spoken by a thousand peoples, isolated tribes in the jungle or in the middle of some far off archipelago. It’s a big world out there you know.” Angelo said. “Others include regional variants of a larger language, or even crossover areas that develop their own language that’s really a mix of two bigger languages, or more. I mean, there’s a whole science behind that, but I’d rather stick to my machinery.”

On the other end of the table, Radiant was practically vibrating in place, numerous questions for the Greek Engineer practically hanging on the tip of his muzzle. It was a shame really that Angelo’s attention was instead focused on Pulp, or rather the way the Earth Pony was eating.

“How do you do that?” Angelo asked.

“Do what?” The stallion paused, his spoon somehow held in his flat, fingerless hoof.

“Hold your spoon.”

“That?” Pulp’s ear twitched once. “No clue, all ponies can though. Nopony ever questions it.” He shrugged before shoveling some more goulash down his throat. “Good stuff by the way, spicy… but good.”

The minotaur stared off in the distance for a couple seconds before looking back to his plate, muttering some things about ‘physics-defying nudists’. The table went silent for a few minutes as they all enjoyed their meal, some more curious about the foreign recipe than others. Many on the crew really enjoyed Nguyen’s decision to start venturing into something that wasn’t the usual Asian food they served in the kitchen, though they could still spot traces of his usual style. Angelo was pretty sure the Vietnamese cat had added ginger in the recipe at some point, along with other spices that definitely wouldn’t have been found in more… traditional goulash recipes.

Not that it soured the meal. The end result was actually surprisingly palatable.

By the time Angelo set down his spoon, Radiant appeared like he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You looking for the toilets bud?” Angelo asked.

“Wha- No!” Radiant replied. “You said you were Engineer right?”

“Nai.” He nodded.

“As in… engine room Engineer?”

“What, you wanna visit it?”

“… Can I? Pretty please?” The Pegasus asked him, forehooves clasped together in a pleading manner.

“Probably. I’d have to ask Schmitt –the Chief Engineer that is- if you can since it’s a fairly dangerous place but there’s no super-secret tech to speak of.” Angelo said. “You seem rather curious.”

“Don’t you say he is.” Pulp snorted amusedly. “He’s been acting like a colt in a candy shop ever since we arrived.”

“Am not!” Radiant protested.

“You kind of are.” Cheese told him. “Right Gust?”

“Eeyup, wouldn’t shut up ‘bout ‘airships can’t do that’ or ‘only in schematics back home’. For Faust’s sake Radiant, I caught you gushing over the bucking toilets.”

Angelo suppressed a chuckle.

“Speaking of which, they’re vacuum toilets. Don’t get your tail caught in there otherwise it’s the snip.” The Greek warned them, his fingers making a scissor motion.

By a sheer stroke of luck, Mohammed passed by their table at that exact moment, the sphinx’s tail lacking half the tuft of black hair at the tip of his tail.

“I’m still amazed at the sheer variety of species you got on your ship…” Cheese gaped.

“Wasn’t the intention really.” The minotaur shrugged. “But the species and now your appearance does make me wonder…”

“’bout what?” Gust asked.

Angelo just waved a hand vaguely at the two pegasi sitting at the table.

“Minotaurs, pegasuses-“

“Pegasi” Gust corrected him.

“Whatever, sphinxes too, among other species. Many of these are species that are not unknown to humans. Thing is, they were supposed to be the work of fiction, old myths that date back further than I can fathom.” He rubbed his horn pensively. “Some details are a bit iffy… but it does seem odd that species from another world would turn out to be just like those mentioned in ancient fiction. Are you sure you guys got the full story from your superiors?”

“We haven’t been told much you know. For us, it’s just… get out there, find survivors, teach them about their new bodies.” Pulp admitted. “Even Sidereal doesn’t, and she’s been complaining about it since the beginning of the expedition. You pair that with the monsters and… Well, while I consider myself rather trusting of our government, this clause about one operative seeking someone to pass so-called ‘sensitive information’…” The Earth Pony made some air quotes with his hooves. “…gives me feelings that once again the little pony is getting bucked over.”

“You and me both pal.” Gust nodded.
> Chapter 33: Alien Sex-Ed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

After lunch, Farkas came back to the Equestrians to lead them to the ship’s office so they could prepare their presentation.

While certain crewmembers on board had their own office such as Dilip, Roberto and Artyom (by virtue of being, respectively, the secretary and the bosun), most of their shipmates didn’t. The Officers and Engineers didn’t really need one since their cabins were large enough to do their paperwork there, but the ratings’ weren’t. Hence, Amandine had a larger office to conduct office work on deck B, just below the bridge. It wasn’t even always used by the ratings, since oftentimes they lent the office’s meeting space to surveyors and company officials that came on board.

The room was fairly large, decorated with the same pattern of cheap burgundy carpet covering the floor and waist-high fake planks on the walls. Anything above that was painted a pale yellow in opposition to the striped pattern found in the passageways, though it would have been hard to notice it considering the amount of boards and files hanging off the walls.

One half of the room was outfitted with computer desks, printers and bookshelves that were nearly bending under the weight of all the manuals and folders. The ponies following Farkas also took note of a large blackboard on that side of the room, onto which a crewmember had drawn a table containing the daily duties of Amandine’s complement.

The second half was more geared towards holding meetings. There were other places for such on board of course, such as the engine room’s office, the cafeteria and even Dilip’s office, but each of these was often occupied for one reason or another. It had a large rectangular Plexiglas table in the center, surrounded by a couple desk chairs, and naturally the usual projector already plugged to a computer, pointed towards a whiteboard.

Sidereal was already there and busy with her muzzle practically shoved between the pages of a book she had pulled from her saddlebags. A few other Equestrian books were strewn around the table with a mess of office supplies, none of which appeared to bother the Doctor as she busily scribbled down some notes on a few sheets of paper.

“Your team’s here Doc’” Farkas told.

“Good good.” Sidereal nodded distractedly, muzzle still riveted to her books and a thoughtful frown on her features.

She kept writing down in her notes.

“Doctor?” Pulp insisted, the stallion’s voice than the sphinx’s.

That apparently was enough to get through to her as the red unicorn jumped up in her seat and looked at the group next to her for the first time.

“Right uh… sorry. Bad study habit, I get carried away sometimes.” She told them with a sheepish smile.

“Min anisycheis.” Farkas replied. “If I may ask, do you require anything in particular for your presentation?”

“Such as?” Sidereal quirked her head. “I mean, I already got the paper, pens –neat pens by the way, beats our Equestrian pencils any day- and a board. What more do I need?”

At that Farkas smirked. Without a word, she approached the computer next to the projector and booted it up. Telekinesis was a bit iffy when it came to using keyboards, but by now she was pretty much used to it. One flicker of her power flared and hit the projector’s power button.

“I’ll hazard a guess; does your country know of slideshows? Or cinema projectors?”

“Well, yeah. We do have those, why?” Cheese asked her.

“Just to check how familiar you’d be with what I’m about to show.” The sphinx lioness said.

In front of her, the projector’s beam coalesced onto the whiteboard, showing the computer’s start menu. She immediately started up a new PowerPoint presentation.

“What is this?” Radiant and Sidereal both asked at the same time.

“A computer program we use to make presentations –slideshows that is-. Usually whenever someone has to give a lesson or a briefing we use them to support what we say. It’s generally more practical than a blackboard, at least in my opinion.” She told the ponies. “Captain’s told me to help you folks with that, and if need be we even have a scanner to convert what you have in your books into computerized data.”

Gust glanced alternatively between Farkas and the projected beam on the whiteboard, Radiant and Pulp both too busy quivering slightly at the sight of the computer and projector.

“You know, I think at this rate you’re gonna break the both of them with all your casual shows of technology.” He said, poking the immobile Radiant with one hoof.

“Can’t help it.” The lioness shrugged with her wings.

“I honestly think that’s amusing.” Cheese giggled.

The Equestrians spent the better part of the afternoon preparing their presentation in the Office, with the help of Farkas who stayed there to help them figure out how to use a computer.

Sidereal was forced to admit she didn’t know much about non-pony species, and what little information was available in the books her expedition had brought along was rather lackluster. Gust, by virtue of being an Everfree Ranger and thus slightly more familiar with foreign species, managed to offer a few tips, but the Doctor had to send him off later in the afternoon anyway.

Both him and Radiant actually. The two pegasi needed to report to the Third Officer up on the bridge because apparently the griffon needed their help to better plan out some evening flying lessons for the crew. To the Equestrians, it seemed as if all these sailors were extremely meticulous in their work with how much they insisted on doing things like pre-briefings, presentations and safety plans…

Considering the high-risk reputation of navigation in Equestria and how futuristic human society appeared to the ponies, maybe it was actually a natural development and not them being overly cautious.







Meanwhile on the Rhine Forest, a pink unicorn filly grumpily slammed down a shot of schnapps.

“I don’t think that’s particularly healthy with a body as young as yours.” Dilip commented from his seat in Raimund’s Office.

“Shut it Dilip, that’s precisely why I need the liquor.” She huffed. “You got two eyes last I checked, you clearly saw the looks I was getting from these…”

“Equestrians.” Dilip completed. “I did, but can we really blame them for it? You would be dubious too if a prepubescent kid turned up saying he was a Merchant Captain. It’s only your crew and mine that got used to it you know.”

“Understand it? I can, but liking it? That’s a big no.” Raimund shook her head. “And you really do believe them with that whole…” She rolled her hoof vaguely. “Alien jig?”

“I had the one called Sidereal show me some of her ‘magic tricks’ during lunch. I can honestly not believe a transformed human could have mastered such skills even if he or she reappeared as little as a second after the Event.” Dilip explained. “As for the sensitive information thing…”

“So does she actually know what happened or not?”

“She doesn’t. From the vibes that mare gives me, she was probably fed some horseshit –no pun intended- explanation by her superiors with just enough truth that it somewhat matches reality. She seems to know it as well by the way but…” He shrugged. “… I did get her to open up and complain about it. Bizarre or not, she still seems to trust her superiors blindly. Says they know better than her.”

“Weird, considering she presented herself as a high-level academic. So what are we going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The HPI.” Raimund uttered flatly.

“For now? I think we shouldn’t say anything. I just want to keep a couple assets out of their reach, just in case.”

“Like a tank.” She snorted.

“That wasn’t exactly planned… but them having an inaccurate idea of our combat capabilities won’t hurt.” Dilip told her. “As for the ponies they really do seem to know a lot more than us, and I think we can barter a bit of their medical know-how to the HPI without revealing its origin and trade it for the location of some more colonies.”

“Dirty. You do know they’re going to be pissed if they ever discover we’ve been dealing with aliens and haven’t told them.” She pointed out.

“They will be. Thing is, Eko is only one agent in their organization, and I think I’ve got him mostly figured out, at least as far as his ambitious streak is concerned. His colleagues though? I don’t want to completely depend on the whims of a shadow council, so we need a few aces up our sleeves.”

Raimund sagged a bit.

“Agreed but…” She sighed. “This seems all so needlessly complicated. Bear with me, weeks ago it was still all about getting to Lagos and doing offshore work not… getting turned into a tiny pink unicorn and then having to play mind games in a post-apocalyptic world between alien nudists and super-secret UN agencies while monsters are on the prowl and magic is somehow real.”

“When you put it like that… Ah screw it, pass me some of that schnapps.”







“Good evening fair mares and gentlecolts, my name is Doctor Sidereal Venture and I come from the world of Equus.” Sidereal began.

The mare stood in front of a crowd of sailors coming from both ships inside of Amandine’s cafeteria. They had gathered them after dinner to get a larger audience, the works on the Rhine stopping during the evenings according to their planning. That meant that except for the sailors on watch on the ships’ bridges and those guarding the terminal; everyone was available, including those that had been sent on an expedition in the morning.

Something about getting more power tools and oil reconditioning equipment for some experiments, not that she fully understood.

“My team and I…” She waved a hoof towards the four ponies that stood in a row behind her. “… have been sent as aid to survivors by our government, Equestria that is. You see, while my world certainly doesn’t have access to the kind of technology yours boasts, our expertise in magic far exceeds yours. This is how we managed to cross worlds, with an elaborate spell conceived by the best mages our capital city of Canterlot could offer.”

Stopping for a second to muster the courage to spit it out, the red furred mare repeated to the sailors the exact same thing she had told Dilip about the Event. She flinched when the crowd erupted in shouts of anger and cries of despair. They had her sympathy. If they were anything like Equestrian sailors, they used to have families waiting for them back home and she had just quashed any hopes they may have that said families would be there when they got back.

Or that they would ever get to see them again in their lifetime.

A stern-looking blue teenaged dragon with a beret managed to get the rowdy sailors to calm down. Well, for a dragon he was a teen. Sidereal was pretty sure that he was actually a middle-aged human if her assumptions were correct. Naturally even if the surge didn’t rejuvenate him he would have still turned into a teen by dragon standards, what with how slowly they aged.

Tartarus be damned, she was pretty sure most of the females she saw in the assembly used to be male. Very few mares ever went for that kind of nautical lifestyle in Equestria… ponies at least, she wasn’t too sure about how it went for parrots and Abyssinians, let alone centaurs.

The sight of the red skinned centaurs made her mind flash back to the ravages caused by Tirek. She forced herself to push the memories aside; they had no ties to that Demon of a sorcerer, much less considering the former Prince had been disavowed by his homeland.

“Now, I’ll pass the floor to Cheese Cake who shall give you a short presentation on the species you have turned into. Please do remember that we have training planned for flight and magic. The Officers should already have distributed the rosters for tonight’s session.”

Behind the computer hooked to the projector, Farkas moved on to the slideshow they had spent the afternoon preparing. The end result was… nothing spectacular really, but Cheese really had a blast making it under the sphinx lioness’ tutelage.

“Hi there!” The lanky yellow unicorn mare waved cheerfully at the crowd. “I’ll start off honestly: we don’t have much practical data on most of the species you’ve become, but I can still give you the basics.”

Cheese started off with the biggest slice of the pie they had available, one document she was even surprised they had. The interspecies reproduction chart. They had all agreed it was relevant to everypony on board, even though the genderswapped crewmembers might take it badly.

What appeared on the slide was a chart that depicted which species Equestrian creatures were able to reproduce with. Cheese had a lot to say about it, particularly as far as ponies were concerned.

Effectively, there were three possibilities on the chart: two different species (and the pony tribes counted as different species) could produce either a hybrid or a ‘pure’ (the term was a bit shoddy after passing through the Canterlot political mill) offspring; or they simply couldn’t.

Ponies for instance, were recorded as able to produce pure offspring with any of the other tribes. Cheese explained that in mixed families, the end result could often be affected by ancestry and that it was not uncommon for families to rediscover their family history when for instance two Earth ponies (she very much insisted on telling the sailor this was the right terminology, not draft pony) had a unicorn filly.

The four pony tribes were also able to produce pure offspring when reproducing with two species they had yet to meet, those two being what she labeled as the reindeer and the so-called ‘Everfree Deer’. Records also had it they could even mate that way with species as different as the centaurs and the hippogriffs.

In the back of the room, Carla gave Sebastien an interested look. That changed everything.

As for the matter of hybridization and ponies, she went on to explain that mating with one species known as the Zebricans would result in hybrid offspring . Some assumed it only resulted in a difference in fur coloration -of course the kids would be born with stripes-, but Cheese insisted that many species had innate magic influenced by hybridization as well. Like the Zebricans' alchemical skills.

“Wait, if a griffon and a pony do it, you get a hippogriff then?” A Diamond Dog with a broken paw asked.

“Weirdly enough, yes.” Cheese said, thinking back to a certain incident that occurred at the consulate in Fillydelphia. “The matter has puzzled biologists for decades, even more considering that many of these species should not be able to biologically reproduce with each other. Some mages attribute that to the inherent magic that permeates our universe… and now yours.”

Cheese decided to not go too much further on the matter of hybridization –they could check the books for that- and went on to the intricacies of… sexual intercourse. Obviously the mere mention of that raised a few ears and crests in the crowd, and she even spotted a few blushes.

She had gotten an explanation from Farkas on how humans reproduced. While similar to many of the mammalian species, she had to warn the sailors about heat season for equine species. She was certain about it being a pony thing, but other species didn’t go around shouting their mating habits so she couldn’t really tell about the rest.

On the bright side, she didn’t know of any species that ovulated as frequently as humans did. Celestia knew she would be hard pressed to live with a heat season every month. She had been told it had an influence on humans, but apparently nowhere near as strong as it did for ponies.

“What happens if the mare isn’t impregnated?”  An indigo unicorn stallion asked from the back of the room.  His white coveralls prevented her from looking at his Cutie Mark but she was pretty sure he was an engineer.

“Menstruation of course… and the obvious crankiness that ensues.” Cheese Cake told with a barely concealed wince. 

That occurring during a visit to her family in Ponyville really hadn’t been the best of experiences.

“Can you avoid it?” The same unicorn asked.

“I’m sorry?” One of her ears twitched. “Self-control is hard but can work… otherwise we have contraception. There are rumors about potions and herbal medicine being able to stall ovulation or mitigate the effects but they’re rather uncommon. Now, we have plenty of literature available on the subject we will give you… for keeps of course, but there are other species I can mention, like griffons and hippogriffs. They’ve been Equestria’s allies for a while so we know a bit more about them.”

Hearing that, Farkas moved on the next part of the slideshow. A picture showing griffons and hippogriffs appeared on screen, accompanied by pictures of eggs, a pregnant-looking griffon and some notes.

These two species were truly peculiar when it came to reproduction as Cheese told them. They were the only known sapient species able to reproduce either via eggs or mammalian style. Many theorized that this allowed them to pick which method was the most efficient depending on environmental factors, though that had taken a completely different turn with the advent of modern society as various groups forged their own opinions on which was better, often pulling out pseudo-scientific arguments.

And then family planning institutions in Griffonstone got involved which made the whole thing even more confusing. That didn’t matter much to the sailors so she explained them how the method was determined by the ambient temperature during the first two weeks of incubation. If the temperature was high enough, griffon and hippogriffs would then lay eggs. The exception to the rule would be when a hippogriff female mated with a pony tribe, because then the offspring could be a pony. There was no ‘choosing’ to speak of in that particular case because the species of the offspring was determined earlier than the type of incubation.

In practice that meant that if a hippogriff mare was to bear ponies, it would be via pregnancy. If it was a hippogriff, then the options remained open.

That alone would have already been considering enough ‘originality’ in terms of biology, but it went further. The two avian chimeras didn’t ovulate at determined intervals like most species, no. Instead, they had ‘triggers’ which caused it. For griffons it was repeated sexual activity that caused ovulation.

Cheese was pretty sure she saw a glimmer of recognition in the eyes of a bald eagle griffon in the front of the crowd. Idly, she wondered if that may be about the young chick that lay between her and the grey falcon griffon next to her. They did behave like a mated couple after all, and the chick looked suspiciously similar to the two of them.

Also why was there a hatchling present for what was basically a sex-ed class? At least she didn’t seem to understand what she was saying…

Hippogriffs were a bit different. Ovulation wasn’t triggered by sexual activity but instead by calorie intake. The numbers were a bit iffy but it was often said they needed thrice their daily food intake to cause ovulation.

That method wasn’t unheard of on Equus actually. They had a couple sources citing it was also the case for dragons as well, but Cheese lacked an actual number on how much food the reptiles needed to gorge themselves on before they were able to reproduce.

As far as she knew, the phenomenon had a deep impact on hippogriffs society. Holidays and family reunions in Mount Aris always had an impact on the nation’s birthrate… and brought a whole new meaning to granny telling you you’re too skinny.

“Wait, does it affect sea hippogriffs as well?” A hippogriff stallion asked.

“Sea hippogriffs? I’m sorry?” Cheese tilted her head in confusion.

“You mean seaponies? I haven’t seen any on your crew, are they down in the water?” Sidereal jumped in.

“No… we’re here.” Said hippogriff told her, quickly transforming back and forth into his ‘marine’ form to show her.

That didn’t really have the expected effect because the red mare rushed over to the sailor and proceeded to look him over thoroughly. 

“This shouldn’t be possible…” The Doctor muttered, much to the confusion of the sailors around her.

“Is there anything wrong ma’am?” The hippogriff shuffled awkwardly under her scrutiny.

“Oh, pardon me mister…” She trailed off.

“Yuri.” The seafoam colored hippogriff said, his orange coveralls depicting him as one of Amandine’s crewmembers.

“Right. Sorry Yuri, but back home I’m pretty sure hippogriffs and seaponies –as they’re called- cannot shift back and forth like you do. They need an… artifact of sorts to do it, a transformation pearl shard, and even then they are in short supply. Last I checked it was about… one per family if memory serves.” Sidereal rubbed the edge of her muzzle with one hoof pensively. “I mean… it could be that… Do you feel anything particular because of the transformation?”

“A bit of exertion maybe.” Yuri shrugged. “We can’t really shift back and forth many times in a row… leaves us winded see.”

Sidereal was about to ask him another question when she was interrupted by a polite cough from Farkas. Right, the presentation. The Doctor quickly excused herself, figuring out just how they could do that would have to wait for later.

“Where were we already?” Cheese asked.

“Seapony reproduction.” Aleksei called from the back of the room.

“Right.” Cheese nodded. “Simple enough actually. Similar to hippogriffs, but without the possibility of laying eggs. For hybridization… same thing as well, though it might be a bit hard for certain species in the water.” She mused. “But what can I say, if the flopping fish routine is your kink, I won’t judge.”

Amazingly enough, someone actually laughed at that.

The rest of her presentation was a bit more innocent. There was a lot to be told about each species, but Cheese settled for the simple, verified stuff.

For instance, she had to correct them on the proper naming for some species. There was no such thing as regular ‘dogs’ and ‘cats’. The correct terms were ‘Diamond Dogs’ and ‘Abyssinians’ instead to differentiate them from their less developed quadruped cousins.

Someone actually made a joke about Roberto being an Italian Abyssinian. What it referred to, the unicorn had no idea and apparently it was so obscure it flew above the heads of most of the sailors in the room so she just shrugged it off. Abyssinia was a respected trade nation, and their activities had been pivotal in rebuilding after the ruin caused by the Storm King. They were still hunting for the missing pieces of their treasury to this day, but even a fraction of it had been enough for the felines to regain their economical might.

What she told them next surprised the hell out of her audience. The next part of the slideshow showed them a picture of former Dragon Lord Torch next to one of an adolescent dragon. Apparently the dragons on the crew weren’t even aware they were young by dragon standards, so she explained what she knew about dragons aging extremely slowly, their need for a hoard of jewels and precious metals to be able to live to their full life expectancy when they got older, and even the need to consume jewels and metal to maintain proper growth rate and scale durability.

“You really mean that I can grow that huge?” Schmitt asked incredulously.

“Torch was a rare thing, but going by the dragons I met in Manehattan…” Pulp interjected. “… You can reasonably expect to be at least three times as tall as you currently are by the time you turn two hundred.”

“Two… hundred…” Schmitt’s face fell.

“Rather young by dragon standards I’d say, must be the young adult range for them.” Cheese said. “It’s about that time they all start their hoard. Before then they’re a bit more nomadic in their lifestyle.”

“How long does a dragon actually get to live?” Schmitt asked.

“Depends on the hoard. Some of the biggest ones are millennia old; most live for around six centuries. I could be wrong of course; the old ones don’t like ponies much and are basically hermits so it’s hard to get a word out of them.”

Schmitt may have raised her eyeridges when she heard about how griffons reproduced, but she had to admit having your life expectancy determined by what basically was the size of your bank account... that was something else. Of course that also explained the compulsions she had discovered during an expedition way back in Antwerp. The diamonds still sat in a satchel underneath her mattress along with her now irrelevant wedding band.

But eating them? Seriously?! She thought what happened in Rosenborg was just Artyom going berserk, not biology at work.







The presentation was immediately followed by magic lessons for the handful of unicorns on both crews, as well as the first batch of flight lessons.

Cheese and Sidereal took their group out on the main deck for training. The Doctor really doubted much would be achieved that evening but she could show them the basics on how to use spells. She only took the unicorns along because she had honest-to-Luna absolutely no clue how creatures like sphinxes did their magic. She was familiar with horns, not whatever the winged felines used as their foci.

Also she was pretty sure there were more races that could actually do magic, she just wasn’t able to remember which since there were so many.

The parrots? Nah, they would know with celebrities like Celaeno frequently appearing in Equestria.

Plus, magic training was hard enough to do correctly that the batch of trainees she had been saddled with was enough. No need to add the sphinxes to the lot.

She had them form a circle around a specific item to try and feel out the magic it emitted. The item in question was nothing special, just a mere magic lantern that ran on ambient magic. She explained them that unicorn magic was based around their metabolism’s capacity to process ambient magic at a higher rate than other species. The processed magic then flowed towards their horns which, with rigorous and careful training, were then able to bend the magic into spells for various purposes.

She showed them some basic spells like a simple magic missile fired out of her horn and a light orb that floated above her and followed her. The magic missile was the most basic form of combat magic she could think of, one even fillies often managed to master.

Of course, colts and fillies grew up with their horns in a world where magic was considered normal so they had that advantage going for them.

Technically, the mage sight spell she used was a simple cast too. The catch was… it had a stupidly high learning curve. It required meticulous control for unicorns to actually be able to draw conclusions from what they saw because of how you had to tune it back and forth from coarse to fine, toy with the sensitivity, filter out the ‘noise’ and all that jazz… Most unicorns didn’t even know it existed until well into their adulthood, let alone know how to use it properly.

Good thing she was an academic.

Still, mage sight would have been overkill to feel the flow of a mana lamp from up close. That they could do just by focusing and closing their eyes. They first needed to see it before she could go on and show them how to warp spells with their horn. This was more than mere levitation (which was an instinctive trait), and her experience in magical fields of study had showed her numerous times what recklessness could lead to.

“Can you pick it up for an instant Cheese? I need to check something.” Sidereal called to her teammate.

She distanced herself from the circle of unicorns sitting on the deck and proceeded to take a good hard look at the ongoing flow of magic.

Sure, the magic was similar to the energies she had grown accustomed with during her career… but there was also this completely alien… flavor to it. Staring at her 'pupils' through a magic lens made her keenly aware of it.

She could see the familiar signature of Cheese Cake near them. The usual for an Equestrian creature: warps magic around it, takes it in, releases the excess slowly.

But the former humans were different. They did process the magic field around them, but comparing them to Cheese was like comparing a candle to a light bulb. They actually produced magic of their own. It radiated off of them like a tinted lamp, familiar, but definitely alien.

And that, according to Equestrian magic theory, should be strictly impossible. Magic was an ambient thing, a field, an energy that encompassed the whole wide world… but it was not made by beings. They processed it like air.

In fact… her head turned towards a pair of hippogriffs on the dock which she saw just in time as they dove in the water, transforming mid-air. Even they produced magic as well, and in their case they clearly used it to turn into seaponies, something the ones on Equus definitely weren’t able to do without the help of a magically-imbued artifact.

She was now certain her superiors had omitted a lot of details during the preparatory briefings. The motive behind it might be benevolent… but it didn’t make it any easier when she had to repeat what she had been told to the likes of Captain Gerig.

Dispelling her magesight, Sidereal nickered in annoyance. She felt like a tool… but she was a Doctor for a reason. She could think her way through that situation and… maybe even work something under the table with Captain Prateek to actually discover what in Tartarus was going on on Earth.

One of the pupils around the mana lamp got carried away and accidentally summoned a powerful light orb to the surprise of Cheese who fell back on her haunches.

Right, she had a lesson to go back to. A quick blast of her horn cancelled the light orb and she separated the unicorn (a young teal stallion with a paintbrush for a Cutie Mark, one of the Rhine’s cadets) from the rest of the group.







“How in the blazes does this even meet safety standards?” Aleksei called out.

“You’re a flyer!” Micha yelled several containers below her. “Just open your wings and they will catch you. It’s safe for us, just mind your landing and aim for the landing pad.”

They did have to revise their training procedure a bit, but now that they had the expertise of trained flyers in the way of two pegasi, it actually turned out that the initial method wasn’t so bad.

Once the Pegasus got over the hype of seeing the bridge of a modern vessel (and that took well over an hour and dozens of questions), Radiant had given them an actual explanation on how winged species managed to stay airborne.

It wasn’t physics. Their wings were too small for that, regardless of species. Instead, they used ambient magic to gain lift and remain aloft.

That didn’t change much in practice, except for the ability to do things Micha was pretty sure normal physics didn’t allow like flying backwards or hover without much effort, something Gust seemed to do a lot.

The weirdest thing was how little downdraft the Ranger produced when he did that.

“Are you sure I won’t plummet to my death? ‘cause I don’t really think I want to do that!” Aleksei insisted, talons clenched around the edge of the green container she was standing on.

“Quit yappin’ and get flappin’!” Boris bellowed at her.

And in a move that surprised absolutely no one, the goshawk griffon came up behind the hippogriff and tossed her off the stack.

Admittedly, the shrill cry that escaped her beak was pretty funny. Aleksei’s wings instinctively opened the moment she went airborne and slowed down her fall. The light green hippogriff screamed all the way down until she careened in the soft pile of materials they used as landing pad.

“See? No need to be afraid, your wings will catch you.” Boris chuckled.

“Ej ellē!” Was all that came from the landing pad.

Andy sauntered over to the fallen hippogriff and looked at her curiously for a few seconds before the griffon chick’s short attention span deemed the Second Engineer uninteresting and she went back to playing with her toys in a pile of cotton next to Micha.

Aleksei wasn’t the only trainee of the group that evening. After much discussion with Vadim and Micha, the two pegasi had decided they would start the first training phase with only part of the quadruped flyers. The sphinxes, gargoyles and dragons had been postponed for later, which still left them with a significant amount of griffons and hippogriffs, and the two batponies.

Gust and Radiant first had all of them jump off of a mid-sized container stack to assess their skills. Most of them barely knew how to fly and could only glide down inelegantly, with the exception of Micha, Boris and Vadim who were somewhat better.

By the pegasi’s reckoning, the three of them were the closest to actually flying. Radiant waited until they all jumped once before beginning a short speech about the matters of control. The glide method of training had two goals: on the surface layer they had to get an understanding of how the magic flowed around and through their wings and learn how to manipulate it, as well as learning the importance of limb and tail positioning. Beneath all that, gliding also strengthened their wings. It wasn’t really about physical muscles, but they did need to exercise their wings so the magic would be strong enough to keep them airborne.

Taking Andy for an example, Radiant explained that most species were born with their wings and gradually gained power as they matured to the point where they managed to take off late in their childhood. The griffon cub playing near them under the careful surveillance of Micha and Vadim would get to do that the regular way, as was healthy for cubs her age. The sailors on the other hoof… Radiant was forced to admit the gliding method was one that was frequently utilized for the reeducation of injured pegasi.

There were more things to be said too of course. Each species had their own specificities in how they flew like how pegasi were better flyers at high altitude and often managed better cruise speed. Griffons were better divers and could climb pretty quickly generally speaking, with some measure of variation depending on which type of bird their avian half was.

As for the hippogriffs, them being half seabird meant they often performed better above the water. They could often master techniques like dynamic soaring or transition from water to air and back.

And then they had the batponies, who were the masters of maneuverability. Like bats, the bones in their wings could bend and were gifted with an impressive range of motion that allowed them to pull off tricks only the best flyers of other species could manage. It wasn’t that uncommon for them to be able to fly full speed through a forest, something only matched by griffons with specialized avian halves like harpy eagles.

“Alright peeps, let’s move on to the bulk of the training and climb up those stacks. The more you glide today, the faster you will be actually flying.” Vadim told the group, all assembled sailors bursting into motion.

“Vadim is it? May I have a word?” Radiant asked behind the griffon.

“Of course. Something the matter?”

“Sort of I guess? It’s just, me and my group we were curious about…” The Pegasus waved his wing in the general direction of Andy, who was now play-fighting with Micha.

“Not my kid.” The Ukrainian told flatly.

“Really? She’s your spit image…” He wondered with one hoof running through his mane. “How?”

“No idea. Micha found her on the other side of the Oresund a few days ago and…” He shrugged. “No parents in sight apparently. Can’t leave a cub unattended you know?”

“That’s noble of you. I know how it can be for griffons.” Radiant nodded.

“What?”

Radiant’s muzzle opened and close once before he muttered a little ‘ah, right’ under his breath and faced the grey falcon griffon with an awkward smile.

“I must ask, have you experienced any particularly strong um… instincts, for a lack of a better word?”

Vadim’s mind flashed back to the impulses that had spurred him into a relationship with Micha. His pale grey feathers barely managed to conceal the blush that spread around his beak.

“I may have, why the question?”

“You see, there is this thing about griffons some like to call their ‘primal instincts’. In modern society that only leads to them being known as somewhat… rough and impulsive to others. No real harm there, but… there is the danger of ferals.”

“Ferals?”

“Wild griffons. See, ponies need a community to thrive, a herd. For griffons… some deem it to just be a nice bonus. Griffonstone has laws designed to limit the growth of the feral population, and it’s basically forbidden for griffons to become hermits, but it still happens sometimes. They will disappear into the wilderness since it makes little difference to them, and while the parents are still sane, their offspring isn’t. Then you get the ferals, griffons that haven’t been raised in society. They do have the intelligence of sapient beings, but they’re no more than feral animals.”

“You’re telling me this could have happened to Andy.”

“Had she been left alone, most likely. How did Micha find her?”

“Roaming the streets and eating pigeons. I can see how this could have evolved…” He sighed. “How do I avoid this?”

“I don’t think you should be afraid of it. Not with your current lifestyle.” Radiant told him. “I may not… approve of it for obvious reasons, but it is considered normal in griffon society to go on hunts and outings. Nothing to be afraid of with that. What you need to be on the lookout for, is individuals that start isolating themselves, they’re the most likely to deem civilization isn’t worth the bother and go off in the wilderness.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Not to griffons. Maybe not to hippogriffs, but we have no record of such an encounter…” The pegasus shrugged with his wings. “But to ponies and anything else? They see us as prey.”

Vadim paused for a second, staring at Micha and Andy.

“You know this was a fluke right? We may have found Andy, but there is an unfathomable amount of kids… cubs, chicks, foals, calves or whatever, they will just… reappear out of thin air, in foreign bodies and with their parents gone.”

“It’s a tragedy.” Radiant’s face fell and his wings slumped. “I’ll give you that yes… but that doesn’t mean nothing should be done about it. Look at you, first thing you and your mate did was basically adopting the kid. I don’t know much about humans, but with that kind of attitude you’re on the right track.”

“Thanks.” The Ukrainian nodded curtly before moving on to continue his training.

The training lasted for a whole two hours. Vadim and Micha alternated keeping an eye on Andy and even went as far as helping the cub get onto a container and do a bit of gliding herself, the young griffon laughing happily all the way down to the landing pad and raising the spirits of everyone around.

Nobody had actually any idea what life Andy had before they found her. In fact they didn’t even know if she was a girl before the Event, though fortunately she didn’t appear overly concerned about it. The fact she wasn’t old enough to talk either made it hard to guess. Micha tried her best to keep the child busy so she didn’t have time to dwell on it too much.

That didn’t work all the time. It was very clear to her caretakers how much she held on to her plush toy and blanket, and Micha was also pretty sure she had spent her first night on Amandine crying in her cabin.

She would have to talk to Vadim about it.

The grey falcon griffon had actually achieved the most progress during that specific session. For a minute, his erratic flapping managed to keep him at the same altitude before the effort wore him out and he was forced to land, panting from the exertion.

That got Gust to take him aside and start giving him hints on how to improve while Radiant kept an eye on the rest of the group.

“You flap too much, that tires you out and the erratic flapping makes it harder to stay balanced.” The gambeson wearing Ranger told him. “You try so hard that your wings are not properly synced, you noticed?”

“Yeah.” Vadim nodded. “Makes me bank to the left and start turning without wanting to.”

“Exactly! Tomorrow I want you to take it easy, you’re not a hummingbird remember?”

“Will do.”







Not a quarter of an hour later, one grey coated Pegasus found himself giddily waiting by Amandine’s stern ramp. Radiant could barely contain himself, that minotaur named Angelo had actually promised to give him a tour of the engine room along with any of his teammates that were interested.

Only Pulp actually. Gust claimed to be too tired and wanted to go catch some sleep in an actual bed, while the two unicorns of the group were still busy with their own trainees.

“You’re really into tech ain’t you?” Pulp asked.

“Well duh.” Radiant said. “Part of my job with airships really, and now I get to see stuff that Equestria only ever dreamed about, put in use at a scale beyond what our biggest yards can produce.” He hopped from hoof to hoof and casually did a flip using his wings. “It’s just… buck! Why are you interested by the way?”

“Meh, they got plenty of small steamers in Manehattan.” Pulp Orange shrugged. “Never got to see the insides of one, not even those that carried the family’s cargo.”

“Your family’s?”

“Well, duh, where do you think the Orange name comes from?” The Earth Pony looked at him. “Even after the feud with the Apples’ branch of the tree, we still have our bit of economical clout.”

“Well yeah, that made the headlines. It’s just…” The Pegasus shrugged with his wings. “Thought it was a coincidence really. Is it really that bad nowadays?”

“Tense I’d say.” Pulp huffed. “Many don’t like the idea of splitting a family over money matters… but now they got their territory and we have ours. Manehattan, Fillydelphia and Trottinggham are ours to conduct business in; they got Ponyville, Baltimare and Dodge Junction.”

“Wait a bucking second, didn’t you tell us you were scheduled to work in Baltimare as an agronomy consultant after this expedition?”

“With the Apples. The journalists may say whatever they want, but we are trying to mend this whole mess.”

“Makes me realize I really should hang in Equestria more.” Radiant commented dejectedly. “Sometimes with my job as navigator I wind up away from the homeland for so long it barely feels like home anymore.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s subtle really; I just… pick up some mannerisms. Fish for instance, pegasi can eat that but we just don’t in Cloudsdale. In Mount Aris though? Barely raises any questions.”

“Ever tried to take some holidays? Or even just pick up a contract that actually stays in Equestria for once.” Pulp offered. “Stick with the herd for once.”

“Herd? Gimme a break with the ground pounder talk, us pegasi, we flock.”

“Whatever suits you birdie.”

A thudding sound coming from the staircase told them their guide was coming. Minotaurs were never particularly stealthy, and Angelo was no exception with the noise his large hooves made as he went down the stairs. He emerged into the car deck with the upper half of his coveralls tied around his waist and a large thermos of coffee in one hand.

“Heads up ponies, hope I didn’t make you wait for too long. How was training?”

“Interesting. Andy’s a cute kid.” Radiant replied.

“That she is. Sorry about the delay by the way, I got held up upstairs with a bit of paperwork.” The grey furred minotaur told them. “Ready for the engine room? Hope you don’t mind heat and noise too much ‘cause it gets steamy down there in the summer, even with just the one generator running.”

And this is how the Greek led the two Equestrians down in the engine room proper. A particularly giddy Radiant followed him down the steep stair/ladder that dove beneath Amandine’s car decks. They went past the office part of the control room since the minotaur doubted Pulp would have much interest for the schematics and manuals he could show them there.

Carlos was there sitting behind a console in the control room. The white cockatoo didn’t have much work since they were just running their electricity production on a single generator at the moment, so he was just stuck there for a couple hours making sure nothing bad happened and periodically recording values like temperature, rpm and output in the logbook.

It was thus rather understandable that the Filipino would be reading a magazine whilst running his watch.

“Everything in order?” Angelo asked.

“Yeah, had a bit of a worry earlier but it was just a bad contact on some of the main switchboard’s sensors.”

“Rewired already?”

“Running smoothly, written down in the logbook and signed.” Carlos said, patting the tool pouch on his belt. “It’s my bad in any case; I installed the bloody thing in the first place. Those two the visitors?” He waved a talon at the two ponies behind Angelo.

“Eeyup. Radiant, Pulp, meet Carlos, our resident electrician.”

The two visitors exchanged greetings with the Filipino before Angelo went into an explanation on how they ran things there.

Amandine was a four-year-old vessel, meaning that she benefitted from the latest technologies available to commercial vessels.

The first thing that meant was that they basically were able to run everything from the confines of the control room. They had the command consoles in front of the observation window to run most of the stuff, which were also equipped with CCTV cameras to look around the engine room and at some subsections they couldn’t see from the control room’s window.

They also had the main switchboard’s controls in the control room to manage electricity production on board. Angelo explained how it allowed them to direct power to certain systems and how the base system was equipped with ingrained priorities in case of damage to the installation. Without input, the ship would cut off power from non-essential areas like the accommodation, kitchen and car decks to maintain power in key systems like the bridge and servers.

Amandine was equipped with four 1MW diesel generators to produce electricity when she was anchored or in port. They were also designed to provide power to the bow thruster when the ship was maneuvering without stealing power from the main engine.

Speaking of which, the main engine was the thing that got the most attention from the two visitors, both looking at it in awe from the observation window.

Not without reason either. The Wärtsilä 16V46F that powered Amandine was considered extremely powerful for a ship her size. At its maximum output of 600 rpm, the sixteen cylinders fed more than 19MW of power into the switchboard. They didn’t use that speed frequently, but when push came to shove Amandine could reach 25 knots. Not bad for a merchant vessel.

The massive engine weighed over 230 tons, spread over a length of nearly thirteen meters that completely dwarfed the little ponies looking at it. In fact it was so tall that they could see the walkways wrapping around the engine block to allow the crew to access it.

After his little explanation, Angelo passed them each a headset to go through the airlock and into the ER proper for a tour. They were as much of a protection as an aid for him because of the integrated radio.

Yeah, tearing your vocal chords to shout over the noise of the ER was a thing of the past, hail technology.

Angelo stopped them next to a massive blue steel assembly connected to the main engine that fed into a cluster of grey boxes covered in switches and gauges.

“That here is where the magic happens. See, the engine doesn’t actually directly turns the propellers. It’s diesel-electric. The engine's power is converted into electricity by the central generator which feeds it into the main switchboard.” He told them, pointing at the grey boxes. “The switchboard in turn transfers that power towards a pair of electric motors connected to each propeller shaft.” He went on, pointing towards two areas on either side of the room where massive red boxes connected to the extremity of the shafts.

“The switchboard also does more than that. It’s the central position where most of the transformers are. Part of the power is converted and taken to high voltage appliances like the radars or industrial appliances all over the engine room for auxiliary systems, and then some is spared for ‘domestic’ power consumption in the accommodation. The diesel generators are connected too, so technically we could start them all to run the main propulsion… but they’re not very good at it.” He snorted.

Walking over to one of the shaft’s motors, he pointed at a green structure connected to its tip.

“That’s one of the pumps for the controllable pitch propeller system. One per shaft. See the shafts, they’re actually hollow. The propeller outside at the extremity is fitted so that we can change the orientation of the blades depending on our needs by applying hydraulic pressure on it.”

“What happens if the pump breaks down?” Radiant asked, one primary feather pressing against his headset’s button.

“Good question. The propeller blades are balanced in such a way that without pressure, they fall into ‘half-ahead’ position, meaning we can still limp back to port in case of breakdown. Makes maneuvering much harder though, and it screws with the autopilot because the pitch control is used to balance thrust between port and starboard. It’s much easier to adjust thrust via pitch control than by changing shaft rpm. For instance when we maneuver, changing thrust from forward to backwards can’t be done easily by stopping a shaft. With pitch control? Keep them running at speed, and then we can adjust pitch from full ahead to full astern in a matter of seconds. No thrust needed? Then we put them in neutral.”

The tour went on to show them the many systems that coursed beneath the surface of the vessel, from the sewage system to the desalination plant including the cooling circuits. The amount of different subsystems quickly lost him Pulp, though Radiant hung on with rapt fascination, always managing to ask him relevant and interesting questions.

“Buck…” Radiant sighed as he hung his headset after their tour. “How did you humans get to such a point where you would get ships like that? I mean, screw science-fiction and spaceships, this one is enough.”

Angelo laughed.

“I know the feel. You know, a hundred years ago we were still running on barebones steam engines, and a hundred years before that sails were the main propulsion system. All things aside, this escalated pretty quickly; we got thousands of years of sailing and rowing, but less than two hundred years worth of actual engines.”

“Really? That fast? What in Tartarus happened?”

Angelo raised an eyebrow at the Tartarus thing but put it aside for now.

“War happened probably. We tend to do that a lot. It starts off easy, your neighbors get better warships so you upgrade yours and it all escalates from there.”

“Bit oversimplified there Angie’” Carlos commented.

“’cause I’m fit to give history lessons?”

“Maybe not… but may I offer an idea to you lot?”

“Shoot, it’s not like I have any.”

“Civilization 5. Show them a quick game; that should give a quick appreciation of human history.” The Filipino cockatoo offered. “I know you got it on your computer.”

“You know it’s a game, not a history book right?” Angelo tilted his head, mindful not to snag something with his horns.

“I know, but it’s got the Civilopedia and an actual human to set things straight.” Carlos insisted before calling out to the two ponies. “You guys know of video games? It’s like a board game but on a computer.”

“I kinda like board games.” Pulp said.

And that settled it, Radiant and Pulp would get to witness a game of Civilization.

Later though.
> Chapter 34: Three Crowns Fort
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon after sunset, Sidereal had a couple of her team’s saddlebags brought to the quays alongside Amandine. Out of the large canvas bags came some intricate brass and copper parts that looked like they came straight out of steampunk fiction.

“Care to explain what this is all for?” Dilip asked her, eyeing the bits she kept pulling out of the bags with genuine curiosity.

“Communication. With Equus that is. Reports are hard to send, and return is even harder. Without an apparatus such as this one I’m assembling, the energy required to cross the divide is so high even a trained unicorn wouldn’t be able to overcome it without draining nearly all their energy with someone acting as a beacon on the other side. Think of this like… a signal booster I guess? Before our own expedition I know they sent a couple teams with only unicorns to avoid having to bring the equipment, but it was just too inefficient considering they had volunteers from the other tribes.” The red-furred mare explained.

Using her telekinesis, the Doctor started putting together the various parts and pieces. Five small tripods thus came into existence, all carefully arrayed in a circle. She also added a central piece to the construct, this one slightly bigger than the rest and with a lot of mobile parts and lenses jutting out at odd angles out of the thin bell-shaped brass plating that made up its 'core'. It also had an opening towards the top, which revealed a small copper receptacle recessed inside the machine.

With a flicker of her horn, the unicorn conjured a measuring tape and started checking the position of each tripod, mumbling distractedly as she adjusted their position.

“While I agree that in essence, it’s more practical to use this rather than a group of unicorns pooling their magic together… this isn’t exactly what I’d call easy.” Sidereal commented once she was sure the tripods were set up the right way.

“Because if you do the slightest mistake, you’ll send your report to the wrong planet. Typical.” Dilip crossed his arms.

“It can be capricious, yes. Particularly when it comes disassembled like this one, but we did manage to send our first report while we were in Sweden.”

Out of another saddlebag, she lifted a small wooden box along with a notebook. The box opened with a quiet ‘click’ to reveal five small engraved gems, a vial of white powder and a couple chalks.

“Salted chalk, silver nitrate and artificial foci.” Sidereal explained as she floated the gems into slots at the top of each tripod and the white powder into the central device. “If you need to ask, the gems are an approximation of a unicorn’s horn made to draw power from their surroundings, that’s what allows me to use the device without burning my own magic. The salted chalk is for drawing the summoning circle… I could use regular salt, but the chalk makes it more convenient.”

Dilip cocked his head to the side ever so slightly.

“So, on the departure point you need to draw the circle? I’m sorry if that sounds dumb Doctor, but all the monster-related circles we discussed earlier, they were burned into the ground, not drawn.”

“Circles that I have included in the report and data request I’ll be sending to my superiors… but they do need to be drawn at first." She paused to flick her mane to the side. "The arrival point is always burned, as is the departure point after the first use. Doesn’t prevent it from being used again though.”

“Used again? You mean we could theoretically reuse the demonic circles we found all over the place?”

“Technically yes. It would be incredibly stupid and suicidal to do that… but yes.” She nodded.

Sidereal quickly reviewed the circle she had drawn around her device, comparing it to a picture in a notebook. Satisfied with the result, the mare clasped the book shut with a satisfied smirk.

“While reusing the demonic circles is viable, no offense to your sailors but your capabilities are not sufficient that we should willingly head into the lair of what most likely is a dark mage… at best. Last time I reported to them about the monster we faced in Sweden they told me they had started some research on the matter, so hopefully with the added data and pictures you’ve given me we should get some actual answers by tomorrow.” She told the Captain as she began piling her paperwork inside the summoning circle.

Once everything was in place, Sidereal told him to take a few steps back. Muzzle scrunched in concentration, the red mare started weaving a spell that made her horn light up like a rainbow. An orb of light spawned midair above the center point of her contraption, slowly falling down into the central piece's receptacle.

It stayed put for a couple seconds, crackling sounds coming from the contraption and pants of exertion from the Doctor. Finally, she let go of her spell and the crackling ceased at once.

The device in the middle of the summoning circle let out a small puff of smoke before its mobile parts started spinning wildly. Dilip could see the white chalk on the ground slowly start to turn black and emit a burning smell. The five foci on tripods lit up all at once, each firing a beam of light towards a point midair above the central piece which lit up like a second sun.

Now in complete awe at the sight, the Captain witnessed a shield of sort envelop the entire summoning circle and hide the magical contraption from sight.  A second later, the shield flashed and disappeared.

The contraption and the circle were still there, but the Doctor’s report was gone.

One paw rubbing at his eyes to wipe away the aftereffects of the light show, Dilip let out an impressed whistle. The smell caused by the contraption lingered in his canine nostrils, though not really as unpleasant to him as some like smoke grenades or welding operations.

“If I still had any doubts about your otherworldly origin, they’re now completely wiped away." The Indian-turned-Diamong-Dog commented. "Is this common technology in your world?”

“Not at all I’m afraid. Few unicorns ever get to practice magic at that level; I am more of an exception to the rule.” She shook her head. “Most unicorns only ever learn a few convenient spells that are relevant to their own industry.”

“All the more impressive then. Now, I don’t want to be rude but I have a lot of work tomorrow and I could use some sleep.” He rolled his shoulders. “Goodnight Doctor.”







Unbeknownst to the two leaders, there was one creature that had seen Sidereal send out her message. And she was not too happy about it.

Initially, she had planned to slowly start manipulating the memories of any crewmen she found roaming around the quays. Sailors were such great fun to toy around with, and the few she had found isolated enough that she could freely look into their heads painted a pretty interesting picture.

So much repressed anger and grudges on this planet. This would have been so easy to exploit. She had even identified two parties she could grind against each other with a mere nudge, the seeds for that were already sowed and ready to be activated in one of them even.

But nooo, those damn Equestrians had to meddle in the affairs of her species once again. Just when they had been offered the opportunity to make a new territory for themselves after being shunned for so long. 

She was slowly starting to regret claiming she could do it on her own. Her two sisters should already be halfway across the Baltic by now.

She didn’t worry about being detected as she swam away from the ships to think of a plan. Her blue scales blended in perfectly with the water, not even seaponies would be able to spot her unless she actively went out of her way to be seen.

That had surprised her too, but once she got past that hurdle it actually played into her hoof. Water was her realm, and the transformed hippogriffs were all too easy to isolate and manipulate. Their heads yielded a fair share of useful information as well. How certain parties viewed each other, how heavily armed they were...

And they were heavily armed. There was no way she could take them head-on, not with these... '.50 cals' they had surrounding their ships.

But she had a few aces ready to be played… now what would her patron prefer? Probably getting rid of the Equestrians. The ponies could not be allowed to interfere in their takeover of the planet.

Swimming back to an old sea fort in the middle of the harbor, she hid in the sea grass to bide her time and think of a possible solution to the matter. There was one thing she could do already actually…

The red gem in the middle of her scaly chest lit up with an unnatural glow that revealed some of the small black crystals piercing through her thick skin. A wicked, fanged smile appeared on her muzzle; now she just had to wait and her new thrall would bring her the ponies she wanted.







On the Rhine Forest, Anton jerked slightly all of a sudden, spilling a bit of her beer.

Despite her sitting on a bar stool in the ratings’ rec room, none of the hen’s shipmates spotted her eyes flash a dull red for a brief second.

“Eh there Anton, don’t tip over just yet it’s still early evening.” Mikhail joked in Ukrainian, the purple dragon giving her a small tap on her back.

“Nah… I’m good. Just nervous is all.” She shook her head. “Had a weird feeling for a second.”

  She looked across the length of the bar towards the other sailors there. The Rhine benefitted from having a rather well furnished recreation room thanks in no small part to her size, and her crew was all too glad to make use of it after a long day of work.

The rectangular room was situated in the middle of the accommodation near the bow of the Rhine, just above the waterline and next to the mess hall. For the sailors’ comfort, the normally dull walls and floor had been decorated with laminate flooring and padded blue wall panels. Someone had even installed some purple LED lights around the bar and on the walls at some point, giving a light, refreshing atmosphere to the room that compensated for its lack of portholes and natural light.

Among the various amenities in the room, the bar would have been the main attraction for most. There was little harm in knocking down a few pints after work considering they were moored, and they all knew there would be Hell to be paid for anyone who dared to get wasted and cause a stir. Showing up drunk for duty… bad idea now that they regularly used weapons, and the ship's two bosuns made sure they got the memo.

Which was a bit odd to witness considering one of the two had been 'kidified' into the form of a young griffon hen... but Izaak's predicament was beside the point.

The few crewmen that weren’t making use of the bar were seated on the couple couches arranged in a U-shape on the other end of the room, all playing videogames on the recently upgraded (as in: looted) widescreen TV.

Of course, there were some other things as well. Fictions books shared the shelves with DVD boxes near the TV, and they even had a table football and a couple tables to play cards, but they didn’t get as much use of them as the bar or the TV.

“Weird feeling? I feel you…” Mikhail knocked down his beer and leaned over the edge of the bar to refill his glass at the tap. “Those Equestrians really dropped the bomb on us this afternoon. Not that I’d complain ‘bout living that long but…”

“Wasn’t talking about that.” She shook her head. “Must be all the work we’ve been doing recently.”

“That I can understand. Lots of grinding and sanding on your side?”

“Damn right, I can steel feel the needlegun in my talons.” She flicked said appendages for emphasis. “But I had this thought about home you know…”

“Really? You of all people would start thinking about it now? Of all times?” The purple dragon inquired, one of his bronze webbed ears tilting down.

“Laugh all you want… but my mother went to the Maidan protests you know. It’s just the timeframe, and now I saw the two Russians on Amandine…” Her grip tightened around her beer. “All these things they did to us.”

“Anton, don’t.” Mikhail said. “It’s no use worrying about it anymore.”

“To you, maybe.” She glared at the dragon.

“Not to me in particular. You’re from Lviv, last I checked there were some of us that are a little bit more involved in this conflict than you. Christ, I heard there was someone from Donetsk on Amandine.” He pointed out. “And I don’t think they have as much of a problem with it.”

Once more, Anton’s eyes flashed and caused the snow leopard griffon to flinch.

“They tore our country apart!” She cried out.

“Not them, they’re just two guys who happen to be Russian. If anything, the Eurocrats have as much of a hand in that as the Kremlin does. In any case, it’s of no importance at the moment.” He replied calmly.

That made Anton stand up from the bar stool and abandon her beer.

“To me it is important Mikhail.” She pointed a talon between his eyes. “And if you’re willing to let go of all the lives…” She stopped for a brief second as her head jerked. “… of all the lives this whole fiasco took?! Screw you!”

And with that she stormed off in anger, most likely back to her cabin. This whole conversation was a bit puzzling to Mikhail; Anton hadn’t ever come across to him as particularly interested in anything that went on back home in Ukraine.

Probably just the beer talking. He still didn’t know his new limits after the transformation, so he doubted she did either.

Good thing he didn’t mention how the Russian griffon seemed to have eyes for her.







Flight training had been rather productive Micha’d say. Sure, both she and Vadim had been kept somewhat busy by keeping an eye on Andy, but that didn’t stop them from progressing ahead of the other flyers on the crew.

With Vadim trailing behind her, she walked down the passageway to the passenger cabin they had assigned to Andy. The cub was fast asleep on her back clutching her blanket and plush dolphin, safely nestled between her wings.

All that playing and a few (well monitored of course) tries at gliding had sapped the energy out of her.

Well, to her two caretakers that meant she wouldn’t be sneaking out of her room tonight.

They had already decorated Andy’s cabin a bit to make her more comfortable. A couple DVD’s containing children’s shows, toys retrieved from the store she had taken refuge in, and even a couple sets of clothes they had made for her after they were forced to ditch the destroyed t-shirt they found her in.

Vadim had even managed to find her her own set of themed bed sheets and some posters so she wouldn’t feel too sad.

For all that was worth… the grey falcon griffon feared the chick would grow messed up if she stayed here. Neither he nor Micha were her actual parents, and a merchant vessel was a poor place to raise a kid. What she needed was something more stable than that.

He carefully picked Andy up and off Micha’s back and deposited her on the bed. Wouldn’t want to wake her up now…

“You got watch tonight?” Vadim whispered in Polish.

“Nah, I start tomorrow at eight.” Micha replied, watching her mate tuck the kid under the sheets. “You?”

“I got the 0-4 tonight, so I’ll just go watch something in the Officers’ Lounge for an hour or two.” The Ukrainian explained.

Just as he was finishing putting the little griffon to bed, she unconsciously grasped his forearm with both claws in her sleep, one happy smile on her yellow beak.

“Welp, that just happened…” He muttered under his breath.

He tried to pull the appendage away from the kid, but she was hanging on tight and he was pretty sure if he tried to pry her talons open he would wake her up. A tired trill escaped the grey falcon griffon's hooked beak.

“What’s wrong?” Micha asked, already halfway through the door.

Vadim raised one free talon to shush her and motioned towards his stuck arm. Micha just chuckled and shook her head ruefully.

“Let’s see, kid’s basically a cat…” She whispered in his ear, teasingly poking his wing with a talon. “… and everyone knows when a cat’s sitting on you you’re as good as stuck.” She mused. “Half-cat, half-kid… you ain’t moving tonight buddy ‘cause I’m not putting her back to sleep.” She smiled.

“How kind of you to volunteer to pick up my watch.” Vadim smiled.

“Wait a sec-“

“Tut-tut.” He shushed her. “Don’t wanna wake the kid do ya? I’ll be taking your morning watch instead, ok?”

The griffon hen (yeah, the ponies had told them it was the proper word earlier, males were called 'toms' apparently) rolled her eyes and gave Vadim a light slap on the back of his head, much to his amusement. 

  Resolving himself to his fate as a glorified hugging pillow, the Ukrainian kicked off his steel-toed shoes and lied down on the bed next to Andy, mindful not to wake her up. Micha glowered at him for a second before making her way out of the cabin.

Eh, it was her idea to rescue and adopt the kid after all.

Odd as it seemed, Vadim gave the kid a fond look before draping a wing over her sleeping form and laying his head down on a fish-shaped pillow.







They destroyed your country.

She just couldn’t sleep. She had gone back to her cabin to catch some rest and sleep off the beer. Much tossing and turning later and with one Hell of a headache, Anton was forced to concede defeat and had gone out to get some fresh air.

For some reason, she had no recollection of how exactly she had gone from her cabin to the quays except for a blurry haze mixed with the pain in her head. 

Now they’re getting away with it.

Her tail lashed out and she jerked, partly leaning against a green container near the Rhine. Her thoughts kept going back to the Ukrainian conflict despite her best attempts at thinking of something else.

“Kurwa!” The snow leopard griffon’s limbs failed her for an instant and she fell down in a heap.

Her mind whited out for a second, and much to her annoyance her memory conjured images she had seen on the news before the Event struck. Riots on Maidan Square, Donetsk, Sebastopol, childhood friends fighting each other over split opinions...

You can’t let them get away scot free.

When did she get to the other side of the docks again? She tried to look back towards the ships but her body refused to obey her orders. Her limbs carried her to an isolated quay hidden away from sight of the ships.

You WANT revenge.

What in the blazes was happening to her?! Anton desperately tried to wrench her gaze away from the water...

  They took your little brother.

All resistance fell as her memory ripped out images from a carefully quarantined part of her mind. A bloody, broken body lay on the cold pavement of a street somewhere in Eastern Ukraine, but with its face still very much recognisable.

Tears soaked the feathers on her face as memories of her youth with Yakiv were conjured by whatever force was tormenting her. She could remember his smiling face when he had brought a stray pup home, way back when they were kids.

Why did that idealistic moron have to go to Eastern Ukraine and get himself killed?!

Avenge him.

Stricken by an artificial grief her normal self had already surpassed, she finally relented her grip on her mind.

The manipulative force made her regret it immediately. Her true self was immediately pushed away and shoved in the deep, dark recesses of her mind to make room for something far more sinister. Anton wasn’t at the helm anymore.

To the outside observer, the eyes of the griffon turned a dull red before she rose up slowly in a robotic fashion. Her tail, which had been lashing and trashing for the past couple minutes, was now utterly still.

It was three in the morning when the possessed griffon headed for the armory.







“Hey, you got some fire?” Boris asked the centaur that was guarding the checkpoint with him.

The centaur happily complied and passed him a lighter for his cigarette. The height difference between him and the Russian forced him to lean down with his humanoid half, something which keenly reminded Boris of how much closer to the ground he was as a quadruped.

He didn’t clearly understand the logic with centaurs. Sure there were some on the Rhine, but their origin didn’t make much sense to him. Most came from Liberia (take one shot for shipping companies using cheap labour) like the one whose lighter he was using, but others came from literally all over Europe with little apparent logic, and they didn’t have much shared ancestry either.

Some species actually made sense, if only a little. Minotaurs? All Greek. Griffons and gargoyles? Eastern Europe, mostly. Hippogriffs hailed from archipelagos (like Indonesia and the Philippines). In the rare cases where they didn’t, at least there was some colonial ancestry or holiday adultery involved.

In most cases, there was a pattern. Not with the centaurs save for a vague idea they spanned all over Europe and seemingly south of the Sahara.

The centaur by his side went by the name of Imani and from what he told him, he was a rating in the Rhine’s barge department. Kinda new to the job too.

Contrarily to centaur Officers on the Rhine, Imani didn’t cover up his equine half in clothing. Maybe it was out of pride, Boris hadn’t asked but he could have understood the reasoning. After all, he was pretty much built like a draft horse, with rippling muscles underneath his white coat of fur and massive hooves emphasized by the black feathering on his legs.

And just like every centaur, the skin of his humanoid half was somehow red.

They were only guarding the smaller checkpoint of the two, which meant they only needed three sailors to keep it secure. The third guard with them was a Filipino hippogriff sitting on top of a container next to their .50 cal. Not a very talkative guy, but he did keep a tight watch on the approaches.

“Were you there for the aliens’ presentation yesterday?” Boris idly asked as he gave the centaur his lighter back.

“Can’t say I was.” Imani shrugged. “Not enough room in the cafeteria, and I had to keep watch anyway. Did I miss much? I heard they’re giving a second one on the Rhine for those that missed it.”

“Much? That’s not even the beginning lemme tell you. They admitted they didn’t know much about all races, but if half of what they told is true... Man, shit’s crazy. Did you know the dragons, they need to start a hoard at some point?”

“Come again?” Imani tilted his head.

“Like in fairy tales with the dragon capturing a princess and sitting on a pile of gold. They need it if they want to live their full lifespan.”

“But... what? How? That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” The centaur scratched the base of his horns in puzzlement.

“I dunno, magic and shit...” Boris shrugged with his wings. “Hardly anything makes sense anymore, it’s not like I can actually question it.”

“Meh, I’ll need to see it to believe it.” Imani told him.

“Say, mind if I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“Very funny.” Boris drawled. “But really, I was just curious, how is it to be...”

“A centaur?” He cut him off.

“Yeah, I figured it can’t be the most practical of things.” Boris took a long drag of his cigarette. “Last I checked ships weren’t meant to carry horses.”

“You ever laid eyes on an actual horse? They’re much bigger than I am. Heck, Doc Delacroix managed to find a weighing scale to fit quadrupeds and I swear to you, there are fatasses heavier than us.” The Liberian stated, one hand patting his own flank.

“Really? How heavy are we talking?”

“Me in particular? 380 kilos, Doc said it’s in the same weight class as the minotaurs.” Imani said, rolling his shoulders slightly to adjust the strap of his machinegun.

“Still sounds heavy.”

“That’s less than half of what you’d expect from an actual draft horse for your information. Still, gotta admit the ergonomics are often at odds with centaurs. Showers and beds? Had to modify those, and relearn how to use stairs as well.”

“Well, at least you’re not crotch height with the bipeds. That gets old real quick.” Boris said, keenly aware of how much shorter he was compared to the tall centaur.

“I’ll tell you what gets old: having difficulties reaching the rear of your own body.” Imani snorted. “We didn’t have to modify the goddamn toilets, but sometimes it really feels like backing up a truck just to get your ass over the bowl. And don’t get me started on the part where you wind up mimicking a contortionist just to wipe your damn ass.”

Boris chuckled.

“Funny thing is... I discovered centaur spines are like an owl’s neck.” He added.

“I call bullshit on that.” The griffon said.

Imani’s only response was to do a 180 with his humanoid half and set down his machinegun on his back, much to Boris’ surprise.

“Now imagine me in that position as I’m aiming my rear end at a toilet bowl. If this isn’t some kind of comedy on a divine scale I’ll eat lawn clippings for a week. Still, nifty trick, would be a hell of a lot harder to maintain basic hygiene if my top half wasn’t so flexible. Shame I can't fap anymore...”

“I’m not sure whether to call this amazing or disgusting.” Boris muttered in Russian, wide eyed.

“I wonder if I can set up my gun with its bipod and fire it from my back.” Imani mused, looking at the gun.

He leaned down and extended the bipod on his own hindquarters, shouldering the gun and aiming down the sights at an unidentified point out at sea. It didn’t look particularly comfortable to Boris. That, and there was something to be said about firing a gun over your own naked ass as you pointed it at whatever foe you were facing.

“I believe we have officially reached past the point of seriousness in this conversation...” Boris stated. 

He tossed the butt of his burnt cigarette over to the side and looked up at their hippogriff companion behind the .50 cal. on the container.

“You still awake up there?”

“Wish I wasn’t so I could avoid hearing the shit you two keep spouting.” Was all he heard as a reply.

That got Imani to shake his head.

“You know we don’t have to be serious all of the time right Osvaldo?”

The Filipino hippogriff left his gun for a second to peek down above the edge of his container and sent a scathing glare at the two sailors below.

“I know we don’t, but have you missed the news? Somebody disappeared!”

“Really? Who?” Imani asked.

“Anton did. Turned down for the night and nobody’s seen her ever since. Not even in her cabin.”

Boris immediately perked up at that. If there was someone on the barge carrier he had taken note of, it was the snow leopard/peregrine falcon griffon.

“Who saw her last?” He asked.

“Mikhail apparently.  Said she started spouting some stuff about Ukraine and Crimea before she complained about a headache and called it quits.” Osvaldo told them. “But when they sent someone to get her when she failed to show up for duties, her cabin was empty.”

“Wandered off drunk?” Boris guessed.

“Unlikely. She wasn’t that drunk.” Osvaldo replied with a shrug of his wings.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sober sailors don’t disappear like that. She’s one of the genderswapped folks so...” Imani started and made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Suicide?”

Right then, their walkie-talkies erupted into chatter coming from Amandine. Bart had just done his rounds around the armory. A pistol was missing, along with one mag worth of 5.7mm ammunition. Someone else also reported on the same channel that one of the Rhine’s rubber dinghies had disappeared. 

Worse even, was the fact one of the Equestrian unicorns had gone missing when she had gone on a walk around the quays after breakfast.

Whatever the fuck was going on, they needed to find Cheese Cake and Anton.







Trekroner Fort was hard to miss as a landmark. Every ship that sailed into Copenhagen’s harbor would have to go around it and its tide breakers to get to the quays and the inner city. For centuries, the atoll-like fortification had been part of the cityscape and shared its history.

It had been there when the British fleet attacked. It had done a stint as a building for the harbor authority. It had even been used by German occupational forces during WW2. And now, even after something as big as the Event, it would still get to be part of the city’s legacy.

It was built on strips of reclaimed land in the shape of a diamond, with the land rising higher on the sea side of the construction where most of the fortifications had been built, including a small-sized white lighthouse atop the fort's main casemate. There were even some rust covered cannons left over, more for show than utility. Behind the main casemate, the diamond shape of the atoll wrapped around a small bay with a couple deserted piers.

Lastly, two red two-story buildings kept an eye on either side of the entrance channel in the back of the atoll, the former barracks, which had been converted into a café and a museum after the fort fell out of use. Along with the grass and weeds that covered the fortifications, they made for a rather picturesque sight.

The only two things marring the appearance of the fort were the destroyed doors of the main casemate and the grounded dinghy on the boat ramp in front of it.

Cheese Cake slowly started coming to. She was on her morning walk after breakfast but then… maybe she recalled something wrapping around her throat. She wasn’t sure.

Opening her eyes, the lanky unicorn found herself inside what appeared to be a cell. An old one at that. The bare, damp ground she was lying on was covered in bits of plaster that came from the cracked ceiling; and the whitewashed brick walls bore the marks of humidity damage. The only source of light in the room came from a small opening near the top of one wall, but even if it didn’t have rusty bars in the way it would still have been too small to fit her. Going by the sound of waves and the salty smell, she still was close to the shore.

The only possible escape route she could see was thus the cell’s door. She couldn’t see anything except for a cracked brick wall beyond her cell’s bars.

“Hello? Anypony in there?” She called.

Unsurprisingly, whoever had brought her there had closed the door. She was stuck. Alone.

Cheese sat down on her haunches and slowly breathed in and out. Be quiet, stay calm, think of a solution. Panicking won’t get you anywhere. Good ponies don’t stampede when cut off from the herd, and the Equestrian authorities had made sure the expedition teams they sent off-world were ponies that wouldn’t panic and focus on actual solutions.

She was that kind of pony.

Her initial panic visibly settled down, her ears rising up and flicking this way and that to attempt to detect anything around her.

What do you do when you’re cut off from your herd? You either find your way back, or find a way to get their attention. Now how to do the latter…

“Anypony? Pulp?” She tried again.

She caught some noise a ways down the hallway. Chomping? Yes, there was a creature eating something loudly, fish most likely if her nose was to be trusted. The smell made her queasy. Wait… steps, talons clicking against the hard floor. Somepony was coming. Cheese pressed her head against the bars to get a look.

What came into view chilled her to the bone. She was fairly certain she had seen that griffon hen somewhere around the quays, but back then her eyes weren’t glowing red embers. Hints of black crystals also seemed to poke out of her plumage here and there around her eyes as she approached her cell with a robotic gait.

Cheese knew her Equestrian history. The mind control wasn’t even subtle. The bad thing was… contrarily to Sidereal she was no magic expert and recognizing it was about the only thing she could do. The crystals too were rather concerning, but she couldn’t put a hoof on where she had heard of such an affliction. She was wearing a dirty, scuffed set of white coveralls she recognized as the type used by the Rhine's crew... though unlike many of the former humans that was the only thing she had on her frames. No gloves. No shoes.

“Whoever you are, I know you’re in there!” Cheese cried out. “You can fight it! Take back control!”

The griffon just took position in front of her cell, completely still and with her gaze vacant.

“She won’t hear you.” A loud feminine voice came from somewhere down the hallway. “Fascinating history they have those humans, so much strife to feed off of. Easy to exploit too, a bit of a nudge here and there, an enticing thought or two and she was right where I wanted relinquishing all control.” The voice said with a hint of pride.

“Why?!” Cheese yelled. “Why would you do such a terrible thing?”

The voice laughed. 

“Little pony, you may know of changelings that feed off love, but my species… we need strife, chaos, grief. And these humans? They have it in spades, so easy to exploit…  And when the dust settles, the survivors make for a nice dinner.”

“Your species? Who are you exactly?” She asked, wracking her brain for a possible plan and staring at the window for a second. Maybe…

“It matters not what I am my sweet little pony. What matters is that my sisters and our patrons prevent you from aiding these humans. Can’t have you put a stop to all these conflicts with your precious harmony now?” She laughed.

Sisters? Patrons? She needed to keep her talking. Cheese looked back at the griffon standing in front of her cell. Utterly unresponsive. Was she using direct mind control or did she just give her thrall orders to fulfill? 

“Surely we can coexist…” Cheese attempted.

She wracked her brain for the right spell. Right, there was the one that fireworks unicorn stallion showed her once, Comet Crackle he was called? No matter, she needed to recall the spell not his name.

“Coexist?!” The voice erupted into shrieking laughter. “Only you Equestrians could be so naïve as to think that. No, now that there is another world ripe for the taking, we’re going to take it and once I’m done, you will all be out of the equation. And all of us that have been quashed by the princesses, we will have our turn.”

Cheese didn’t answer. She pointed her horn at the window and released her now completed spell. With a loud hiss, a red ball of sparks left her horn and flew out of the window before taking a 90-degree turn upwards. She didn’t see the explosion, but the booming sound was enough to confirm the firework had been cast correctly.

“Thank you, bait.” The voice said smugly.

Cheese cake stared aghast at the still immobile griffon in front of her cell. She fell down on her haunches.

“Oh horseapples…”







“Did you guys just see that, over?”

“Amandine to Rhine, please confirm: flare spotted over the sea fort? Over.”

“Looked more like a firework from here. Think that’s our missing sailors? Over.”

“Gotta be. Keep the sweeping search pattern around the docks, we’re sending our MOB boat to investigate. Out.”







A few minutes later, a team including Artyom, Boris, Danny and Thanasis embarked on board of Amandine’s MOB boat. Sidereal and Gust stopped them before they could launch off towards the fort.

“Doctor, this could be dangerous.” Artyom warned her with his claw hovering over the davit’s controls.

“Gust and I took down a tatzlwurm a few days prior. Try me.”

The ex-VDV took a look at the gambeson-wearing Pegasus behind Sidereal. Gust had already retrieved and strung his crossbow and its quiver of bolts. At least the stallion seemed to have some actual combat training, if only against critters.

“Fine.” He looked Gust in the eyes. “Mind keeping an eye in the sky for us?”

“Consider it done.” The golden pegasus nodded, immediately taking off, his red and blue tail leaving a faint contrail behind him.

“How he manages to use a crossbow without hands I’ll never know…” Artyom muttered before turning back to Sidereal. The unicorn was still standing on the deck next to the davit. “Mind hopping in? I’d rather we hurry.”

Once he was sure everyone was settled, they finally released the boat from its davit and sped towards the fort where the flare had come from.

“Cheese, she’s no fighter?”

“Not at all.” Sidereal shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s got some wits and a couple nifty spells in store, but the fighters in our team are just me and Gust, maybe Pulp to some extent.”

“Got it.” Artyom nodded before going silent.

The fort wasn’t particularly far from their berthing point, but the raised fortifications did hide the bay from sight. In a matter of minutes, Danny was pulling them alongside a pier on the rear side of the fort, next to the barracks. They dismounted quickly, all of them noticing the Rhine’s dinghy next to the main casemate which had its doors broken out of their hinges. Artyom in particular was rather tense as he gathered them behind a short wall.

“Listen up all of you, it’s highly likely Anton is behind this. I have no idea why she would do this, but remember she’s armed and potentially dangerous…”

“You’re just gonna shoot her?” Boris protested.

The blue dragon gave his fellow Russian an exasperated look.

“Of course not. Don’t do that, use your 303 if you can to neutralize her, lethal force is only to be applied if she fires at you and you can’t get her safely, copy?”

“Aye, copy.” Boris nodded, somewhat relieved. “Monsters?”

“What do you mean monsters?” Thanasis asked, one MAG machinegun floating close to him.

“Maybe they caused this.” Boris shrugged.

“Monsters or not, we’re here for Cheese and Anton.” Artyom reminded them. “We don’t know what we’re getting into, so we all stick together, okay?”

Once he heard a short chorus of ‘aye’s’ and ‘roger’s’, he laid out his plan to them.

It was easy to tell at a glance that there were tunnels and bunkers crisscrossing under the fortifications. With the state of the main door and the dinghy next to it, rushing in through there would have been way too dangerous. He pointed a claw to a set of rusty steel doors near the barracks.

“We get in there and approach it from the inside. That should make us harder to notice.”

The interior that greeted them made it very clear to the group how old the fort really was. The plaster that covered the vaulted ceiling was chipped here and there, with the fallen bits cracking underneath their shoes (horseshoes in Sidereal's case) every time they took a single step forward.

Progressing through the narrow hallways forced them to move in single file with Artyom taking point. Small rooms appeared on either side of them as they advanced slowly through the dark, damp tunnels, their path lit up by a light orb Sidereal had just conjured out of her horn.

The fort wasn’t completely ancient either: cables and piping could be seen running along the walls, along with old filament light bulbs. They were of course far beyond the point of even being salvageable, but it did show the group the fort had been upgraded over the course of its lifetime.

Before they could reach the main casemate, Artyom raised a balled claw to halt them.

“Anybody heard that?” The blue dragon asked in a whisper, pointing a claw towards a room off to the side.

“You think it’s Cheese?” Sidereal said.

“Could be.” Artyom dropped to one knee and looked at the group behind him. “Boris, Danny, Gust, you check this out while we keep going?”

With a collective nod, the three of them split up from the rest of the group and headed for that section of the fort.

As for Artyom, he made sure Thanasis was still following behind. He needed the sphinx’s MAG and Sidereal’s spells. Whatever was in this fort, he was pretty sure the biggest threat would be waiting for them in the main casemate.







Their section of the fort must have been some kind of armory or ammunition storage for the artillery guns. That would have explained the reinforced doors and bars blocking off certain rooms which Boris’ flashlight passed over. Eventually, they reached a circular room with a vaulted ceiling at the top of which there was a single small window allowing some light to stream in.

“Cheese? You in there?!” Gust called out before being immediately shushed by the two sailors accompanying the Pegasus.

“What?” He mouthed back at them. 

Boris pulled him closer, talons wrapped around the collar of his gambeson.

“We don’t want to be noticed. Don’t shout.” He whispered angrily in the pony’s ear before releasing him with a growl.

But it was still too late. They heard the telltale sound of talons clicking against a hard surface coming towards them. Two red embers appeared in the darkness… no, two glowing eyes which they soon found out belonged to one snow leopard griffon as she robotically stepped into the light.

“Anton?” Boris cocked his head. “Are you alright?” He asked, slowly approaching the hen.

Why were his instincts screaming at him to run away? And where did the black crystals in her feathers come from?

A metallic crashing noise echoed further down the hallway Anton had just come from, quickly followed by the clattering sound of hooves on stone. A haggard, disheveled looking Cheese Cake came galloping towards him before tackling him away from Anton.

“It’s a trap!” She screamed at him. “She’s been mind controlled! There’s a siren in the fort!”

Before Boris could have time to ask her what the fuck was going on, Anton burst into action. She flew directly at Boris and Cheese, all talons poised to strike and skewer them.

Or rather, she went straight for Boris. The Russian was once more tackled to the ground, this time by a screeching hen.

He’s one of them. They took your country. They took your brother. 

Take his life.

There was another conflict beneath the surface, deep inside Anton’s mind. The Ukrainian was trashing against the power the siren was using to hold her captive in her own mind, completely helpless at the sight of her own body attacking one of Amandine’s sailors. She knew the guy, he may be a jackass at times but that didn’t warrant killing him.

Avenge them.

The siren was using her own memories against her! Every time she thought she could gain some measure of control, she would flash some painful memories at her to throw her off. Boris being Russian didn’t help… Whatever angry, vengeful spirit the siren had awoken inside her mind, it seeing a Russian was like a bull seeing red.

Boris rolled with the attack and tried to pin Anton to the ground, only for the mind controlled griffon to kick him off her with a strong push of her hind legs, her claws deployed and tearing small holes in his orange coveralls.

“Idea?” He called to his companions, narrowly dodging a swipe of her talons and once more going for a pin.

Danny and Gust wanted to help, but the flailing pile of limbs and talons in front of them didn’t allow them to get a clear shot. And neither of them wanted to be on the receiving end of the wicked talons Anton sported.

“Don’t kill her! She can still get back in control!” Cheese cried out.

“How?”

“I think you need to get to her. Talk to the real Anton!”

“I barely know her!” Boris panted, rolling away from another swipe of her talons that left three shallow gouges on his flak jacket.

“Think of something!”

Before he had the time to, Anton managed to land a punch on the side of his beak which sent him reeling. The mind controlled sailor pushed the offensive and pressed him against a wall, rising on her hind legs with one claw wrapped around his throat, the other poised to rip out his guts.

“You destroyed my homeland!” She squawked in a distorted voice.

Well, if that wasn’t a hint he might as well be deaf. Boris kicked her in the shin, his steel-toed shoes knocking the wind out of her before he followed up with a quick throat punch that made her release her grip on his throat. The two of them tumbled to the ground, and he managed to wrap his talons around her arms to stop her assault for a second. A stinging feeling in his neck told him her talons had actually managed to break the skin.

“I’m sorry ok?!” He yelled at her. “All these jokes I tell about Ukraine and shit… That doesn’t mean I hate the whole damn country - urgh!”

Anton had folded her hind legs and kicked him off before he had time to finish. He crumpled like a castle of cards, clutching his belly in pain and giving her ample time to gain the upper claw.

On the other side of the room, Danny was wracking her brain trying to find a way to neutralize Anton safely. The parrot held her FN 303 in her claws, unable to fire it at risk of hitting her shipmate with the CS-gas filled rounds. Behind her, Gust and Cheese were rifling through the pegasus’ quiver of bolts.

“Fine!” Boris blurted out through a gritted beak as the mind controlled griffon above him raised her talons. “You want to know why I keep being a douche about Ukrainians?! Well I fucking had family there!” He switched to Ukrainian, much to the surprise of Anton when she heard her mother tongue being spoken. She stopped for a second, eyes briefly returning to their natural yellow-orange color.

“Two uncles, one lived in Sebastopol, the other moved from Saint-Petersburg to Mariupol for work with his family. Well guess what? They’re both dead, killed in this fucking useless farce of a conflict!” He stood up slowly, Anton taking a few steps backwards.

He could see her head jerking this way and that, her eyes sometimes taking the mind-controlled color of red, other times returning to their normal color.

“So you say it’s my fault your brother died? That your own damn country is in shambles? Well, damn you to Hell. Both parties are shit; you think my uncle cared whose rocket it was that blew up his house? Doesn’t matter, it killed him anyway. So I’ll admit, yes I joke about Ukrainians, but of course your sorry ass never heard half the shit I spout about Artyom and Russia! Fuck me right? I’d rather laugh about this all than wallow in self pity!”

  He got closer to Anton, the female griffon was now trembling as he approached, her features changing quickly between aggression and confusion. He placed one claw on her shoulder and gave her a sympathetic look.

“So… I know I’m not the best speaker of all… I know where you’re coming from with that grief… but it’s not yours. You’re being manipulated by a monster that’s only using you and your emotions as a tool. Fight it.” He told her with a tentative smile.

And it seemed to work. The Russian could see the struggle on the other griffon’s features. Black crystals aside, she was actually even cuter from up clo-

‘Bang!’

Her eyes were back to red. Boris looked down. In her talons was one of Amandine’s Five-Seven pistols, muzzle still smoking. His mind went blank at the sight of the growing red spot on the woodland fabric of his flak jacket. The armor-piercing round had gone straight through all the layers of Kevlar.

Slowly, he raised one gloved claw to the wound. He started to feel cold… and then the pain hit him with the force of a freight train.

Boris collapsed with a mute gasp that sent droplets of blood flying out of his beak and staining Anton’s white coveralls. Behind him, he could hear Danny and Cheese's horrified cries resonate around the room.

Forcing through the searing pain of his wound, Boris reached towards Anton with one claw. He feebly clasped it around her paw before she had the time to walk away.

“Fight… back…” He whispered before finally falling unconscious from the sheer pain.

Anton’s eyes flashed back to their normal color, horror dawning on her beak as she stared back and forth between the Russian she had just shot and the pistol in her talons. That was short-lived however because the enthralling spell of the siren quickly retook control.

‘Twang-thunk!’

A thin crossbow bolt embedded itself into her flank. The mind-controlled griffon looked at it for a second before magically-induced drowsiness overcame her and she collapsed as well, her form landing on top of Boris’.

“Sleep tight beakie, that one had enough sedatives to knock out a manticore.” Gust snorted.
> Chapter 35: Catnip City
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

While the rest of the team was encountering difficulties with the mind-controlled Anton, Artyom’s group had continued their progress towards the main casemate. The rooms started to get bigger as the distance between them and the center of the fort decreased, the ammunition stores and gun emplacements now replaced by different rooms like infirmaries, offices and kitchens. It was still very clear that the fort was an antique by the looks of its electrical installation and the status of the furniture, but it was an improvement over the semi-rubble and cracked walls of the outer sections.

It was also better lit, if only marginally. The rooms on the inner side of the atoll facing the bay had actual windows. Most were either broken or translucent from the accumulated grime, but it was enough for Sidereal to drop her light orb spell.

The smell, however, wasn’t an improvement. A putrid scent of rotten fish mixed with algae permeated the air and made them wrinkle their nostrils in disgust. Sidereal in particular had to conjure a protection spell to put up with the smell.

 “The fuck’s going on in here?” Artyom muttered in Russian as he rounded a corner of the narrow hallway with his SCAR raised.

There were piles of seaweed and fish bones strewn about the place haphazardly, no doubt the reason behind the smell inside the fort. To him it looked like something had put them here as a… stash maybe? Who or rather what does that?

The ex-VDV got his answer soon enough when they finally reached the central room. Said room was situated just beneath the lighthouse that loomed over the rest of the fort, and it was also the largest they had seen so far. At two stories in height, it had a rickety walkway made out of moldy wood connecting to the rooms on the upper level, as well as a rusty steel staircase going up in a spiral through the ceiling and towards the lighthouse. Neither the stairs nor the walkway looked in any shape like they could have sustained any significant weight without collapsing outright.

Most of the light in the room came from the open main doors, now ripped off their hinges and lying in the middle of the room amidst a pile of splinters, broken sea shells and seaweed arranged in a nest of sorts.

Oh, and of course the ‘nest’ had an occupant.

“Took you long enough…” The siren chuckled softly in perfect, unaccented English, a wicked smile on her muzzle revealing rows of sharp fangs that belied her otherwise pleasant voice.

Artyom could understand the legends of sailors being enthralled by the voices of sirens if that one was anything to go by.

In the looks department however? Her equine face made her more similar to the average Englishwoman than the Greek beauties of legend. At easily the size of an orca, the siren had the front half of a horse (as in: an actual horse, not the relatively cute Equestrian ponies), albeit covered in light blue scales instead of fur. She had a few fins around her neck and on her hooves, as well as a much larger one on her back akin to that of a sailfish. The rear half of her body was a very muscular fish tail tightly coiled beneath her equine half and covered in a darker set of iridescent blue scales.

It certainly didn’t match the elegance of waterborne hippogriffs; that was for sure. Her looks painted the picture of an apex predator instead. One that was looking at them –and Sidereal in particular- like they were her next meal of the day through a pair slitted purple eyes.

Those facts alone would have made her appearance unique enough, but it just didn’t stop there. A large red gem was solidly embedded in the center of her chest, with black crystalline protrusions poking out of the scales around it. Those protrusions were also found around her eyes, alongside a sigil not unlike the one Sidereal had found on the tatzlwurm burned on the side of her muzzle.

“What are you?” Artyom questioned her in a careful tone, rifle pointed straight at a point between her eyes.

“Sonata Dusk would be my name.” The siren said, giving the similarly colored dragon a predatory smile and rising up on her tail. “And I welcome you to my humble abode. I take it you received the invitation I had your friend send you?”

“Cut the crap.” Artyom scowled. “What do you want you monster?”

“What do I want?” Sonata laughed. “Simple young drake, I want nothing less than the ruin of Equestria and full reign over your world, and we can’t have the latter with these ponies in play. Thank you for bringing them right in my lap.”

“Wha-“ Artyom started but was cut off as a blast fired straight from her gem impacted him in the chest, sending him flying down the hallway they had come from.

“And now little pony, the time has come to weed off the parasites.” Sonata said in a haughty tone as her gem lit up like a second sun.

Sidereal may have been powerful compared to other Equestrian unicorns, but she was in no way capable of tackling a creature like a siren on her own. If a coven of them could give mages like Star Swirl the Bearded a gallop for his bits, she better find something else to take down the damned-to-Tartarus monster.

Sonata released the magic in her gem just as Sidereal leapt towards a beleaguered Thanasis who hadn’t quite managed to follow whatever the Hell was going on. She teleported the two of them out of the way just as a red lance of energy struck the ground they occupied not a second earlier. The lance exploded against the stones, kicking up a large cloud of dust and collapsing the hallway, thankfully blocking access to the large monster.

Sonata glared at the rubble, not finding any scorched corpses in the pile of bricks and concrete. She let out an angry shriek and blasted the wooden walkway apart.

“You can run but you can’t hide pony! My race will get their due revenge on Equestria and the rest of the world; and I won’t let you stop it!”







Down the hallway and now sheltered by the rubble the siren had inadvertently put between her and them, a blue-beret wearing dragon slowly hoisted himself up on his feet with a wince. That magic blast had hit him with the force of a runaway train. He gingerly brushed a claw against the spot where it had hit him right in the middle of his flak jacket.

There was a fist-sized hole going right through the kevlar, past the nomex coveralls and leaving a painful scorch mark on his scales. Most of the formerly light blue scales in the impact zone were now charred or cracked, with a small trickle of hot dragon blood seeping from beneath his natural armor. Not a small feat… the other dragons had tested the limits of their heat resistance and could withstand temperatures up to 500°C. Paired with the heat resistance of nomex and kevlar... that siren wasn’t pulling her punches.

He was damn lucky it was just a scratch. He had no clue how much of his survival was owed to his flak jacket, but he was pretty damn sure anyone else would have been killed instantly by the blast.

Might want to loot a jeweler later, just to get those broken scales fixed up though… 

“Finally found you. You alright there?” Thanasis asked behind him as he rounded a corner. “Sidereal teleported us to safety.” The Greek sphinx added, seeing the confusion on the dragon’s features.

“I’m fine.” Artyom rolled his shoulders and checked his rifle.

A rumble shook the fort and made bits of plaster fall on their shoulders. Artyom caught himself on the side of the hallway and stared off at a small window as it lit up with a red glow.

“She’s pissed.” He stated. “At this rate she might actually level the whole fort.”

“It gets worse.” Sidereal told him. “We got a casualty.”

“Who?”

“Boris, he got shot by Anton before we could subdue her.”

Artyom’s face fell. Boris was his only compatriot in the entire fleet. As much as he tended to behave like a literal shithead he didn’t want him to…

“Dead?”

“Thankfully not, Gust and Danny are taking care of him but he needs to see a medic ASAP.” Thanasis explained as another tremor shook the fort. “For fuck’s sake, horse-Ariel is gonna bury us at this rate!”

“Worse is she might attack the ships after she’s done with us.” Sidereal said.

“She won’t.” Artyom told her with a shake of his head. “The .50 cal machineguns alone we have defending the area should be enough to take her down, she had Cheese captured to lure you here for a reason, she can’t take all of us in a frontal assault.”

“Me specifically?”

“Most likely because that way she gets rid of all the unicorns in your team and basically strands the rest on Earth with no hope of contacting your superiors.” Artyom elaborated. “Whoever she works for, they seem to want the planet for themselves now that most humans have essentially been culled out of existence.”

“That’s nice and all but that doesn’t really matter at the moment does it?” Thanasis interceded. “Can’t we just focus on killing the bloody thing instead?”

“You think your MAG is enough?”

“Doubt it. But we got better.”

“Nobody knows how to use the Bofors we found lest you forgot.” Artyom pointed out.

“I wasn’t talking about the tank. A good dose of .50 cal up her arse should do the trick I think. The fort’s in range of the ships, or Amandine is at least.” The sphinx said. “They can shoot up to one mile, correct?”

“Easily…” Artyom said looking off towards where he could hear the siren rampage. “Now how to make it work…”







Obviously they couldn’t just radio for fire support from the inside of the fort, what with how thick the walls were. That in itself wouldn’t have been too much trouble were it not for the highly dangerous monster out on the prowl outside the fort.

Sonata wasn’t stupid either. She knew the ships had enough firepower to blow her away in the blink of an eye and thus made sure the raised levee that constituted most of the fort’s structure always hid her from sight. She may not be as powerful as her sisters but she had enough wits about her to use her powers correctly.

Most of the time anyway. What she had just done here with the sailors and ponies was downright sloppy and no doubt would her sisters mock her when they heard about it. So much for saying she could watch the area on her own… She had the unicorn in her grasp right there, why did she even bother shooting the dragon?

Damn those slippery ponies!

A burst of gunfire erupted behind her as she flew past an old gun emplacement, drilling a couple holes in her back fin but otherwise pinging harmlessly off her scales.

“Feeling brave now?” Sonata smirked, immediately turning around and firing a blast of magic at Thanasis. It missed, landing in the dirt a few meters next to the sphinx who was forced to duck back underneath the fort.

Sonata pressed the offensive and used her magic to fly closer to the position Thanasis had emerged out of, already winding up a new spell.

“My kin can challenge the most powerful of unicorns ever! What makes you think you stand a chance, desert cat?” She laughed, peering in the hole.

A miasma of paralyzing gas courtesy of Thanasis’ breath attack was what greeted her. Not to a great effect however, because she casually dispersed the gas with her magic.

“A parlor trick? You just went down from brave to utterly stupid. Come out now and finish this!” She roared out.

Not a single soul peered out of the fortifications. Instead, a small olive green canister with a white band was thrown out, landing close to her. Sonata looked at it in curiosity.

And then the flashbang exploded.

“Gah! I’ll kill you all! Peel the skin off your flesh and make trophies out of it!” She yelled, one hoof rubbing frenetically at her eyes, ears ringing and her flight off-balance from the explosion.

This was the diversion they wanted. While the large siren was still recovering from the grenade, Artyom snuck out of a door on the other side of the fort, walkie-talkie in hand.

“Rescue team to Amandine, you hear me? Over.”

“5 by 5 rescue, what’s going on in the fort? Over.” Alejandro’s voice came over the radio.

“We found a monster. Got a casualty too but we need to kill it first and 7.62 isn’t enough Chief…” He flinched as Sonata fired a beam of magic blindly, making the lighthouse collapse in a flash of red light. “You think you can get us some fire support? Over.”

“Roger that. Hold your ground, we’re getting some .50 cal ready. Amandine out.” Alejandro signed off.

Not a second too soon too, because Sonata finally managed to shake off the effects of the flash grenade and sent him a scathing glare. Artyom ducked back underneath the fort just as a magic beam hit his former position and collapsed the emplacement he had just been occupying.

“Ohooiet, that was close…” The dragon muttered in Russian, tearing off a bit of concrete that had lodged itself in the collar of his flak jacket.

“They got your message?” Sidereal asked him.

“Yeah, they’re readying the big guns. How are the others?”

“Boris should be able to hold for a while thanks to Gust’s potions…”

“Potions?” Artyom cut her off as he stood up.

“Magic first-aid, we’ll go into detail on that once we’re safe ok? Thanasis is fine, if a bit worse for wear.” She explained. “What’s next?”

“For now? We need to wait a few minutes for them to get the guns ready. Then we gotta make sure they can get their eyes on the siren to shoot her.” He looked down at the red mare beside him. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get her to fly higher? Expose herself?”

Sidereal sat down on her haunches and rubbed her muzzle pensively. Sonata clearly was aware of the firepower they had in store, and she wouldn’t let herself stray in the sights of their heavy machineguns.

“I… no clue, honest.” She gave him an apologetic shrug.

Artyom leaned his back against the wall and allowed himself to slide down to the ground, his tail coiling around his rear to form a seat of sorts. He rubbed the sides of his skull with his knuckles pensively, wracking his mind and…

“The lighthouse?” he tried.

“She destroyed it.”

“Damn, right.” He snapped his claws.

“I may have an idea.” Gust’s voice came in front of them.

The Pegasus cantered over to the two of them confidently. He had shed most of his saddlebags now, with the exception of his crossbow’s holster and its quiver.

“Well, shoot. It’s not like I have anything right now.”

One of the Ranger’s wings dug inside his quiver and pulled out a bolt which he held between two primaries. It looked fairly normal, except for its head which held a glass bulb behind a thin steel tip. The bulb was filled with an iridescent red liquid which glowed faintly in the darkness of the fort’s interior.

“Specialized bolts, the trademark of the Everfree Rangers… and our biggest money drain as well.” He explained.

“You wanna poison it? Look, I don’t think this…” Artyom waved a claw at the bolt. “…can actually pierce her scales, otherwise we wouldn’t need fire support in the first place.”

“It doesn’t need to, the bulb breaks on impact and the content can do its job with mere skin contact. I used one such bolt minutes ago to tranquilize Anton and… I may not have anything left with enough potency to paralyze a siren; but I do have that one which is filled with rage poison.”

“I don’t like the name of that thing.”

“It’s easy, I bet you I can outfly the siren, I just need to land my shot and she will be so focused on getting to me she won’t even remember she can blow me out of the sky with a spell.”

“Are you, by any chance, suicidal?” Artyom tilted his head and gave the Pegasus a dubious stare.

Gust actually took a second to reply to that.

“Maybe I am…” He mused, one golden-furred hoof rubbing the underside of his muzzle. “I mean, you gotta be a right bit barmy to join a bunch of foresters that roam a monster-filled haunted forest…”

Artyom turned his red eyes towards Sidereal.

“So you’re just going to let him do that?” He asked her.

“Beats doing nothing.”







Five minutes later, a gold-coated Pegasus with a gambeson shot out of the fort in a blur. Gust pushed his wings as hard as he could and completed a turn around the inner bay, passing in front of Sonata and finally attracting her attention.

“Ah, now you decide to actually come out and fight.” She licked her fangs, eyeing the pegasus with a hint of hunger. “Took you long enough.”

Gust came to a hover some ways across from her, crossbow held carefully in his forehooves.

“Aw, you think your lil’ crossbow here will suffice…” She chuckled before spreading out her hooves. “Try all you want pony! These scales here have withered far worse than this little toy you have!”

Gust just glared at her through the sights of his weapon. He lined up his shot and let the bolt fly with a sharp 'twang'. The glass bulb reflected the sunlight as it crossed the distance between him and the monster before crashing against her scales and shattering, the red poison inside staining her blue scales just above the gem in her chest.

Sonata's cocky smile reflected Gust's grim smile for a second.

“See? Completely use-“ She trailed off, pupils shrinking down to pinpricks.

“Bingo…” Gust muttered as he put his crossbow back in its holster.

Fair colts and gentlemares, the ponies are lining up in their starting gates…

Sonata’s head started jerking from side to side.

This year’s gallop is starting to show some promises with athletes gathering for a unique prize…

She gnashed her teeth, foam appearing on the corners of her mouth.

  The prize you ask? Well, it’s actually fairly simple…

The siren’s eyes came to a rest on Gust. She snarled.

Not getting eaten.

Gust took off faster than he had ever flown, the now enraged Sonata hot on his tail, eyes filled with bloodlust. The two of them started swirling wildly in the air above the fort, with Gust having great difficulties putting some distance between him and the surprisingly quick siren.

For a monster that didn’t have wings and relied entirely on magical levitation to fly, she could actually put out some speed, and she didn’t seem to lose any in the turns either. Now…

Time to finish this. Gust steeled his gaze and started ascending.







“So did you actually fight with those?” Geert asked in Dutch.

“No. We didn’t take them to Kandahar, and we didn’t have them for Kosovo and Yugoslavia either. Doesn’t mean I can’t actually use them. We did train a lot.” Bart told her.

The Belgian was in fact speaking of the Piranha III APC’s they had gotten from the Danish base in Slagelse. Each of them was equipped with a remotely operated .50 cal on top, and it just so happened that Bart’s former unit made use of this exact same brand of APC’s.

Commercially-produced military vehicles can have benefits. Sometimes.

The one piranha they were in had been rolled out of storage as quickly as possible, and immediately had its turret equipped with a .50 cal. Geert and Bart were now positioned in the back, with the sky blue unicorn occupying the gunner’s seat and Geert looking over his shoulder at the targeting screen.

Holding the joystick in his telekinesis, Bart ran a quick, well-practiced check of the systems. Ammo feed? Check. Gun chambered. Laser rangefinder? He pointed the gun at a nearby crane. Correct distance, so that’s a check as well. The joystick responded to his input correctly as well, though doing it properly with only his telekinesis felt weird to him.

“Alright, time to fill the Little Mermaid with some lead.” Bart smirked, pulling on the joystick and pivoting the gun towards the fort. The image on his screen first showed him the horizon, before the fort appeared in view of the camera, its size quickly increasing when he zoomed up.

They could clearly see a golden blur flying above the fort, pursued by the much larger form of Sonata. Bart frowned at the sight, reaching with one hoof towards a set of buttons on the side of the screen. A whirr above him told him the fire control system was making its adjustments.

Now he just needed a good shot at the siren… which wasn’t exactly easy considering Sonata and Gust were flying around like two hummingbirds on cocaine. The Equestria-born Pegasus had managed to draw her out of cover, but it wouldn’t do any good if his opening salvo hit him as well.

Wait…

Wait…

There.

Gust leveled out of a dive and took a turn which left Sonata dead in his sights with the pegasus safely out of the way. The APC shook as he let loose with his .50 cal, green bolts of light from the tracers lancing out towards the blue siren.

A rush of adrenalin drained away what was left of the poison in Sonata’s bloodstream when the rounds impacted her scales. This wasn’t as messy as the 20mm HE that had been shot at the quarry eels in France, but the bullets went through her flesh and scales as if they weren’t even there, ripping large chunks of flesh on the way out. Sonata’s front was littered with small, seemingly innocuous bullet holes all around her chest gem, but her back… Bits of her sternum and ribcage had splintered on impact, ripping apart most of her organs which fell out of the gaping holes in her back, down in the waters of the bay below her and leaving a red slick of blood on the surface.

For a second, Sonata remained alive and brushed the wounds on her chest with a hoof in confusion. She looked back towards Gust, a trickle of blood starting to seep out of the corners of her mouth and mixing with the frothing saliva the rage poison had caused.

“You lost…” The pony said, giving her an almost sympathetic look.

And then the brunt of the damage hit her. With a shriek worthy of a banshee, Sonata fell down limply, her body now unable to keep her in the air. It impacted the water roughly and cut off her shriek. Bubbles churned for a couple seconds before the carcass floated up to the surface, exposing the torn flesh and her damaged back fin for the world to see. Her chest gem, formerly a shining jewel, was now grayed out.

Seagulls were quick to flock towards the body. They would get first pick of the meat, and then the harbor’s crabs would get the rest. Nobody stopped them. The Equestrians avoided looking at the body.

“That’s it. We won.” Gust panted as he landed next to Artyom, wings hanging tiredly off his back.

All around them, they could see the rampage the irate siren had wrought upon the fort: the collapsed lighthouse, the nearly destroyed main casemate, the countless smoldering craters and destroyed gun emplacements…

A sense of pride welled up in Gust’s chest. He was just an Everfree Ranger, but now he was part of the very limited group of ponies that had defeated sirens. Like Starswirl the Bearded and the Pillars…

“It ain’t over yet.” Artyom grunted. “We still need to evacuate Boris. That being said…” The ex-VDV held up a claw towards him. “Congrats, couldn’t have done this without you. This, this is your victory.”

Gust allowed a small smile to appear on his muzzle. He shook the Russian’s claw.

“Thanks.” He said softly.







Boris made it out alive eventually. He was rather lucky the mind-controlled Anton had taken one of the Five-Seven pistols and not a 9mm; the bullet had gone through relatively cleanly.

That of course didn’t mean treating him was easy, but he should make a full recovery. Camille and Vadim spent a good two hours running scans of his chest cavity to assess the internal damage the bullet had caused before they even attempted any operation on the still unconscious griffon. Griffons weren’t humans, and they needed to properly figure out what was in the injured area in the first place before barging in with surgical tools.

Turns out, griffons have a pretty resilient circulatory system thanks to their dual heart structure. The heart in his chest suffered from a cardiac tamponade caused by the chest trauma, meaning fluid was starting to build up around his heart.

The good thing was that the other heart the griffon had between his wings compensated for the output deficit in the other. It was only thanks to that 'wing heart' picking up the slack that Boris wasn’t in too much danger because of the tamponade.

Identifying the other organs in his chest turned out to be… difficult to say the least. Magic-assisted flight or not, griffons had air sacs in their body. They were situated more towards the front of the chest cavity, with the lungs behind them halfway between the two hearts. And they were hit, that much was easy to notice from the wheezing, whistling noise the unconscious griffon made whenever he breathed.

Also, turns out griffons have a massive sternum (Camille wasn’t sure if it was the correct term, then again she wasn’t a veterinarian) to protect their breast from impacts as they discovered while running scans. Boris was lucky enough that the enthralled Anton had aimed far enough to the side that the bullet had gone past it and only broke what she had to assume was a scapula on the way out and not in. They didn’t need to surgically extract bone splinters from his chest cavity.

Funny thing griffons really. They have two different scapula in close vicinity: one for the wing, one for the nearby front limb. In Boris’ case, he better be left-handed because he wouldn’t be using his right claw for a while.

“How are the lungs?” Vadim asked her as he hooked his colleague up to two different heart monitors inside the Rhine’s clinic.

“Pneumothorax on the left side… and I think on a couple of his air sacs as well.” Camille hesitated.

“You think?”

“Bear with me, I’m no veterinarian, never seen organs like those.” She told, looking at the scans in front of her. “I’ll hazard a guess and say they should receive the same treatment as the lungs. Shouldn’t be too hard if you’re careful.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t act surprised.” Camille rolled her eyes. “You think I can do much with a broken arm?” The French hippogriff said, wiggling the plastered limb for emphasis. “Hopping around on three limbs is hard enough as is.”

“You think I’m in any shape or form ready to perform that kind of medical act anyway?” He countered.

“Duh, obviously she does, kretyn.” Marta called out from inside the clinic’s office. “Why would she ask otherwise?”

Marta was the Rhine’s nurse and Camille’s assistant. The polish woman (as in: an actual woman, rare as they were in a fleet where most females used to be male) had turned into some kind of hedgehog-esque creature with gray fur and white quills following the Event. The ponies called her species Storm Creatures apparently. The Krakow-born nurse was… rather sarcastic at the best of times, and a female Boris at the worst of times -which tended to be rather frequent considering she was wheelchair-bound thanks to a broken leg and twisted ankle-.

She wasn’t stuck doing nothing, but it was rather clear all the office work was making her antsy.

Camille interrupted him before he could come up with something witty to retort to the nurse.

“Listen Vadim, it’s not even that complicated and I’m here to guide you. Both for the pneumothorax and his tamponade… you only really need to insert a needle to suck out the air and the pericardium fluid out.” She reassured him. “No cutting him open just yet, je te le promets.”

Vadim stared at her for a solid ten seconds before eventually letting out an annoyed trill.

“Fine.” He relented. “What else?”

“We start off with the heart and lungs; I’ll guide you on the scanner to do it.” She told, waving a wing over the unconscious form of Boris. “Then we fix up the bullet wounds; stitch it back together so he doesn’t start leaking when we put some fresh blood into him.”

“We still good on the blood store?” He asked just as he was starting to look for the tools they’d need.

“Barely. One more week and then it’s spoiled.”

“Lucky.”

“Not really, I’m sure we could find some volunteers willing to give theirs on board.” Camille said.

Vadim pointed a talon towards a bed further inside the clinic where the still tranquilized Anton had been put. Just in case the hen was still enthralled by the time she woke up, they had tied her down to her hospital bed once they were sure she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue.

That and they would have to remove the black crystals from her face, along with treating the small injury caused by Gust’s tranquilizing bolt.

“Valid donor or not, we won’t take blood from unconscious patients.” Camille scowled. “You ever heard of medical ethics?”

“Nope, wasn’t taught that at the academy in Gdynia.” He shook his head. “She shot him though, why wouldn’t it be legitimate to take her blood to fix him?”

“Because we got principles. I do at least, and I think I better have a word with you about it once we’re through with Boris.” She said, examining the gunshot wound in the griffon’s chest. “Hmm…” She mused.

“What  now?”

“Nothing really. Just surprised the wound is in such a good shape.” Camille commented.

“That would be the health potion.” Sidereal said as she walked in.

Camille and Vadim almost jumped at the sudden entrance of the ruby red unicorn. She was looking a bit frazzled from the fight in the fort, but otherwise fine.

“Health potion? Care to elaborate ‘cause to me that sounds like something straight out of fiction.” Camille rounded on the unicorn.

Sidereal pulled out a small vial filled with a pink glowing liquid out of her saddlebag and passed it to the taller hippogriff.

“I can give you some books on how it’s made. I may not know much about magical medicine but I can tell you these are made to increase recovery speed. A single one is generally enough to close a small wound…”

“I think we saw that.” Vadim commented, eyeing the wound on Boris’ chest.

“Indeed. We only have the first-aid variant, it’s multipurpose.” She explained. “A proper potion is a complex thing really: they start off with a base liquid that contains the ‘building blocks’, so to speak, which is then paired with an energizing substance to make up the core potion.”

“Sounds more like the stuff you’d use to bulk up.” Camille said, a hint of doubt in the French hippogriff’s voice.

“Because it’s only the base.” The unicorn explained matter-of-factly. “I don’t remember exactly how the rest is called, but you’ve got a bit of Zebrican alchemy –or deer alchemy in certain brands- that’s used to add to the compound so that contact triggers and hastens the healing process. The alchemy part is a new thing, but lesser potions can also be made with regular magic, albeit with difficulty.”

“Zebrican?”

“Right, you’ve never heard of them, sorry. They’re a striped equine species similar to ponies that live in low latitudes. Pretty rare in Equestria, but their botanic products and alchemical compounds are so potent they make up most of their trade revenue.”

“So… zebras?” Vadim asked.

“Don’t say that.” The Doctor chastised him. “Calling them zebras is as much of a slang as calling a pony a horse.”

“Duly noted.” He nodded. “You said your batch is the first-aid variant?”

“Yes, less expensive and easier of use. The hospital versions hold more nutrients but less energizing potion since it isn’t as necessary. Their healing properties are different too.”

“How different?”

“They can regrow any type of tissue.”

“What?!” Camille shouted. “Impossible!”

“Quite the contrary. High-grade health potions injected in small doses on affected areas have been proven effective at replacing scar tissue with proper tissue, as well as repairing complex damage such as nerves, replace burnt skin and even fix bone marrow.”

“C’est qu’un ramassis de conneries!” Camille swore. “If what you’re telling me is even half-true that would imply they could be used to regrow limbs!”

“Calm down, or need I remind you I’m not that kind of Doctor? I did send a request for books on medical practices if it helps.”

“It does, merci.” Camille nodded. “Now, not that I want to be rude but may we tend to our patient?” She waved a wing towards Boris.

“Of course.” Sidereal said before making her way back towards the entrance. “I will contact you later to talk about Equestrian medicine if you want?”

Camille looked up at a clock hanging on a wall of the Rhine’s clinic.

“Come back here after dinner, I should be free to discuss this in my office.”

Sidereal nodded and finally made her escape, leaving Vadim and Camille free to take care of Boris. The hippogriff hadn’t lied when she told him it wouldn’t be too hard as she guided him in fixing up the Russian. It did take him some time to do it, but they made it. Boris’ heart and lungs were no longer in danger.

They hooked him up to a steady supply of oxygen before transfusing him some fresh blood and plugging in an IV. He would be bedridden for a while, but he should make a full recovery.

Before long, the two of them moved on to Anton to remove the crystal shards embedded in her flesh. While this didn’t pose too much trouble either (much less considering they used the potion left behind by Sidereal to cleanly close the wounds left behind by their removal), the presence of the crystals was a worrisome detail.

Where did they come from in the first place? Did the siren put them there? Artyom had mentioned something about Sonata having some on her chest as well. They put the crystals in a jar and decided it would be up to Sidereal and the Captains to figure it out.

“Funny thing…” Vadim said as he tossed his nitrile gloves in the bin.

“What is?”

“That it’s Anton who wound up shooting him.”

“Lemme guess… he has eyes for her? Now I can picture how he let himself get shot in the first place.” Camille rolled her eyes.

“That would explain a lot. My, if she’s not still enthralled when she wakes up, that will be something I wanna see.” He chuckled.

“Didn’t know you were into drama Zinoviya... though I’ll admit, I wanna see it as well.”







Dilip stared down at the report on his desk for a second before leveling a sharp look towards Sidereal.

“What do you know about these…”

“Sirens.” Sidereal completed.

“Yes, your teammates seem to consider them rather powerful.” He said, referring to some comments by Gust and Radiant when they had come back from the fort.

“Duly so. Our country’s had… mishaps with a coven of sirens a long time ago. They were subsequently banished by the most powerful unicorn available at the time with the help of a full team of elite ponies.”

“Banished you say?” The dog cocked his head.

“It is… seldom our preferred choice to use deadly force against our foes.” Sidereal conceded. “Before you say anything, we are aware of the consequences and have had enemies resurface several times during our history.”

“Why not kill them then?” Dilip asked just as he was serving himself a fresh cup of tea.

“It goes against our values, and we ponies are ready to face a foe a dozen times over if it means standing by our principles.”

The Captain quirked an eyebrow.

“What about monsters?”

“Monsters…” Sidereal winced. “Captain, I’m aware it is not always possible to get the outcome you desire, monsters are one such occurrence. We faced one on the way to Copenhagen and…” Her face fell. “It saddens me to admit we didn’t have any mean to solve the situation without loss of life. Ponies like Gust, they’re familiar with monsters unlike me, and even he had to admit death is often the only recourse when confronted with them.”

“Did the siren leave you a choice then?”

“I wish she did. She had a name you know.” Sidereal said softly.

“Did she, now?”

“Sonata Dusk. She…” Sidereal scowled. “She immediately resorted to violence, even though her species are intelligent creatures.” 

“I actually find it rather noble of you ponies to be so dedicated to preserving life however…” Dilip said between two sips of his tea. “Oftentimes, people don’t want peace. You shouldn’t get caught up on the death of this… Sonata. She made her bed the moment she enthralled Anton, and from what Artyom told me she clearly wanted your death. If anything, her death is on me and my men, not your team… if that helps.”

“Thanks Captain…” Sidereal gave him a small smile.

“You should consider this to be an achievement to be celebrated. An ancient menace to your countrymen - err, ponies that is- laid low by a group of mismatched sailors and a couple ponies. Nobody died on our side either, so I’ll take that as a win if you won’t.” He concluded, downing his cup of tea.

“Alright. What’s next then?”

“The usual I suppose. A few expeditions to be sent outside until we finish our modifications on the Rhine. In the meantime if you could keep teaching magic and flying to the sailors, that would be great.” Dilip shrugged. “There are still some things we need to locate but we still have a week or two of work on the Rhine to look forward to before we think about moving on to a new port.”

And that hopefully by then the HPI would have told them where they wanted their prototypes delivered.

“We can probably get it all done in that time yes.” Sidereal nodded. “Then the time would come to part ways. I suppose teams like mine will inherently wind up looking further inland than you ever would.”

“Yeah I figured you would. Be certain that we will share what your team taught us to other survivors once the time comes. By the way, have you received an answer to yesterday’s report yet?”

“Negative.” Sidereal said. “I suspect that, given the full scope of the report, it might take them some time to gather the data I requested, in particular when you factor most of it is data Equestria doesn’t have on hoof.”

“Then we’ll wait for them to send it.”







Abyssinia had always been known as a trade nation; that much never really changed. They had been one of the countries hit the hardest by the Storm King’s rise to power when he and his troops had plundered the capital city of Panthera. That alone wasn’t even the worst of it. His mad rampaging destroyed the economy of the entire subcontinent and sent the whole country in a long period of recession.

They weren’t ready for that. Most of the country’s wealth came from service industries like banking, as well as the production of high-value goods and non-nutritive crops. Catnip and tobacco are nice, but they don’t feed a people. The situation had quickly spiraled out of control for half a decade before some expat Abyssinian philanthropists and foreign nations stepped in and helped the mercantile kingdom stabilize itself and set up more sustainable productions.

But the damage was done. Many had already fled the country and were only now starting to trickle back in. The Abyssinian crown had been forced to import foreign labor to restart their industry, and it now showed in the landscape of the capital city.

Whereas a decade ago, they would have found the local population to be entirely made of the local species of bipedal cats, now things were more mixed. Hippogriffs hailing from Seaquestria and Mt. Aris had built their own district near the harbor, some Equestrians had set up near the city centre, and even some Ornithian parrots were now found nesting near the airship docking tower. Each species had come with their own brand of architecture which now clashed against the original Abyssinian style foreigners so often compared to cat trees, much to the ire of the local architectural schools.

To be fair, few species ever decided to leave an entire floor open and only supported by pillars only to resume regular construction on the next. If a human had ever laid eyes on their buildings, they would have most likely described the Abyssinian style as the Eastern Orthodox Church deciding to build giant cat trees. All such buildings now were the chief characteristic of the city center, with its large avenues and well-lit streets that formed concentric circles around the royal palace and its brass decorations.

The other districts weren’t as richly decorated, and much less… comfortable to say the least. Coal-driven factories dotted the landscape, easily tracked by the large smoke columns that escaped out of their smokestacks. They were surrounded by towering stone buildings that served to house the many workers required to operate Panthera’s factories, each connected to the others by small metal bridges and walkways that floated above the many (dirty, obviously) canals and railways feeding into the factories and crossing through the already narrow streets. At night, these quarters were often obscured by the haze caused by the many stoves the residents used inside their homes, with only the relatively modern gas lamps managing to break through the murky darkness.

The contrast alone with the central quarter made many of the poorer areas of town resentful of the rich feline aristocrats that got to live in the ‘clean city’. Coupled with racial tensions between immigrants, both the King and Queen of Abyssinian knew they were treading on thin ice with most of the populace… and so did their political opponents, many of them being the same captains of industry that had helped with rebuilding the country.

High above the city stood the airship docking tower, which was also where most of the parrots inhabiting the city chose to reside, as seen by the bright paints and colored banners they liked to decorate their homes with (though the colors were nearly always dulled by smoke clouds drifting into the tower). Already built on a hill, the tall tower was a mass of steel girders, wood and concrete rising towards a summit where ramps extended in all directions for passing airships to dock and discharge their cargo. Unloaded packages would then be sent down to the ground and the many factories via an intricate network of cable cars that spread out towards secondary towers all over the city, forming a literal spider web of cables high above the city. It also had connections to a train station and the canal network at its foot to go with the cable cars.

A couple stories below the summit was a bar where airship crews would go catch some fun between two flights. It was built on an extension of the tower hanging hundreds of meters above the abyss in full view of the city. Patrons could look down through orange tinted windows at the bustling city below… when their drunken stupor allowed it. The bar wasn’t even that shoddy, what with its varnished wood, fancy carpets and the lustrous brass of the beer taps.

A lone parrot was enjoying her drink inside the hazy cigar lounge above the rest of the bar, comfortably nestled in a corner of the room on a blue velvety couch. Much like every female of her kind, she was of the lean, very tall type. She was covered from head to claws in ivory feathers except for her crest and tail which were emerald green.

On her shoulders was a sleeveless duffle coat bearing the ranks of Captain to go with a pair of loose work pants and several wooden bracelets she wore around her arms and ankles. The attentive observer would also have taken note of more subtle details like the large scar she had across her throat as well as the words ‘Cpt. Elaena’ and ‘SS Sirocco’  written on the breast of her coat.

Between two sips of her beer, she would take long drags from a cigar she set down in an ashtray next to a thick notebook that was nearing its bursting point from the amount of sheets she had added to it.

‘Let’s see…’ Her raspy voice muttered in Ornithian (a language humans would have identified as a mix of Spanish and Portuguese) while flipping through her book. ‘Summer’s barely beginning so maybe I could run a load of parcels to Klugetown, fill the rest of the hold with liquors, trade it all there for potion components and textiles and bring them to Zebrica? Not the most profitable of loads with the parcels but I could get a charter and go the entire season with it. Now what to pick from Zebrica…’ She mused, tapping a claw against a small map of the area to which she had adjoined some personal notes.

Elaena liked to call herself observant, which was what lead to much of the notes she had put in her ledger. She updated it frequently, the notes allowing her to keep tabs on who was buying what and when. A necessity for a freelance Captain like her. Her sister may scoff at the idea of transporting cargo, what with her pirate-y delusions, but she knew a well-planned route was far more lucrative (and also reliable) than whatever she could wave a falchion at.

Toppling the Storm King didn’t count. That was a onetime thing.

Her musings were interrupted by two figures entering the smoking room. The first one was a scrawny dark green gargoyle with a russet mane and a broken antler. The tunic and cloak he was wearing clearly depicted him as a mage, a young one going by his youthful looks.

He was clearly there as a bodyguard for the second figure, a short middle-aged Abyssinian with long orange fur and black spots on his ears. His clothes, a bottle green suit with a white shirt, waistcoat and golden pocket watch hanging off his belt made it apparent to everyone around him he was either a noble or a rich bourgeois, if the way he carried himself wasn’t enough of a tell anyway.

Elaena’s pink eyes tracked the two as they made a beeline for her table. Either she lucked out and this was a cat her sister’s band of so-called ‘scallywags’ (even thinking about the word made her cringe) had wronged, or she would be getting a contract tonight.

“Elaena Ceylan I presume?” The Abyssinian asked her in perfectly unaccented Equestrian with the very same tone she had come to expect from nobles.

She stared him the eyes, taking a drag of her cigar before setting it back down in the ashtray.

“Captain Elaena.” She said sternly. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, motioning towards the seat across from her.

The gargoyle pulled the seat back for his employer who sat down without acknowledging him before taking a step back. He crossed his arms and kept an eye on the room around them.

A newbie then. In Klugetown that might have been necessary… but in Panthera of all places? Laughable.

“I am Sir Armiger, industrial, investor and philanthropist.” The Abyssinian presented himself before letting out a small smile. “But please, call me Louis.”

That was new, a noble that’s not self-obsessed.

“Very well Louis, I’ll assume you didn’t come directly to me just to talk about the weather –sooty as it gets in this fine city-. Fair bit of warning however: if it’s about my sister, I am in no way responsible for her shenanigans, and I haven’t seen her in years anyway.” She told him.

Louis clapped his paws once in mild amusement.

“Fantastic then, I’m not here for her either.” He smiled brightly, revealing a row of sharp teeth. “I’m here for you specifically. Or rather, the Sirocco.”

Elaena shook her head and started rubbing her temples. This wasn’t the first time she was having this conversation.

“Listen, the Sirocco is my personal property and is a specialized ship. She’s not a toy for the average noble to fool around with.”

“I didn’t say I wanted a bareboat charter, nor that it was for leisure.” Louis corrected her. “I am in need of a small tonnage, small-sized airship with low crew requirements, high speed, and limited fuel consumption regardless of mechanical complexity.” He waved an arm around the room. “Last I checked there was one ship that actually fit the bill in town and I so happen to be having a chat with her Captain. No bareboat charter of course, your reputation alone gives me a good insight on your level of competence.”

“So you did your research.” Elaena raised her feathery brows. “Color me impressed. What does your contract entail?”

“A moment please.” He turned towards his gargoyle bodyguard. “Derek?”

The young gargoyle mutely handed him a manila folder before returning back to his position. Louis moved to show Elaena the folder before halting mid-motion and turning back towards Derek.

“Come to think of it, I do need a drink.” He said, fishing out a couple bills out of his pocket that he then handed over to the gargoyle. “No need to be so tense Derek, it’s only Panthera. Go grab me a gin and a cigar, and do take something for yourself. I heard they brewed a good lager over here.”

Derek politely nodded before moving off towards the bar.

“New hire?”

“Indeed. He’s actually a rather skilled mage, just a bit stressed by the job.” Louis let out a small chuckle. “Now, this contract. Have you been following the news recently?”

“You mean ‘business’ news or ‘regular’ news?” She asked before motioning towards the manila folder. “May I?”

“By all means.” He smiled, watching her open the folder and do a double-take at the first page.

“Captain, are you by any chance familiar with aliens?” Louis chuckled.

“How soon?”

“In two days, at noon.”

“I’m in.”
> Chapter 36: Disenchantment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A thick folder slid in the center of the table around which several Officers from both Amandine and the Rhine were gathered, as well as Sidereal and Radiant. Raimund and Dilip were sitting at both ends of the table, the Indian Diamond Dog with his arms crossed and a frown on his features.

“So how far along was your research on what went on?” Sidereal asked.

“We have several observations of the wave effect that preceded the Event. Time of passage, the direction it came from, and we also plotted a couple points of origin on our charts.” Raimund told her, the young unicorn opening the folder to a page showing a map of Europe.

“There is also the matter of what was heard on the radio waves before the Event however…” Dilip trailed off.

“I’m afraid my progress on the conversion algorithm for the radio log is at a dead end.” Aleksei interjected with a sour look on her beak. “Despite my best attempts, my coding skills are not up to par.” The Latvian hippogriff conceded with a shake of her head.

“Can it be solved?” Dilip asked her.

“I may have an idea. Before the Event, I used to refer to several online repositories to write my code. I should be able to finish my task if we could salvage one such repository from a tech company’s database.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow…” Sidereal said.

“Think of it like enchantment spells or talismans, only to make their machines work.” Radiant butted in. “At least that’s how I understand it once they told me.” The grey Pegasus shrugged with his wings. Angelo had mostly glossed over the subject, the Second Engineer being more familiar with hardware than software.

“Then that’s settled. One expedition to a tech company scheduled.” Dilip clapped the flat of his cream-furred paw against the table like a gavel. “Back to the subject, our observations established that the wave –or rather, waves- of the Event had some origin points.”

Sidereal took a look at a map which highlighted points of observations, wave vectors and (assumed) origin points all over Europe. It did remind her of something she had seen on maps of Equestria during her studies… Rubbing a hoof against her chin pensively, the Doctor pointed at a point on the chart near the English Channel.

“Do you know anything particular about these areas?”

Dilip leaned forward a bit to take a look.

“That’s Southampton. Not much particular about it, fair-sized port, rather industrial but that’s about it.” He shrugged.

“I didn’t take the bearing, but how accurate is it?” Raimund tried.

“Not much actually, I’d say it’s plus-or-minus four degrees, the CCTV footage wasn’t too good. Why the question?”

The German Captain levitated a pencil over the map and circled an area near a different town, some 50km North-West of the original point. At the range the bearing was taken at in Belgium, the difference was indeed below four degrees.

“There, Salisbury.” The mare stated firmly. “That would make a lot more sense.”

“What’s there in Salisbury?” Radiant asked.

“Near Salisbury.” Dilip corrected. “Stonehenge, an antique site with a circle of raised stones… and a couple ancient tombs too, I think...”

“How ancient exactly?” The Pegasus insisted.

“Thousands of years, I think it dates back to before we even discovered writing.” The pariah dog explained. “That’s a bold statement Raimund, what makes you think it’s tied to the Event?”

“Please…” She rolled her eyes. “With a site like that and magic involved, the correlation is too big to ignore. It’s not the only one either, look at the origin point you plotted in Brittany.”

“What of it?”

“I’ve been there on holidays, depending on the accuracy you either wind up in Broceliande, of all places, or in Carnac. That’s two more big places ley line nut jobs like to blabber about, and I’m pretty sure the intersection around Narvik will lead to something like Viking stones or rock carvings.”

“Did you just say ley line?” Sidereal interrupted her.

“That I did. I think I know where this is going…”

“They are a confirmed phenomenon in Equestria. The surge travelling through them... that would make sense.” The red made told.

“Called it.” Raimund sniffed. “So Doctor, care to tell us what they actually are, just so we’re on the same page?”

Sidereal started off by explaining how magic as a whole was an energy that encompassed everything around them and how it travelled. Equestrian mages had long made observations of how its intensity varied depending on the area, seemingly flowing in certain directions and concentrating in certain areas.

She likened it to a much more complicated variant of a planet’s magnetic field. Where a magnetic field could be summed up to two poles with vectors going from one to another, sometimes with a few anomalies, the ley line field was much more complex. The lines wove an intricate field of nodes and intersections, some more powerful than others but all having some form of a tie to magic. Be it a high intensity area or even a dead zone where the magic waves cancelled themselves.

“That’s nice and all but this leads to more questions than it actually answers.” Alejandro said. “I can visualize the Event creating ley lines, but the ancient sites on the supposed nodes imply they were already there to begin with.” He said, pointedly looking towards the Equestrians.

“To be fair the energy flow around this planet is quite chaotic.” Sidereal frowned. “But looking back at it, I may have indeed spotted hints of ley lines when using my mage sight. At first I assumed the chaotic flow was because they were still forming after the recent exposure to a magic surge but…” She rubbed a hoof through her mane. “…It could also be that it was an overflow.”

“Do explain.” Raimund beckoned her while quickly checking that one of her Officers had started taking notes.

“Bear with me, observations of ley lines and the global magical field through the ages have revealed that it does fluctuate in intensity over the course of several centuries. This may be why I wasn’t told the whole story and your species was so vulnerable to magic… I mean, you could have hit a sort of… long-winded magical drought, the deprivation making humans vulnerable to magic after living without it for so long. But really, it’s just a theory…” She shrugged. “The ley lines would still be there, like irrigation canals during a dry spell, gathering what little magic was left in the world. Then the surge comes and it naturally flows through the lines.”

“That makes sense… I think.” Josselin said, the French unicorn busily writing things down on a notepad. “Gives the whole notion of Disenchantment a literal meaning.”

“Disenchantment?” Radiant cocked his head quizzically.

“Entzauberung in German. It’s a concept established by Max Weber, a German sociologist, around the end of the 19th century. I don’t remember too much about it but he went on about the development of civilization and rationalization around the globe doing away with traditions and old beliefs.” He waved a brown hoof in the air vaguely. “Gone are all mysteries of magic and religion, we have science now, and as civilization and the scientific mind develop, superstitions are debunked and disappear. I mean… the guy was right in a way; you just have to compare us as sailors now with our equivalent a hundred years back. A lot less mystical and superstitious I’d say. And it’s been happening over the course of centuries.”

“That just means the theorized magical drought is echoed culturally…” Dilip mused. “To the point where it was reduced to nothing in the last century. This reminds me, do you all mind if I have something fetched from the armory? An artifact we retrieved in Belgium.”

They accepted to take a brief break to allow him to get what he wanted to show them. Cups of coffee and tea were passed around the table while some fell into idle talk, the siren they had killed the day before still present in their minds. Raimund stayed silent and carefully surveyed the mood of the Officers present in the room.

Most seemed relieved the threat of the siren was gone, but Josselin and Valentyn were having a chat with Radiant. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but it was clear his two Officers were worried about something.

Chances were, if they were talking with an Equestrian about it, it was all about monsters.

Not that they didn’t worry Raimund either. Sidereal had showed her an Equestrian bestiary when Dilip brought up the subject to recoup it with his own experiences. The kinds of beasts that could possibly be roaming Earth at the moment…

Let it be said that the retrieval of the CV90 was a great reassurance to the teenaged mare considering how big some monsters could get. Some may say the 40mm gun was overkill, she’d tell them to look at drawings of a cave troll. They definitely should give a cursory briefing about that bestiary, if only to clear up some misconceptions.

A rating eventually came back with a package wrapped in canvas he gave to Dilip. Sidereal visibly recoiled when the object came close to her.

“Captain, what in Tartarus is this?” She loudly asked.

“A sword.” Dilip stated, unrolling the canvas packaging and setting it down on the table. “What’s wrong about it, I’d very much like to know.”

Everyone came closer to take a look at it. It was the Congo Sword Bart had obtained at his unit’s regimental museum, but now the weapon was glowing even brighter. The pinkish light coming from the jewel in its power was about as strong as that of a chemlight, as well as that of the blade as they saw when Dilip pulled it out of its scabbard.

And of course there was the deep feeling of wrongness every single one of them felt when they looked at it, as if the sword was staring back at them in malice. Not that it would have surprised them if it did, what with its history…

“According to Corporal De Mesmaeker, it can either be called the Congo Sword or the Heart of Darkness, depending on who you ask.” The Indian explained, fingers drumming against the table. “He brought it to the armory a few days ago reporting it had started glowing and that it was particularly hard to lift with his telekinesis.”

“This sword is enchanted.” The red mare stated, conjuring up her mage sight. “I don’t recognize the enchantment’s type or make, but it clearly is, and it absorbs magic.”

“That would explain why it resists telekinesis…” Radiant commented, the Pegasus hovering above the assembled Officers to get a better look.

“Most likely.” Sidereal scowled at the sword. “Captain, as admirable as the craftsmanship of this sword is… it’s a magical aberration. The magic woven into it screams of pain, misery and resentment. How did this come about?”

The Captain cringed. Guess it was time to tell the ponies about the more… unpleasant aspects of human history. His eyes surveyed the attendance and landed on Erik, the centaur mare serving as the Rhine’s Chief Engineer who just so happened to be Belgian.

“Jakobs I believe? Care to tell our dear equine visitors the tale of the Congo Free State?” The dog asked her with a predatory smile.

That was going to be hard to explain…







At the same time, the veterans were doing some weapon cleaning inside Amandine’s armory. Bart was behind a workbench, busily cleaning the powder residues off of the .50 cal he had used to bring down the siren.

Artyom was working on another bench a couple meters off to the side, trying to fix the scope on his SCAR. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but firing his rifle at the range after the whole siren ordeal revealed it was off target. Considering how far he had been thrown, it really was no surprise the gun’s optic would have been damaged.

“That was a nice shot yesterday.” The dragon commented, screwdriver in claw and carefully inspecting his scope. “How far was it?”

Bart paused for a second, his dirty rag halting midair over his machinegun, wrapped in the telltale glow of his telekinesis.

“760 meters, min of meer. Easy shot with the fire control.” He shrugged. “Hoe is your injury?”

“Just a scratch.” Artyom gingerly brushed a claw over his chest. He had to remove a few of the broken scales after the incident, but there were already a couple new ones growing in their stead. No reason to be worried, he had cleaned it, put a bandage and called it a day.

That, and he had found himself nibbling on some waste metal and looted jewelry (but not the Crown Jewels this time) they had lying around. According to Equestrian books, his scales were rather weak for a dragon his age, something he intended to correct.

“Still, glad to find we’ve one more competent fighter on the crew.”

“It’s my job.” Bart said. “Been in the army since I was eighteen. I went… places.”

“Saw a lot of action?”

That actually got a genuine laugh out of the sky blue unicorn.

“Sorry… I’m Belgian, not American.” He told Artyom with a shake of his head. “I went to Afghanistan, yes, but my country doesn’t fight much. It’s always…” He hesitated. “Guard this airport, watch that checkpoint, train those militia guys, but we don’t go out looking for fights. French do, Brits do, but we?” He chuckled. “Only the luchtmacht attacks, the landmacht guards. If any of us fights, it’s because someone attacked us first, and it doesn’t happen often.”

“Sounds pessimistic.”

“Realistic.” The unicorn countered with a derisive snort. “My people don’t die often in foreign wars, and when they do it’s always very bad press. Belgium…” He sighed. “The army isn’t… wasn’t liked. Someone dies, just in an accident, and the nieuws go: don’t enlist, you’ll die, the pay is bad anyway.”

“That bad uh?”

“I’ve served during the time of the militia and the professional army.” Bart explained, looking down at his brown beret he had set down on his workbench. “When we transitioned and removed military service, it became very difficult to get new soldiers. Always was actually. Dus… most Belgian soldiers are old like me.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“In Belgium you can only enlist if you are younger than 35. Guess the average age in the army?”

“35 I guess?” The ex-VDV shrugged.

“43 actually.” Bart smiled grimly. “Belgen never were big warriors. What about Russia?”

“What about us?” Artyom quirked his head.

“Just curious. It’s a new world, why be enemies anymore? You’re… were VDV, elite unit. I’m interested.” He said, pointing a hoof at Artyom’s beret which was poking out of his coveralls’ pocket.

Artyom paused to consider his thoughts for a moment, distractedly twirling his screwdriver in his claws.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of having been a paratrooper but… it didn’t end well and I don’t like talking about it ok? If you’re curious, just look up the First Chechen War.” The screwdriver in his claws halted its motion abruptly. “The reason I keep the beret you gave me? That’s because the rest of the crew look up to us veterans. It’s good for morale.”

“Ah… sorry. No ill taken?” Bart excused himself.

“None.” Artyom shook his head. “Leaving the past behind, you think we can get the tank to work?”

The Belgian looked off towards where he knew they had put the combat vehicles with a frown.

“No idea. We can make it work… but work well? It takes training, ervaring-err sorry, experience I meant-, and nobody has that.” He said. “I can help with the Piranhas, but that? Training takes time, and a lot of the time we have better things to do than playing with tanks.”

“Ain’t that true.” The dragon sniffed, releasing a small puff of smoke out of his nostrils. “To be honest? I doubt we will get to use it anytime soon for anything other than training.”

“No argument there.”







Much later in the afternoon, a lone Defender stopped in front of an office building. It was situated in a fairly recent, high-value quarter south of downtown Copenhagen.

Built on reclaimed land, it was very clear by the looks of the area that it had been a recent addition to the cityscape: brand new grey bricks, high-tech window frames, modern energy-efficient architecture… the whole nine yards with wide streets and freshly-planted trees all around. The sides of the canals were even filled with those modern Dutch-built houseboats, the ones that were basically a house on top of a floating concrete box. Aleksei knew the stuff; she had checked the prices of such houses in a couple countries before the Event.

Needless to say, the Latvian didn’t bother checking twice. Way too much for a concrete box in a crowded quarter. She’d rather stick to her shoddy apartment in Riga, at least that one she owned.

That didn’t mean the area didn’t bear marks of disuse, in particular when it came to the houseboats. Some of them had broken out of their moorings and drifted into others, puncturing their brittle hulls and sending them to the bottom of the shallow canals, their upper floors still above the surface. The banks of the canals now looked more like a ship graveyard than the expensive city dwellings they used to be.

The streets didn’t fare too well either. A spring tide had brought layers of silt and sand onto the asphalt, paired with clumps of seaweed some flocks of seagulls were now sifting through in search of shells and crabs. The birds had even pulled trash from nearby garbage cans which now littered the area.

“Something tell me rent would drop significantly if people came back to witness that.” Carla joked.

“Uh, they always were overpriced anyway.” Aleksei replied as she exited the 4x4 and looked at a couple seagulls ahead of them. “If I were to buy something expensive –and trust me I’ve looked around-, I’d rather take something in the countryside. You get much better surface area for the same price.”

“Hmm, dunno.” The cadet hippogriff said, sweeping the entrance of the office building with his SMG. “I’ve always rather liked the city life. Not that it matters anymore either way.”

“I think it still does. You don’t think we will keep roaming around forever do you?”

“Of course not… but will we really get a choice when we settle down?” Carla said.

“Come again?”

“I thought about it, really.” He said. “I bet you at some point we will wind up establishing some kind of HQ somewhere, if only to use it as a depot to drop off stuff we salvage from abandoned cities. So maybe we’ll wind up using a city block as a ‘sailors’ village’ so to speak. No pick on where you get to live, and no country mansion for you either.”

“Or you could just choose to live in a colony we come across.” Sandra butted in, the dark purple batpony walking inside the lobby after them.

Yeah, they had her tag along as a translator. Aleksei didn’t really speak Danish and she’d rather have her by her side than bring a dictionary. The lobby that greeted them left her little doubt this was the tech company she aimed for, what with the modern white furniture and numerous screens around. She just had to find the switchboard and their server room, and she should be able to get the coding repository she needed.

“Sure feels like we have a lot to pick from as of now.” Carla said sarcastically.

“Give it time. I for one am looking forward to when we hit Havana.” Sandra said.

“You do know it’s not going to be a holiday visit?” Aleksei warned her.

She moved over to the receptionist’s desk and started looking for a floor plan of the building. With a bit of luck a tech company would do most of their work in English.

“I’ll make do.” Sandra smiled, revealing her batpony fangs. “I know we’re very busy but it doesn’t mean we can’t spare a bit of time for leisure.”

“The Captain doesn’t like wasting time. And neither does Schmitt. Understandably so when you think about it: us not working doesn’t mean the ship stops running, and to them it feels like fuel burned with nothing gained.”

“Yeah, and there are still things that need to be done either way. We can’t just drop everything for a day. Gotta keep the kitchens staffed, the terminal guarded, someone sober on the bridge with a couple assistant in case shit goes down and so on…” Carla added to Aleksei’s explanation. “Not that you’re wrong, but it’s more complicated than just decreeing nobody’s gonna work on a particular day.”

“My bad, sorry.” She apologized sheepishly.

“Don’t be.” Aleksei patted a wing over her back. “You’re new to the industry. Usually in port we do shore leave in shifts. Not that it’s ever particularly long with Amandine considering the number of ports we gotta hit in short order. I guess now it will get a bit quieter even once we assist enough colonies to get a proper circuit. Shore leave aside, can you translate that floor plan for me? I need the switchboard to restart current in the building, and the server room.” She asked, holding out a folded piece of paper to the radio operator.

“Right, on it.”

Getting the power grid back online and finding the server room didn’t pose too much trouble. Aleksei didn’t even have any difficulty rebooting them once she found it. Rows of led lights lit up inside the room the moment she pressed the button once she got inside, revealing rack after rack of carefully wired servers whilst cooling fans spooled up above her with a loud whirr.

Numerous transparent tubes connected to the back of the servers, each filled with coolant that circled back to a cooling system suspended in a wire cage above her.

Someone had been paid a whole lot of money to make that setup. Now she only needed to figure out how to get in and copy their data…

…Which required her to figure out how to log into the system. Of fucking course she had to. How did she even forget about that part?!

“Kuces Dçls!” She screamed to the skies in frustration at her own oversight.

Or the ceiling rather. A bit less classy.

“Something wrong?” Carla asked her.

“Forgot about the whole login part.” The Latvian muttered dejectedly as she sank down to her haunches, wings limp.

“Can’t you… hack your way inside?” The other hippogriff asked, drumming his talons in a typing motion.

“Need I remind you we’re here so that I can figure out how to code properly? If I could hack into the damn thing we wouldn’t be here in the first place damn it!” She cried out, rearing up on her hooves and swiping her claw against the side of one server rack in frustration.

Carla recoiled slightly at the display, an awkward grimace on his beak. Aleksei fell back down on her haunches with a sigh, head held low. She brushed her talons through her white crest of feathers pensively for a minute or so before finally turning back to the cadet.

“Ok, new plan but this might take a while. You keep an eye on the Defender and tell the ships we will be late on the radio, Sandra and me will start looking around the offices. I bet there must have been an intern or secretary that wrote down their ID and password somewhere.”

“Wait, you’re going to rely on them being sloppy to gain access?”

“It’s not like I got a better idea.” The light-green and white hippogriff told the other. “Only chance I got at getting into that database is hoping they left a key under the metaphorical carpet.”

“Your call, I’ll be outside.” Carla shook his head and headed for the exit, leaving only Sandra and Aleksei inside.

The offices were pretty much the standard fare you would have found when searching for modern hip companies in the tech industry: roomy, with lots of plastic plants and soft tones. The furniture was fairly modern, with many workstations being equipped with those so-called ergonomic ball chairs.

It was so stereotypical the Latvian even found rolled-up yoga mats under a couple desks, and there were others that also had miniature Japanese gardens next to the computers.

“God, I know you Danes are famed for your ‘work-life balance’ but that here is just over the top.” Aleksei scowled after discovering some flyers for a ‘cornflakes saloon’ in the drawers of a desk.  “So much hipster shit in there.”

“Eh, don’t mix up hipster city lifestyle with Danish culture.” Sandra replied just as she was flipping through a notebook held in the digits of her wing. Not finding anything, she tossed it aside. “A lot of us are more traditional than that, me included. I find these… trend-obsessed guys to just be vapid and devoid of any actual creativity.”

“You and me both. By the way, how do you find life on Amandine?”

“I’m getting used to it.” The batpony said. “I’m not a fan of the noise you know…” She rubbed a wing against the headphones she was wearing nearly 24/7 by now. “Bat hearing and loud generators don’t get along too well, but it sure is interesting. Many different nationalities to learn about, I find it fascinating.”

“It gets old quick. After a while you just put it aside because everyone speaks English anyway and we’re actually pretty similar from doing the same job.” The hippogriff said after she moved over to the next desk. Funnily enough, the contents usually could tell a lot about the former owner of the workstation. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re very different culturally and it’s easy to notice, but as far as work goes? Anyone that’s been in the industry long enough essentially thinks and works the same way.”

“Really?”

“Okay, maybe there are some small factors but rank and role have more impact than nationality. Officers and Engineers? Educated folks with at least a bachelor’s degree. Take the ratings? Blue collar workers, experienced and trained to work with highly technical machinery. And we’re all firefighters too. Cultural differences only start coming into play once we hang our hardhats.” Aleksei mentioned. “You’ll see once we get more sea time. By the way, I was told you were given a radio station?”

And Sandra had indeed been given the consoles for her radio station which she had set up next to her newly acquired computer inside her cabin. It still wasn’t operational because they needed to install additional antennas above the bridge, just so she wouldn’t be hogging the bridge’s when she made her broadcasts. Not a big deal really, it ought to be finished in a matter of days and she already had a couple ideas.

The dark purple batpony told Aleksei about her dreams of having her own radio station. She already had her ideas for programs and broadcasts, and her job at the maritime radio station had been intended to later lead her to entertainment radio stations.

So now she had drafted a couple ideas about a radio station meant for survivors. She could start giving advice on survival over the waves, tell them how to set up solar panels, fix up a car and even relate all the stuff they had been told by the Equestrians, or whatever they discovered. Of course, considering how spread out colonies were according to the intel they had on American colonies as of now, she had to come up with a plan to make her station available worldwide.

Satellite radio was one such plan. The ‘alliance’ of sorts they had with the HPI meant they had access to a lot of satellite services she could use to make her broadcasts. So her idea was to make use of that system to send her broadcast up to a set of geostationary satellites in orbit, which would then send it back down to receivers all around the globe. Problem was, compared to FM/AM radios, satellite receivers weren’t that common. Without an alternative, few would be able to get her message, so she needed to come up with something better.

Relays. They were still in the conceptual stage, but Sandra had started drafting a system she could use to increase the coverage of her broadcast. It was rather simple, and meant to last without the backup of a functioning power grid. A few solar cells, a small-sized wind turbine and a couple batteries would ensure it always had power for the satellite receiver which would repeat her broadcast on FM and AM waves. Not really that complicated and the unit she had drafted by then took up a fraction of the volume of a TEU. She was pretty sure making it wouldn’t be too complicated either, so they could ‘seed’ the relays wherever they went.

Of course she was no electrician but the Rhine’s had been able to provide her with some valuable insight in the matter. Johann, a German batpony, had been a tremendous help to her pet project.

“You do know…” Aleksei began.

“Ja, of course I do.” Sandra rolled her eyes, tail flicking slightly. “He’s a batpony stallion, I’m a mare, I can put two and two together thank you very much.”

“Are you leading him on?”

“Nej! Of course not! I’d never do that.” Sandra shook her head firmly. “I’ll admit though… he is a pretty sweet guy.” She smiled.

“Cupid strikes again, and here I thought spring was over…” Aleksei drawled. “Listen, I don’t want to be mean but watch what you’re doing ok?” She warned her, talon pointed at a point between the shorter pony’s eyes.

“Come again?”

“Even with the Rhine in the fleet, we’re still a very small group. I won’t stop you from fooling around, I have no right to do so… but sexual tension and relationship drama is about the last thing we need.” The hippogriff said. “Maintaining cohesion in mismatched crews like those is hard enough as it is, we don’t need love triangles and lovers’ spats driving a wedge between sailors.”

“So? What about Vadim and Micha?”

“Come on, the last thing I’d expect with those two is to split up. They were already friends before the Event, and if anything Andy will make sure they stick together. No risk of baseless drama with them.”

“So what’s your point?” She tilted her head, squinting at the hippogriff.

“Sailors may be known for fucking around, but not on our own ship, don’t shit where you eat they say. There is an advantage to being able to sail away. Don’t go spreading your legs –or maybe I should say lifting your tail- on any of the ships, not when you’ll wind up meeting ex-lovers at every turn.”

“What kind of slag do you think I am?!” Sandra raised her voice in anger, hints of the batpony scream attack seeping in her tone.

Aleksei stoically withered the outraged cry and looked the shorter mare in the eye.

“I’m not calling you one. Just making sure you’re warned. You pick a partner, good for you, but stick to your choices.” She said before lifting up a post-it note between two talons. “Found a login by the way.”

She moved off towards the server room, picking up a couple USB keys and a hard drive on the way, Sandra following silently behind her with a frown.

“What about you?” She finally broke the silence just as the hippogriff was beginning to dig into the database.

“What about me?” The hippogriff’s ears rose up.

Aleksei hit a key on the keyboard in front of her and started downloading a couple files. Behind, the batpony loudly plopped down on her belly.

“You heard me. Oddly enough considering many of us have had their gender change along with their species, couples keep popping up on both ships.” She tilted her head. “If you’re going to give me a warning you should probably heed it as well.”

“I don’t need to heed it. Contrarily to most it seems I’m actually determined to get my dick back. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute to see a couple like Vadim and Micha or Carlos and Danny, but I’m deeply disturbed by how quick they actually got together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She pulled out the first USB stick and shoved another in the port. “I’m no fool, I know if I want to live outside and not in a shielded bunker I’ll have to stay a hippogriff as is… but I want to and I will be male again.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with relationships.” Sandra pointed out.

“Please.” The Latvian snorted. “It has everything to do with relationships. Do you really think that Micha, who basically made herself a new family, will actually want to go back to male if someone offered her? I read the Equestrian books, griffons, they pair bond, hard.”

“So you’re just gonna stay alone? That’s sad.”

“Alone is relative.” She waved a wing dismissively. “It never bothered me before, it shouldn’t now. And considering what I got out of the Equestrians, I ain’t gonna find a solution anytime soon.”

She had cornered Sidereal one evening, having figured the Doctor would be the most knowledgeable when it came to transformation magic.

Not much luck with that however. While Sidereal did acknowledge that such changes were possible, she was in no shape or form to be able to pull such tricks with her magic. She had gone on to explain with several examples to the Latvian how most transformation spells were temporary both by design and actual limitations. Even the most powerful of unicorns would be unable to make a transformation last forever. Something about the magic of the spell lattice laid on the target wearing off overtime. Exceptions to the rule were spellcasters so powerful they were the stuff of legend, and magical surges so powerful they could affect entire planets.

Guess which she had been subjected to. Why reality had to conform to the most basic tropes found in media, she had no idea, but anyone who knew the kind of stories she read online would call her situation ironic. Sidereal had further quashed her hopes of a temporary solution by pointing out that she and all former humans produced magic, unlike Equestrians, which meant that their transformation spells would be even less effective. Talk about a downer…

Yet there was hope. Sidereal recognized that Earth and her own planet’s (Equus it was named, if she remembered correctly) magic were different. The discussion on ley lines they had had that morning and the recognition of the Heart of Darkness as a magical artifact supported that theory.

What it meant was that she would have to look for ancient artifacts that may help her with that. Not exactly the most encouraging of prospects, but as long as she had a course to follow she had no reason to give up.

Eh, for all it was worth she could go to Greece and kick a couple of mating snakes. With her luck she could piss off a God and pull a Tiresias.

“Who’s Tiresias?” Sandra asked.

“Just an old Greek myth about a dude that got turned back and forth between man and woman before pissing off Zeus and getting his eyesight taken away.”

“Wait, so you’d rather have your dick than your eyes?”

Aleksei rubbed the underside of her beak. That was a fair question.







“So where were we last time?” Angelo said, the minotaur stopping to crack his knuckles and reach for a can of energy drink in his desk.

He had a pleasant ache in his muscles from an hour-long session spent pumping iron in the gym. He had never been particularly fond of exercising before the Event, but it now felt so damn fulfilling to get some use out of his new muscles.

Carlos wasn’t as… enthused by the activity, what with parrots not being as strong as humans, but at least he did show up.

“I think we were about to enter the industrial era?” Pulp reminded him, the Earth pony pulling a chair closer to Angelo’s desk.

Radiant Course was already sitting on the other side of the minotaur who pushed the start button of his gaming rig with a thick digit. The cooling fans started rotating with a soft buzz, just as the LED lights on the rig lit up much to the awe of both Equestrians, Radiant in particular.

It always brought a smile to the Greek’s face seeing the Pegasus almost childish awe and curiosity every time he showed him a new piece of tech, however anodyne it may seem to him.

He had gone through with his idea of showing them a simplified version of human history by using one of his favorite strategy games: Civilization 5. It may not be the best, nor was it accurate by any stretch of imagination (cue Napoleon denouncing Attila in 500BC), but provided he gave them explanations, it could act as a decent support.

The ponies were no fans of the war aspect of the game, but they showed genuine interest in the development of technology, culture and the growth of empires the game displayed.

“Right, industrial era.” Angelo flicked the tip of one horn distractedly just as he clicked on the game’s icon. “Bit of problems with the Ottomans but we were starting to get our first factories.” He paused to load up their save game. “You got any of those in Equestria?”

“Not many. They’re still fairly new and ponies prefer artisan labor to manufactured goods.” Radiant told him. “Most factories are in very large cities like Manehattan and they make goods for export. Canneries and industrial looms for instance.”

“Yeah, my family operates one of those.” Pulp said. “We get our fruits from the hinterland and have them canned near the docks. Then it’s off towards less fertile lands and even some colonies.”

The display on screen changed to reveal a map of the world, still with some dark areas they had yet to discover. Angelo had set up the game so the parameters were as close as possible to reality, with historical start locations on the Earth map.

He had them play as Greece, obviously, so he could tell them about ancient history in the beginning phases they had already done earlier (that and he felt like stroking his shriveled patriotic streak). By some stroke of bad luck, they wound up near the Ottomans who wound up pestering them for most of the game and fouling their strategy. Vienna has been conquered by Suleiman. 

Angelo carried on with the game like he had earlier, taking frequent pauses to tell the two ponies about history in the 19th century, the technologies they had developed in that time and what had actually happened in real history (as in: Alexander the Great didn’t really vanquish the Ottoman Empire using Gatling guns in 1860).

Turns out, Equestria and most of Equus were actually in the middle phase of their own industrial revolution. The inventions they had didn’t completely match (for instance Equestrian knowledge of firearms was basically nonexistent, though they had developed basic electrical installations rather early) but the similarities were there.

Other similarities including a really fucking weird habit ponies had of naming their cities after English or American towns with horse puns in the name. Were they aware of it? Yes. Why did they do it anyway? Pulp and Radiant just shrugged.

Just as they were starting to go into tech the ponies didn’t have, Angelo paused after giving an explanation on the importance of oil to most of their industry to grab a new can of energy drink.

“What is this? You drink a lot of that stuff.” Pulp poked the now crushed can with a hoof.

“Energy drinks. I drink coffee sometime but I prefer that when I’m just chilling. It’s not healthy, but then again neither is my job.” He shrugged. “Red Bull aside –pun intended- I got to hear Pulp’s life story but not yours Radiant.”

“It’s not exactly interesting.” The grey coated Pegasus muttered. “I’m from Cloudsdale like the overwhelming majority of Pegasi. My mom isn’t though, she immigrated there from the Crystal Empire. Never told me much about it either, and it’s so far up North I never bothered to visit.”

“Surely it gets better at some point.”

“How I got my Cutie Mark maybe.” He smiled. “Always been a fan of airships so… I snuck aboard one back when I was a foal.”

“Buck really?” Pulp laughed. “You mad colt! What happened?”

“They were only going to Canterlot so not much, but their Chief Officer showed me some of the ropes in the chart room and then…” He pointed to the vintage chart symbol on his flank. “The usual. Moral Compass that stallion was called; gave me a long talk about prospects in the industry and then pointed me to the nearest airfleet academy once we were back. Oh… and of course my mom had my hide over the incident.”

“Did you see him again?” Angelo asked.

“Moral Compass? I still see him whenever the winds bring me back to Cloudsdale, he’s become the airship dock’s Captain. Pretty sure he’s a figure most of Cloudsdale’ pegasi got to know at some point. And if you’re an airship sailor? Old stallion’s gonna treat you like family.”

“So wait… Cloudsdale is mostly pegasi?” Angelo asked.

“Well… not entirely. More like, nineteen out of twenty are pegasi, the rest are species that can cloudwalk, mostly griffons, they’re rather common there.”

“Cloudwalk?”

“We didn’t tell you?” Radiant wondered.

“Tell me what? Am I missing some big thing?”

“If by big thing you mean one of the biggest advantages pegasi have in life.” Pulp chuckled. “Winged species like pegasi and griffons can walk on clouds. Cloudsdale? Guess where the ‘cloud’ part comes from.”

“Pardon the pun, but I call bullshit.” The Greek minotaur crossed his arms, giving the two Equestrians a thoroughly unconvinced look.

“Yet the whole city floats a thousand meters above ground.” Radiant told the Greek. “It’s not even the best part. We pegasi can control weather, better than any other winged species.”

“Wha- uh… how?!”

“For one we can move clouds around, get them to drop their rain, divert storm fronts. Cloudsdale also houses Equestria’s weather factory.” The Pegasus smiled.

“Take it from an agronomist, most ponies say the Earth tribe is the reason why our crops are so damn good, but I’d say at least a third of our crop efficiency is owed to optimal weather conditions provided by the pegasi.” Pulp spoke up.

“I can imagine.” Angelo laid back in his chair. “So… what is it like? Are we speaking flying skyscrapers or…”

“More like buildings overwhelmingly made out of clouds. We do use other building materials but they need to be enchanted to connect to the clouds so they’re kind of expensive.” Radiant cracked his wings. “Lemme tell you, best bed you can find will always be a good cloud. If you want Gust and I were going to start showing the flyers tomorrow.”

“And here’s one thing I sure as Hell am going to show up to see.” The minotaur shook his head ruefully. “You know, with all the talk we’ve been having I tend to forget about magic.”

The game started going a bit faster as they snowballed through the Ottomans and started developing more modern technologies. At the ponies’ behest, Angelo stopped the war against Suleiman before they could finish him off and steered their nation towards a scientific victory. The ponies were amazed at some of the technologies humans had come up with like aviation and the internet but some…

The subject popped up the moment one of their cities exploded in a ball of nuclear fire courtesy of one ill-programmed Hindu ‘pacifist’. Angelo had cautiously avoided the topic knowing how the somewhat pacifistic ponies would react to the notion.

Of course Civilization’s Gandhi would throw a spanner in his plans, that’s what he always did.

“What the hay was that? The city’s gone!” Pulp cried out, watching the orange tint of the fallout settle on the land around the formerly bustling city.

“That… was a nuke. Remember what I said about nuclear power plants?”

“Of course. Dangerous, but their raw power is a boon to industry. Are they related?” Radiant’s ears twitched. 

Another explosion popped up on screen, wiping out a minor coastal city Pulp had unfortunately chosen to rename Manehattan. The Earth Pony’s ears flattened against his head.

“They are.” Angelo muttered somberly. “In fact, nukes were invented before we started making nuclear power plants. They’re mankind’s most powerful weapon by far as you can see… and also one of our greatest fears. The immense power of a nuclear plant I spoke of? Picture that condensed in one bomb so powerful it can flatten a city.”

Both ponies were aghast at his description. They looked back and forth between the sullen minotaur and the screen before Pulp finally spoke up.

“Why?”

“Good question. They were conceived during a time of war no one had ever seen before. The entire world had been ablaze for years, with one faction refusing to surrender despite mounting losses and the death of millions. So their adversary –the United States of America- came up with nukes. And they were successful.” Angelo rested his muzzle on his fists and stared off at the screen just as Thessaloniki was destroyed as well. “They only had to use two of them before their foe finally surrendered. And once the deed was done… the world was horrified. Beforehand, weapons were powerful, yes, but never to that extent. To think that a single object could achieve such amounts of destruction… it started a primal fear in the hearts of people.”

“I can see the reason why.” Pulp drawled.

“It gets worse… or better depending on how you see it. Some of the bombs’ creators realized how significant the weapon was and started passing information on how to make them to America’ biggest rival. What ensued once they had bombs of their own… is called the MAD doctrine. Aptly named if you ask me.”

“What does it stand for?”

“Mutually Assured Destruction. Each side started making so many of the weapons they numbered in the thousands, if not tens of thousands –pardon me if I’m mistaken-. Far more powerful than the first two, and each faction had enough of them to destroy the entire planet several times over. The MAD doctrine? It means nobody ever dares going to war with the other, because if they do, nobody will win and everyone will die.” Angelo theatrically pressed a finger against a key on his keyboard. “And all that power was in the hands of a few individuals who only needed to press a button to wipe us all out.” 

“But that’s crazy!”

“It is. But it worked in a way. With the exception of small-scale conflicts, no large war has ever been waged since then. Sure, you’ve got the odd civil war, independence conflicts and some insurrections but it worked overall.” Angelo rapped a knuckle against the side of his head. “People remember the day they were first used, they remember the tests made in empty wastelands with much larger bombs, that leaves a mark in their heads. I wouldn’t say most humans are particularly clever, but nobody’s dumb enough to start playing with the world-ending firecrackers.”

“You humans are crazy.” Pulp shook his head.

“Yeah, I ain’t gonna contest that.” The minotaur chuckled somberly. “If anything I’d say I’ve spent enough time on the internet to figure out we’re just as capable of achieving dumb shit as we are of doing great stuff. Hell, sometimes it’s even both at once.”

He looked back towards the screen to see that Gandhi’s nuke frenzy had abated… for now. Idly, he started up the production chain for the spaceship parts they’d need to finish the game and get their science victory.

“You know, the same tech that allowed us to fire nukes all over the globe stems from the same branch that sent some of us to the moon. It’s not a unique case either, many discoveries we’ve made in the past have been used both for ill and for good. Take chemistry for instance, that branch of science helped us sanitize our water and save millions of lives from dysentery while at the same time leading to the advent of deadly chemical weapons that can literally make your own blood turn toxic.”

Radiant paled at the mention of chemical weapons, but to the pegasus’ credit he shook it off and focused back on the screen while Pulp reclined back in his chair, deep in thought.

They were just about to finish the game when the Earth pony rasped his throat.

“The nukes… are they stored safely?”

“I think most of them were on warships but some were… oh son of bitch!” He stood up, throwing his chair back.

Sure, a lot were on board of warships but it was just as likely that many of them would be in airbases and nuclear silos. Stuff that hadn’t been taken away along with its caretakers. This meant that there were now thousands of unattended warheads all around the globe, just waiting to be swiped away by some of the intelligent monsters like the siren they had just killed.

The HPI had better have something in store against that.
> Chapter 37: Gunnery Training
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of the 27th of June came in Copenhagen, and along with it a thick cloud cover that brought an end to the sunny weather they had enjoyed until then. It didn't do much to stave off the summer heat and humidity though. Some concerns were shown towards the risk of rain occurring and causing flash rust on areas of the Rhine they were still working on, but thankfully no water fell down on the still exposed and uncoated steel of the barge carrier’s new container bay.

They had yet to find the boats Amadi had proposed adding to the Rhine’s fleet of barges and tugs, but at least the structure of the container bay was nearly finished. The welders were finally free after a considerable amount of time spent building the cell guides for the containers, internal passageways and the separating bulkhead. Now the time had come to coat the freshly built structure in a layer of protective paint, set up the extensive electrical installation, and all manners of work that would make the container bay the modular structure they wanted it to be.

By the estimations of both ships’ Chief Engineers, they’d need about one more week to finish it before they could start loading containers. Already, some had been brought next to the Rhine ahead of time. Those would make up the lower layers inside the bay that they would then connect to the ship’s power grid. With the way they had made sure to install passageways inside the container bay, that should allow them to greatly extend the number of rooms available on the Rhine.

Such rooms would include additional cabins made using the humanitarian containers from the UNICEF depot, others would be the lab Camille had insisted was necessary, one made from field lab units they had found; along with a containerized MRI scanner assembled a few days earlier using equipment found in a nearby hospital.

The lab was one of the biggest reasons they needed the container bay. The HPI’s R&D department had already sent them experiment requests and offered them some very interesting financial incentives for medical scans of post-Event species.

Reverse-engineering medical potions was another incentive they’d need to account for. Discussions between Sidereal and Camille led them to having to design a new botanic/hydroponic lab in preparation for the plants the Doctor ensured were needed to create health potions.

But all these ongoing construction projects were not what drew the most attention that morning.

‘Boom!’

That merit went to the armored vehicles they were trying out. All three of their Piranhas and the CV90 had been lined up facing towards the shooting range they had made to train the Rhine’s crewmembers a while ago.

‘Boom!’ The air shook again just as the CV90 fired a single shot out of its main gun at a target a kilometer away.

They weren’t using high-explosive or fragmentation shells just yet. Instead, an extremely fast armor-piercing fin-stabilized arrow left the cannon, shedding its sabot on the way out to go pierce a hole through the yellow steel plate they were using as a target.

“Hit.” Artyom called through the headset from his position in the IFV’s commander seat, the hatch open and the blue dragon’s head poking out as he looked at the target through a pair of binoculars.

Around the vehicle, a couple sailors that weren’t saddled with duties at the moment filmed them as they tried out all the vehicles’ guns. Pulp and Radiant were even there to witness the training, both ponies wearing thick ear defenders and staring at the tall combat vehicles in awe. Remotely operated weapon systems like the Piranhas’ or even elaborate fire control systems like the one on the CV90 were miles ahead of the type of weapons the Equestrians were already acquainted with.

The sailors needed training to use them properly. A lot of training. Bart was seen trotting up and down the line of Piranhas barking orders at their gunners through the open rear ramps, the unicorn instructing them on how to properly use the guns.

Considering they were using .50 cal machineguns and a 40mm flak gun, extreme caution was necessary. Hell, even the brass the CV90 sent up in the air could be a hazard, let alone its shells. All of the trainees had gone through extensive briefings before any of the Officers would even consider handing them the AFV’s keys.

“Loading new clip, APFSDS.” Sri called from inside the turret as she inserted four new rounds in the feed system.

This would be the biggest disadvantage of the IFV, which was ironically tied to its biggest strength. While its 40mm gun made it far more powerful than any competitors like American Bradleys or British Warriors, the gun wasn’t belt-fed, unlike a Bushmaster autocannon. The gunner had to grab the ammunition by strip clips of four and load it in the feed system manually.

Hence, much slower rate of fire to offset the increased range and stopping power. But the stopping power in question was the exact reason why they felt using the IFV may not be such a bad idea. Gust had showed them some extracts from the Equestrian Bestiary, and many monsters were simply huge.

Granted, their heavy machineguns would certainly be able to cause harm to the vast majority of the monsters in the book, but the 40mm would ensure the same monsters that could tank a dozen .50 cal shots would instead be knocked out instantly with the main gun.

As for the few that wouldn’t be because of their though chitin or scales… well, that’s what the APFSDS ammunition was for. The notes they had brought back from Revingehed reported that the ammunition was powerful enough to penetrate 150mm of steel. Sri very much doubted anything short of a fucking Equestrian Godzilla would be able to shrug off that kind of firepower.

But the system was complicated to use, and even harder to maintain. The fire control system was rife with electronics and sensors Sri had been forced to learn the ins and outs of. Lock-on features, thermal imagery, fire-on-the-move stabilization and even weather sensors. All needed to be taken into account to give the IFV its ability to engage targets beyond 4000 meters. 

And she hadn’t delved into the fuse programmer yet. A powerful tool to be sure, but highly technical as well, to the point where the ivory hippogriff wracked her brain for a good few hours trying to figure out how it worked.

The user manual being written in Swedish might be at fault there.

The gist of the concept with the fuse programmer was an enhancement made to the proximity fuse system in the fragmentation shells the 40mm fired. At the push of a button, the targeting computer could modify the time of detonation depending on the target.

A group of hostiles taking shelter inside a bunker or a building? Delayed detonation, so the shrapnel is released inside.

Cluster of monsters behind a ridgeline? Press the button, aim at the ridgeline and the gun corrects the aiming to have the shell explode exactly above them.

In short, the ideal system to turn the anti-air firepower of the 40mm Bofors into a ridiculously effective anti-infantry weapon… or rather anti-monster in their case.

Sri took the gun’s controls in her claws and aimed it at the next target. She felt the turret turn and rotate to the side with a loud buzz as she lined up the sights on her next target. Tag it with the rangefinder; adjust elevation, a press of the button on the fire-control to adjust for weather conditions…

“Ready!” She called to Artyom.

“Fire!” The dragon barked back.

Four booming noises rang out in quick succession the moment the hippogriff in the gunner seat pressed the trigger pedal. The two ponies outside the IFV spotted four blurs leave the barrel and strike their target dead-center. The empty brass casings were ejected high up in the air before falling back down on the concrete quays with a loud ‘clang!’.

One of them rolled to a halt next to Pulp who carefully prodded it with his hoof. He pulled it back with a wince.

“Hot?” Radiant asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Like burning coals.” The Earth Pony bit his lip, turning his gaze towards the Piranhas that were now firing short bursts at the target as well, their brass landing below the gun instead of being sent high up in the air like on the CV90. “Why does it do that?”

“Do what?”

The IFV opened fire anew so Pulp just pointed at the flying shell casings.

“Oh… I think I remember something about Bart saying the gun is technically upside down. That’s why it flies up.” The Pegasus yelled over the constant staccato of the .50 cals. “Apparently it was necessary to fit it inside the turret. I think it’s amazing.”

“And I think it’s horrifying.” Pulp frowned. “That amount of firepower…”

“You do know some countries back home have breech-loaders?” Radiant cut him off.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Airships and regular ships, most countries outfit them with cannons.” Radiant explained. “I know Equestria doesn’t… but it’s perfectly legal to arm civilian vessels –within limits of course- in at least half the countries on Equus. Sure…” He waved his wing towards the CV90. “They don’t have that kind of rate of fire but these guys don’t have magic beam projectors either.”

“What? Who the hay uses that?!” Pulp asked him wide-eyed.

“Seaquestria for sure… and I think they bought the design from another country, can’t remember which. Fact is… only Equestria is that disarmed, and since we’re not that inclined to show off the navy I’m not surprised you wouldn’t know much about weapons. Hay, let’s be happy we’re allies with the Crystal Empire ‘cause their shard cannons sure do a number on monsters.” Radiant turned back towards the IFV to see Sri rotate the turret to test-out the controls. “That being said, these guns are better weapons than ours, I’ll give you that.”

“Wait… so if we have cannons, why does Gust use a crossbow again?”

“Everfree Rangers ain’t military you doofus.” Radiant chuckled. “I think they’re under the Department of Forestry and Natural Resources… don't quote me on that tho’. That, and they need to use their specialized arrowheads. Can’t shoot arrows from a musket now.”

Pulp just decided to drop the subject and focus back on the big guns the sailors were training with. Horrifying or not… they did manage to eliminate a threat anypony would have deemed to be Pillar-level.

Though considering what his pegasus friend had just told him, maybe he’d need to look into what the Equestrian army was doing beside just the Royal Guards and the Wonderbolts.







“Captain, may I have a word with you?”

Dilip set down his binoculars and turned halfway from his position on Amandine’s starboard bridge wing to look at Sidereal. The mare was looking a bit frazzled, with her red mane sticking out at odd angles and bags under her large eyes. He caught a hint of worry in her eyes.

“Of course. What’s the matter? Is it about the training of some crewmembers?”

“Not at all.” She shook her head firmly, which didn't help the state of her mane. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I delved a bit deeper into my research.”

“Which topic then? The ley lines or the monsters?” The pariah dog inquired, one ear twitching slightly.

“Bit of both. I… commandeered some of the crystals they extracted out of Anton first.”

“I take it it’s something your kin faced in the past.” He turned his back to her to stare off in the distance towards where the vehicles were practicing.

“But not with sirens.” Sidereal pointed out. “I took the liberty of teleporting back to the fort to check something.”

“The carcass.” Dilip didn’t turn around but a scowl appeared on his muzzle. “Risky.”

“Captain… the siren bore the same symptoms of crystalline infection as Anton… albeit much more acute. I have no doubt that the siren was controlling Anton herself… but the crystals came from something else. They’ve been used against Equestria in the past by a former unicorn that was corrupted. By what, nopony ever discovered. But it’s back, and it’s powerful enough to take control of creatures like sirens.”

Dilip brushed a paw against the underside of his jaw. Shame they didn’t make it a habit of inspecting monsters they killed.

“The unicorn?”

“Sombra was taken care of years ago. This entire thing worries me, and I won’t have actual answers until we get the data I asked for in my previous report. What I can tell you for now is… mysterious sigils, monsters, crystals and ancient threats, those are things my countryponies faced and defeated in the past. But all at once?”

“Is it the first time they team up like that?”

“No, but not to such an extent.”

Dilip’s fingers drummed against the railing for a couple seconds before he lifted his head slightly.

“Are the crystals infectious?”

“No, they’re a physical manifestation of something else. A form of magical corruption most likely, which I assume is how it got transmitted to Anton.”

“How come?”

“The enthrallment set upon her by the siren is… some form of imprinting in a manner of speaking. If the siren’s magic is infected, then I believe the infection could spread down to enthralled ponies. Not sure though… that’s some extremely dark and illegal magic right there.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised to learn that. As long as it doesn’t spread to my or Raimund’s sailors then it’s fine.” He paused. “Well, it isn’t really. I’d wager that siren is only the beginning of something far worse. Whatever brought her here likely brought the monsters as well.” His paw tightened against the railing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if any… villain for a lack of a better term heard of what was going on here and decided to profit off the power vacuum. Lots of riches around the planet to take for themselves after all.” He concluded with a sniff, tail going still.

“That’s not the only thing.” Sidereal continued, joining Dilip’s side and propping herself up against the railing with her forehooves.

Down on the quays, the vehicles had stopped their gunnery training and were now in the process of figuring out how to properly drive with them. Not an easy thing to do considering the poor visibility AFV’s typically allowed their drivers. Despite Bart’s continuous advice, they could see them bumping into traffic cones (crushing them in the CV90's case) the unicorn had set down for them to maneuver around. The Belgian had his work cut out for him.

Dilip gestured for Sidereal to go on with his paw.

“I also decided to cast mage sight and compare what I saw to the data you have charted.”

“So?”

“Stonehenge was a correct assumption apparently. For France, it’s a bit dubious but that’s mostly owed to the sheer amount of ancient sites present in Brittany. I also looked North, and I think I have a fix on another convergence point in the ley lines, this one a bit closer.”

“Where exactly?”

“A couple miles south of Narvik, in Norway.  Just as predicted. ” She told him. “It’s rather powerful too, and ancient.”

“Narvik isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘close’ Doctor, with all due respect.” Dilip clicked his tongue. “But I’ll agree this might yield some information on ancient human… magic.” He said the last word almost in a hiss. “That being said… I’m mostly curious about late effects of the… Disenchantment we spoke of. The Heart of Darkness isn’t that old, and its reaction to the magical field at least proves that magic ‘dried up’ after it was created.”

“If anything Captain, the phenomenon didn’t necessarily occur overnight. I’d say your best chances at finding out what happened would be archeological museums.”

“Not art?”

“Won’t do.” She shook her head. “I’d be surprised to hear of magical paintings and statues. You need practical  items, or something really significant. Ancient tools, weapons, religious idols, the works.” She waved a hoof around to highlight what she was saying.

“I may have a hypothesis.” Dilip turned towards her. “The magical field uh…”

“Shoot, no idea is worth rejecting as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, well. I had a look at the theory Josselin mentioned and I was wondering… hmm, how do I put it? Ah, would it be possible that the magic dries up first in certain areas of the world before it reached a global point? So that certain countries –in the Heart of Darkness’ case, Congo- would still have a bit of magic left over, a few centuries after the rest of the world basically lost it?”

Sidereal blinked a few times at the Indian before scratching the back of her head with a hoof, raising her eyes towards the sky.

“Technically it would be possible. I mean… it’s already proven that the intensity of the magical field isn’t constant all over Equus. The process would have to be slow considering humans eventually became deathly allergic to magic and you’d have noticed if people started dying for no reason when they went there… but provided it was at a very low level I don’t see any reason to discard the theory. Not that I have anything to prove it either for that matter.”

“How could it be proven then?” The dog inquired.

“Maybe…” Sidereal frowned. “Provided looking through the inventories of archeological museums does yield magical artifacts, then it might be feasible to do a comparative study of their power and plot their origins. That could give you an idea on how strong the field was, at a given time, in certain areas of the world. All that work is no small feat though…”

“Indeed.” The Captain sighed. “Given the amount of work that keeps piling up on my plate and the lengths my crew will have to go through to keep Amandine operational, then there’s no guarantee we will ever be able to do that. I mean, sure it’s interesting and it’s important… but yesterday I had one of my Engineers share some concerns about unattended nuclear weapons. That, unfortunately, is more important than historical research. On a brighter note, how is the magical training going?”

The red unicorn mare smiled and went on to tell him how she and Cheese were training the unicorns from both ships. She had requested for several spell books to be delivered with the answer to her previous report so they would have some way to improve once her group left them. Hence, she was focusing on the general aspects at the moment: the basics of spellcraft, a couple of handy parlor tricks and most of all, a training regimen so the unicorns would be able to improve their magical abilities on their own.

Already some of them were showing signs of mastering new spells. Energy blasts –though still far below even a taser in power-, light orbs, and even one stallion that had figured the basics of an invisibility spell by making his skin semi-transparent (though she assumed his Cutie Mark had something to do with it).

“Fascinating things those Cutie Marks. Doubt we will keep calling them that in the future… but interesting stuff.” Dilip commented idly. “I doubt I’d want one though…”

“Why is that so? They’re really useful to figure out your path in life.” Sidereal said. After all, her own spell lattice of a Mark was what pushed her to become a Doctor in magical theory.

“Humans don’t work that way and I think the tortuous path of not knowing what we’re meant to do is what makes life interesting. Granted, I’m a bad example of that but I couldn’t fathom that a symbol on my skin could force me to forever be a sailor.” The Diamond Dog’s tail twitched. “Take my Chief Officer for instance, Alejandro. He wasn’t a sailor in the beginning you know.”

“So what did he do?”

“Here’s what I got from him: started off as a clerk in his father’s bank in Galicia; then he spared some money to go to Barcelona and study criminology.”

“Criminology? Really?”

“Surprised me too. Didn’t work out, but he used that to get into the Servicio de Vigilancia Aduanera once he was done studying –that’s basically his country’s equivalent of customs and border protection- where he worked a couple years.”

“Wait, if he was working with customs, then how did he wind up here, of all places?” Sidereal quirked her head and blinked at him. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“We humans like to grab ‘sense’ and throw it out of the proverbial window.” Dilip chuckled lightly before crossing his arms and leaning on the railing some more. “He worked there a couple years as far as I recall. Went all over Spain from Ceuta to Santander during that time. I don’t know why, I don’t know how but at some point his work with customs got him interested in sailing. He took up yachting and some evening courses to study navigation and found himself an entry-level job in Puerto Real as a dry-dock inspector.”

“How do you even get an entry-level job as an inspector?!”

“Bribery I’d assume.” Dilip explained, much to the unicorn’s consternation. “Sorry Doc but baksheeshes are a thing. I may not condone it, but I at least have to acknowledge their existence. He’s competent at what he does anyway, that much I can attest.” The pariah dog told her with a shrug. “Rest of the story then… he works there a couple years and starts looking for something that actually gets him to sea. There comes Cobelfret –that’s the company that owned Amandine before the Event if you were wondering- when they were looking for a dry-dock expert to assist in fleet management. A bit of haggling here and there, and he manages to get a contract as a consultant for dry-docking during certain periods while serving on their ships the rest of the time.”

Dilip stopped and rubbed his chin pensively upon saying that.

“Come to think of it I’m pretty sure he moved to Luxembourg at that point to get closer to the company’s offices. Anyway…” He clicked his tongue. “…After a couple years he transferred to Amandine under my service as Second Officer back when I was working with a Greek nearing retirement as my Chief Officer. He took the position when the guy retired and then… You got the present situation. From banking clerk at a family-run bank to full-blown Chief Officer. Somehow, he also knows martial arts and, I kid you not, leathercraft. Do you see my point?”

“I think I do…” Sidereal muttered.

“If humans had those Cutie Marks of yours, we wouldn’t wind up with stories like that. You’d wind up with a baking-related Mark and spend your whole life in a bakery. Some of the best stories in human culture are about wanderers seeking their path in life you know.”

“We do get that comment a lot from species without Cutie Marks.” She admitted with a wince. “But really, single-career lives are a thing of the past. Equestria has grown… you can’t necessarily have ponies get the job they want, so sometimes you wind up with ponies having to work jobs that don’t fit their Marks. I’m a lucky one, magic-related Marks aren’t that common, and having one gives me an edge in the industry.”

“That potent uh?”

“Absolutely. Cutie Marks related to magic may be limited in scope, but the area they cover is guaranteed to allow its bearer excellent proficiency and skill in that area. In some cases to the point where they can almost rival an alicorn.”

“Ali-what now?”

“A rare species of pony. They get wings, a horn, and the strength of Earth ponies. Their existence is… complicated.” She mumbled. “What matters is that they’re ridiculously powerful, some even immortal. They’re far beyond the limitations of any other pony if their Mark doesn’t specialize in a specific area. Take a unicorn with a teleportation-related Mark… they could easily get you halfway across the planet or even in lower orbit with their spell. A Pegasus with a speed-based mark? Sonic booms galore.” She snorted. “And don’t get me started on weightlifting Earth ponies… at that point it’s like an ant throwing an elephant around regardless of physics.”

“Now that’s something I’d want to see.”

“Believe me Captain, you don’t.” She replied with a scowl.

Particularly when said mare was roid-raging.







Alejandro turned his fall into a roll and ended up dropping on one knee, panting. In front of him he saw Artyom take a few steps back before dropping on one knee as well, the dragon’s maw parting slightly to let out a few tired gasps.

The hyacinth macaw was clad in a blue gi with a brown belt bearing a few notches tying it around his waist. Being a male parrot, the Spaniard was on the shorter, burlier side compared to the tall and statuesque hens like Geert or Danny. His feathery chest heaved from the exertion before he brought it back under control, a small smile parting the mandibles of his beak.

Unlike the Chief Officer, Artyom didn’t have a gi. The Russian veteran wore a white tank top on his shoulders to go with a pair of sport shorts he had quickly modified to allow room for his draconic tail. One of the tank top’s shoulders had been torn at some point, revealing the lighter scales on the dragon’s chest, some hidden underneath bandages, Artyom still recovering from the injury caused by Sonata. If it caused him any pain, he didn’t show it.

The two middle-aged sailors were sparring inside of Amandine’s gym, most of the equipment having been pushed to the sides to make room for the training mats. The ventilation was on full-blast to stave off the summer heat and pungent smell, almost drowning out the rock music coming from a speaker Alejandro had set down on a bench.

“Ready for the next round?” The macaw smirked at the dragon.

“You bet.” Artyom’s red eyes met Alejandro’s amber-colored ones in challenge.

Both of them stood up and fell into their stances in perfect sync. Alejandro’s preferred art was BJJ, a style that focused on grappling, ground techniques and pinning your opponent down, which explained why his stance was held close to the ground with his torso bent forward at an angle, arms braced in front of him and knees bent, ready to receive the Russian’s assault.

Artyom’s  style was completely different. Rusty as he was after not practicing for decades, he still remembered what he was taught during his time with the VDV. Systema was the name of the style, unorthodox, rather nebulous when compared to traditional martial arts, but versatile. He took position with his torso sideways on to Alejandro, one defensive claw held forward, the other backward; ready to lash out at the first opening.

The dragon’s stance only served to heighten how much taller he was compared to the Spanish parrot. That would have made him confident, had it not been for two little things:

One: male parrots are particularly burly despite their short size.

Two: while his style may have grappling techniques, Alejandro was at a clear advantage by using BJJ. His only hope of winning against the Chief Officer was to use his longer limbs to prevent him from getting into grappling and ground-fighting territory. That wasn’t going to be easy considering how bloody fast the parrot was.

On the plus side, Systema’s approach to fighting made it natural to adapt the style to include his wings and tail. He had even managed to win one round by surprising Alejandro when he cuffed him with his wing before sweeping his legs using his tail.

That had only worked once however. The next time he tried that Alejandro was ready to show him how he was ready to use the extra limbs against him.

He caught a flicker of movement. Alejandro shifting his weight on one leg. In an instant the parrot was on him, starting the round with a jab to his face. By reflex more than by conscious movement, Artyom deflected the strike only for it to then hit his wing. The dragon winced and shifted his hips to go in for a kick.

Which Alejandro just dodged by leaning backwards; but Artyom kept up his assault. He let his inertia carry him and followed up on his kick with a tail strike his opponent halted with a raised forearm. Before Alejandro could capitalize on the block and grapple his tail, Artyom turned around and attempted a gut punch.

No dice. Alej’ just slid past the punch and delivered him a swift jab to the armpit, quickly followed up by a kick to the knee which sent Artyom down. Had it not been for a swift hit with his wing, the parrot would have taken the win right there.

“The fuck are you doing?” Artyom growled.

“Alternating styles.” Alejandro bounced on his feet. “Been doing grappling for the last few rounds, gotta train something else at some point.” He added, bending his knees backwards in an improvised stance the dragon didn’t recognize.

That the parrot could casually bend his knees that way made him a bit queasy. Sure, it may have been natural for him, and it even made it rather hard to topple him… but it still didn’t sit right in the blue dragon’s mind.

“Now you’re just getting cocky Chief.” Artyom resumed his initial stance, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils.

“Maybe I am.” Alej’ smirked, one knee bending forward and the other backward. He knew the dragon hating seeing him do that. “Entonces, what are you gonna do about it?” He taunted, the Spaniard making the ‘come here’ motion using the prehensile claws on his feet.

To that, he answered by spreading out his wings and giving a single flap, propelling himself forward. In an instant, he was on the parrot throwing a flurry of punches and putting him on the defensive. Alej’ managed to counter a few punches with jabs of his own, but the dragon’s natural toughness allowed him to casually shrug off the comparatively weaker hits and keep up the offense.

That didn’t mean he actually managed to get any good hit on the parrot either. Alej’s speed allowed him to deflect or block the dragon’s gloved claws with his meaty forearms as their path led them in a circle around the gym’s training mats.

Let it be said that if there was an advantage people tended to forget with Systema, it was the breath work, and it was certainly the one thing Artyom remembered best. It allowed him to keep his cool and his actions focused, mind running and analyzing the opponent in front of him. He could see the parrot was starting to get winded from the constant barrage, how his blocks and deflects were starting to get sluggish.

Compared to the other, shorter rounds, Artyom had finally discovered how to get at Alejandro.

Endurance.

Alej' was way too focused on defending to realize the scheming look the dragon was sporting. Block left, deflect right, and dodge backwards. His breath was coming in ragged, the feather crest on his head starting to stick to his skull from all the sweat that was pouring out of the pores between his feathers.

When Artyom finally deemed his adversary ripe for the finishing move, he went all in. he pushed through a punch Alejandro delivered to his shoulder to administer him a powerful knee to the gut that was quickly followed by a shoulder toss that successfully pinned the parrot on his belly.

He pressed a claw against the pinned parrot’s throat. Alejandro didn’t try to get out of the pin and chose to tap out instead.

“That’s a win for me.” He smirked before helping the Chief Officer up.

“Going for the long run now eh?” Alejandro panted.

“So sue me right? Seems to be the only way I can win with you.”

Alejandro went to grab a bottle of water on the bench next to the speaker, turning around quickly to toss the dragon another.

“The only way you can win until I figure out a way around that strategy that is.” The parrot taunted between two gulps of water.

“Can’t you just let me bask in my victory for a second?” Artyom rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his water.

Disadvantage of being a dragon 101: your body temperature is so high that regardless of how cold your water is, you could brew tea in it by the time it reaches your gut. And he’d readily bet the Captain would have loved being able to pull a trick like that.

“Want to go for another round or two?” The dragon offered.

“Lo siento, but no can do.” The Spaniard told him as he eyed the clock on the wall. “Gotta hit the shower now, plenty of work rethinking harbor security after the siren’s attack.”

“You do your stuff. I’ll be tidying up and pumpin’ iron.”







The highlight of the day occurred in mid-afternoon. The armored vehicles had been put back in storage by then, allowing most sailors to focus back on training with the Equestrians or continue working on the Rhine.

A couple flyers were seen training under Gust’s guidance by the container stacks, some already having managed to maintain their altitude and even climb a few meters. Unsurprisingly, Vadim and Micha were in the lead when it came to flying, both having now moved on to trying to stay aloft as long as they could. There were also a couple of dragons and gargoyles that had joined the group of trainees (including a reluctant Artyom) now that Gust and Radiant deemed the quadrupeds sufficiently trained that they could spare a bit of their attention towards training bipeds. The Everfree Ranger himself had admitted to not being familiar with that style of flying, so the training was bound to be slow-going.

From his position on Amandine’s bridge, a still damp Alejandro could see how Gust had somehow grabbed a piece from a passing cloud and brought it down to ground level so that his ‘pupils’ could get a try at touching it.

Frankly the Spaniard would have never believed it were it not for the fact that he could see Andy happily playing in the wispy piece of cloud as if it were a big ball of cotton.

On the other end of the docks he spotted Sidereal trot up to the spot she had used to send out her message the day before the siren attacked. There still was a circle burned into the ground there, Cheese and Dilip following closely behind. The dog’s paw reached for a walkie-talkie hanging off his neck, the bridge’s radio crackling to life a second later.

“Captain to bridge, be advised: we are about to receive a message using the Equestrian system. Do not raise the alarm for the ensuing flash of light. Over.”

Alejandro replied with a curt ‘roger’ that was quickly echoed by whichever Officer was on watch on the Rhine’s bridge at the time. With the way both ships were moored the bridges were nearly 400 meters apart so he couldn’t really tell at a glance. He moved over to a console close to the windows and gingerly watched the ensuing show.

There was indeed a flash of light, but what appeared in the circle in front of Sidereal was only a single sheet of paper. The unicorn snatched it in her telekinesis and did a double-take. She urgently barked something at Dilip. Going by the Indian’s body language, he was equally as surprised as she was because his ears flattened against his skull, walkie-talkie flying to his muzzle.

“This is Captain Prateek. Emergency procedure: all flyers are to land immediately and remain grounded until further notice. Out.”

What?

A sailor with a radio passed the message to the flyers by the container stacks. They all immediately stopped training and turned in the general direction of Sidereal. Work seemed to cease on board of the Rhine as well, sailors gathering against the railing to observe what was going on.

The magic circle lit up once more. This time, instead of a sheet of paper appearing in a flash of light, a bright orb shot up towards the sky before stopping some 200 meters above the quays. A thin electric arc descended back from the orb to the initial circle with a sharp crackle, the smell of ozone starting to permeate the air.

For a couple seconds, the air stood still before the arc split up in two. Both arcs of lightning moved further apart over the course of a minute to finally form a gigantic triangle with the ground as its base. It was easily two hundred meters wide, taking up a large portion of the docks' width. They were fortunate it didn’t hit anything, Alejandro wasn’t too sure anything could have stood up to the intense arcs of lightning that had just charred a black line in the asphalt and concrete that made up the ground.

And then…

One instant, you could see through the triangle just fine. Next thing they knew, an inky black darkness took up the space inside the triangle. Alej’ was pretty sure the black tone of the portal (because what else could it possibly be?) could have given that Vantablack they advertised before the Event a run for its money.

The ‘blackness’ didn’t last forever. Soon enough, something came out.

An airship, of all things. And it didn’t match anything humans had ever come up with to boot.

Two long white rigid canvas-covered balloons supported a wide structure built between them. An engine nacelle poked out of the back of each balloon with a propeller facing backwards pushing the ship forward through the portal. Neither of the balloons was completely featureless either: they sported the control surfaces, a handful of fins that were most likely used to steer the ship. Two small funnels emerged out of each balloon’s aft section, along with a pair of small portholes that allowed light to stream inside what must have been the airship’s equivalent to an engine room. The front of each balloon was also gracefully decorated with a pattern of multicolored lines that reminded Alejandro of a scarlet macaw’s wing feathers.

The structure in the middle could barely be called a canopy. Its varnished wood and green-painted aluminum girders kept the two balloons together and likely housed the accommodation, with a single mast proudly towering above it. Beneath that central structure hung a box-shaped extension that reached just below either balloon. Most likely the cargo hold. On either side of the aforementioned box, the airship’s name was proudly painted on the green and silver-painted aluminum plates that protected the hold.

  SS Sirocco

Finally, a narrow structure extended in front of the ship, rising at a shallow angle above the central structure and peeking far enough up and forward that it could see beyond the balloons on either side and above them. Going by the myriad of glass panels that covered the whole front of that part of the vessel, Alejandro assumed it was where the bridge was located… or cockpit, depending on what her Captain preferred to call it. He managed to spot a bipedal figure strapped down in a chair behind the controls before the airship rotated to show Amandine her stern and started descending. In passing he took note of the two breech-loaded swivel guns installed on top of Sirocco’s monkey bridge.

The airship wasn’t even that big, only reaching a third of the length of Amandine and about as wide as she was. At a glance, she must have been about five stories tall from the bottom of her cargo hold to her monkey bridge if Alejandro guessed correctly. Eight stories tall if he counted the mast.

Not really the biggest of ships. Then again, compared to human airships her balloons were tiny. Whatever trick they used to keep her aloft, it was way better than helium or hydrogen.

The portal closed quickly after the ship went through, leaving only the scorch marks on the ground as a proof that it was ever there. As for the Sirocco, she deployed four landing claws out of each corner of her cargo hold before finally touching down. Her props stopped spinning a minute later.

A sliding door opened out of the back of the vessel’s cargo hold before two bipedal figures Alejandro couldn’t really make out lowered a wide ramp down to the ground.

What he could make out was the figure that emerged out of the airship’s cockpit onto the back of the vessel. A white parrot with a green crest of feathers wearing a duffle coat. She walked all the way to the back of her vessel to peer down at the sailors on the docks, claws on her hips and a proud smile on her beak. Alejandro’s eyes slid over the curves her thick coat utterly failed to hide, admiring in passing the luster of her tail feathers, completely unaware of the chatter that had sprung up on the VHF.







Down on the docks, Dilip stared thoughtfully at the landed airship.

“Did you actually ask for that Doctor?”

“Not at all Captain.” Sidereal shook her head as she too looked at the ship in wonder. “I just sent my report along with a request for documentation I needed and some gear.” She waved a hoof at the ship. “That seems a bit much when compared to what I needed.”

“Any idea where they’re from?”

The mare’s gaze flew towards the mast that towered above the airship’s structure. There flew the colors of…

“Ornithia.” She muttered as she trotted closer to the airship’s rear ramp.

“Allies?” Dilip inquired, one ear flicking as he listened in to what was being said on the VHF. Lots of panicked comments and inquiries, but nothing alarming… yet.

“They’re the homeland of parrots.” She frowned. “A nation of sailors and aviators, but we typically don’t call parrots Ornithians because of their diaspora. This one is definitely a cargo airship, so no worries about them being pirates.”

Dilip’s muzzle turned towards her at the remark.

“You have a piracy problem on Equus?”

“Not really. They’re more like mercenaries nowadays… corsairs I mean.” She stopped a short distance away from the ramp. “Equestria recently signed a free trade agreement with them, mostly for agricultural products, these guys have some really interesting alchemical components in their jungles.”

The airship’s landing claws held it two meters high in the air, way above both of them with its bulk casting a large shadow down on the docks. Its ramp touched down on the ground with a loud ‘clang!’, finally allowing Dilip to get a look at its occupants.

Standing in the rear door of the craft like aliens about to make first contact were two bipeds. One was a cat –or Abyssinian rather- with long orange fur. He was wearing a suit that would not have looked out of place on a Victorian-era adventurer: knee-high leather boots, some loose bottle green suit pants held up by a wide belt to which he had attached a couple finely-crafted leather pouches, a saber, and a flintlock pistol. His attire was then completed by a white shirt with a waistcoat and a tie, as well as a bowler hat and a pair of goggles the middle-aged Abyssinian wore around his neck.

The height difference caused by him standing at the top of the ramp bellied his relatively short stature, an oddity considering Abyssinians tended to be on the taller end of the scale. If his attire wasn’t enough of an indication, the way he carried himself with an air of nobility and calm confidence made it very clear he was more than just your run-of-the-mill blue collar sailor.

Standing a little ways behind him and to his side was a young-looking gargoyle; about as tall as the Abyssinian he accompanied which actually was fairly tall by his species’ standards. He sported a dark green coat of fur to go with his red mane he wore trimmed down to a short cut. His clothing was made out of a simple white woolen tunic that hung all the way down to his knees to go with a brown cloak hiding his wings. Unlike the Abyssinian, he didn’t carry any weapons on his person, instead wearing some sort of leather utility rig above his tunic fitted with several pouches and, most noticeably, a glowing fist-sized gem in the middle of his chest where the straps of the rig crossed.

And for some reason the gargoyle also had a broken antler.

The Abyssinian confidently strode down the ramp and approached Dilip and Sidereal.

“Greetings. My name is Sir Armiger, recently dispatched by the Abyssinian Crown to provide off-world humanitarian relief. To whom do I have the honor to speak with?” He said, offering his paw to Dilip.

The Diamond Dog appraised the Abyssinian with a careful look before firmly grasping the proffered paw.

“Captain Prateek of M/V Amandine.” The Indian presented himself as he jabbed a thumb towards Amandine’s grey and white silhouette. “Is this vessel yours?” He asked, politely motioning towards Sirocco with one cream-furred paw.

“No, Sirocco’s mine.” A raspy feminine voice came from above them.

Dilip raised his head only to see a form jump over the railing on top of Sirocco’s main and drop down the whole five stories to their level in a flash accompanied by the rustling of feathers against air. It casually landed in a crouch in front of them before standing up to its full height proudly.

A height that was not negligible considering it was actually a female parrot, tall as they were compared to their male brethren. Her off-white feathers were hidden beneath a pair of loose work pants that accompanied her sleeveless blue duffle coat. The markings and ranks on it left little doubt as to who she was exactly: Sirocco’s Captain.

Her arms and legs were partly covered by several wooden bracelets which almost hid the orange-ish scaly hide on the parrot’s extremities.

She stood up and shoved her claws down in her pockets in a pose brimming with the sort of casual confidence that came when you considered yourself in perfect control of the situation, a small smirk on her orange beak and a twinkle in her pink eyes. Neither Sidereal nor Dilip missed the large scar that crossed her throat, most likely the reason behind her raspy voice.

That, or the large handlebar of a cigar she had in her beak, either worked.

Much like Sir Armiger, she was armed. A pair of falchions, along with two flintlock pistols were firmly secured to holsters on her belt.

“The name’s Captain Ceylan, of SS Sirocco.” She rasped out in a Portuguese accent, one claw leaving her pocket to brush through her emerald-green crest of feathers. “Sir Armiger here is actually the charterer of this expedition.”

“Well met then.” Dilip nodded. “Who’s the gargoyle?” He said, eyeing the mage standing behind Armiger.

“Derek… Derek Fireburst.” The aforementioned gargoyle stuttered. “I’m Sir Armiger’s bodyguard.” He said, crossing his arms to appear more confident.

Dilip quirked an eyebrow at the display and turned an inquisitive look towards the Abyssinian.

“As he said.” The cat smiled.

“Excuse me!” Sidereal interjected, gaining some looks from the newcomers. “Doctor Sidereal Venture, Equestria’s representative with this group of survivors.” She presented herself. “How come you were sent here in the first place? I remember asking for documentation not…” She waved a hoof towards Sirocco. “… something quite as grand as this.”

“It’s both a little change of plans and an investment on my part.” Armiger said. “Your report has been followed by many similar ones sent by other teams from all nations involved in the humanitarian mission. It’s been deemed too dangerous to send ground teams like yours with the presence of monsters.”

“That and you did ask for a lot of documentation. Panthera’s university wasn’t too enthusiastic at the prospect of parting with that amount of books. The printing costs alone were... considerable to put it mildly.” Derek added.

“Thankfully funding was helped along by yours truly.” Armiger boasted. “All useful data, as much to help the locals…” He turned his eyes towards Sidereal. “… as to assist secluded ponies who are at a loss when faced with foreign species.”

Sidereal’s jaw tightened, the red mare throwing the Abyssinian an outraged look before closing her eyes and releasing a long sigh.

“Fair enough… that’s not totally inaccurate.” She ground out. “About this change of plan?”

“Sirocco isn’t the only airship that’s been dispatched to reinforce relief teams. Naturally, they’re that much harder to send across the inter-world divide, so a couple teams had to be called off and retreat.” Captain Ceylan told the pony. “Yours isn’t. Once you’re done here you’ll accompany us along an updated patrol route. And this ain’t the worst thing yet…” She concluded, giving a side glance towards Derek.

“The situation’s bad.” The gargoyle mage told Sidereal, shoulders slumped. “Your report on runic circles and monsters has done the rounds in academic circles. They found a match… several as a matter of fact. We… we do have an explanation as to where they must be coming from, but I doubt you’d like its implications.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dilip spied the approaching pink silhouette of Raimund. With a polite cough, he stopped the young gargoyle before he could start his explanation.

“If I may?” He asked. “I believe we’d be more comfortable discussing such a, ahem… sensitive matter in the company of my fellow Captain. Please, meet Captain Gerig, of M/V Rhine Forest.” He said, waving a paw towards Raimund.

The German-turned-unicorn-filly came to a halt next to the Indian, an embarrassingly cute scowl on the Captain’s muzzle.

“What’s going on here?” She barked.

Before the newcomers could raise any questions about the age of the filly and why she even was a Captain, Sidereal discreetly got their attention and mouthed a ‘don’t ask’ at them.

“Sidereal requested documents, they’re here to deliver them, and reinforce her team. Say they got bad news.” Dilip summed up, arms crossed.

The elderly German in a filly’s body eyed all the newcomers for a couple seconds, tail flicking from side to side.

“If it’s that important then let’s have that talk in my office. Do you mind if Officers attend the meeting?”

And on that note, the pink filly beckoned the newcomers towards her vessel.
> Chapter 38: There Be Demons
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek pulled out a thick manila folder out of a satchel and slid it across the table towards the two Captains. The pink filly –Captain Gerig if he had heard right- cast a side glance towards the Diamond Dog before opening it with her telekinesis. What greeted her inside were multiple files with annexed pictures, notes and drawings, the first of which being a sigil…

“That looks like the kind of symbols we found on the monsters’ summoning circles.” She commented.

“Because it is. Cross-referencing it wasn’t easy… but they found a match in a couple extremely old archives all over Equus.” The young gargoyle asserted, his previous awkwardness absent now that he was talking about a subject he was more familiar with.

“How old exactly?”

“A couple thousand years, give or take a few centuries.” Derek crossed his arms. “Demons.”

“Actual demons?” Raimund raised her eyebrows. “That’s uh… bad. Above our paygrade I’m afraid…”

“It gets worse.” Derek added with a scowl before motioning for the small unicorn to turn the page. “As if the demonic influence in the matter wasn’t enough… it appears your planet is going to be on the receiving end of several threats.”

Next to Raimund, Dilip leaned back in his chair.

“Explain.”

“The demons… they’re a threat that was considered done with for the longest time. They were vanquished long ago –or as it turns out, neutralized- when alicorn-level entities came to power. We’re speaking of stuff like the Celestial Sisters, Queen Novo, Rain Shine, or even King Aspen. Powerful, immortal mages.”

“And they’re back.” Raimund stated.

“That… is correct.” Derek opined. “Most likely they saw the opportunity of one planet without immortals to watch over it and decided it was better than staying on Equus. That would have been bad enough, but they brought stuff along.”

“The monsters?”

“They’re not behind the presence of monsters. Not directly at least.” The gargoyle brushed a hand through his russet mane. “Doctor Venture…” He turned towards Sidereal. “Are you by any chance familiar with the gang known as ‘The Four Horses’?”

“I am.” Radiant butted in instead of Sidereal, the Pegasus sitting by the Doctor’s side. “Dangerous bunch…”

“Quite.” Derek nodded before holding his hand out towards the folder. A faint green glow appeared around his forearm before four sheets of paper rose up in his telekinesis. “The Four Horses have gone undetected for a while now, and most believed they were in hiding. Their tactics, however, do match what’s happening around here.”

“How so?” Raimund asked.

“They’re… ‘monster breeders’, sort of. Their modus operandi revolves around destabilizing an area by ‘seeding’ monsters they’ve captured or bred in one of their facilities before swooping in with a commando team while everyone’s fixing stuff to grab what they want. The summoning circle design your pictures show does look like their own… albeit with the addition of the demonic sigils to it. That’s probably how they upgraded it for off-world travel.” Derek explained, calmly laying down each file on the table.

There were four sheets, each bearing a mugshot of the apparent leaders of the ‘gang’. A unicorn, an Earth pony, a Pegasus and a batpony.

“Mage, Might, Haze and Night.” Derek clicked his tongue. “Those are their callsigns if you were wondering. Nobody knows their actual names, and they weren’t born in Equestria either so no-pony has any official data on them. Those are the ponies behind the monster attacks… with a combined bounty of over twenty-five million Abyssinian marks and two hundred life sentences.”

“That dangerous uh…” Dilip frowned. “But monsters aren’t necessarily beasts… some we’ve met could talk. Like the chimera… or the siren.”

“Never seemed to stop them, at least for chimeras. All four bear Cutie Marks related to monster taming… but don’t think that doesn’t make them dangerous.” Derek warned. “The latest head count we had on their gang numbered them at over five hundred members, encompassing nearly all types of criminal activity and commando teams. Chances are… most of them crossed over to this planet.”

Raimund looked at the four mugshots of ponies grinning at the camera with a scowl, particularly at the unicorn. A white one-eyed stallion with a sadistic smirk on his muzzle. She shuddered.

“So your demons took an international gang under their wing to assist them… most likely because they’re still too weak to operate themselves after just escaping the influence of the immortals.” The German filly spoke, the last word rolling off her tongue with an almost sarcastic emphasis. “And their jig is deploying monsters to keep people busy while their goons do the stuff that actually matters.”

“There is more than just them.”

This time it was Armiger who spoke up, the orange cat was fiddling with a pocket watch in his paw. He clasped it shut before turning his gaze towards the Captains and their Officers behind them.

“Derek here has yet to say it, but investigations have led to the conclusion that two demons crossed over to your world. Siblings, if archives are to be believed, each with its own specific mark. The Four Horses are apparently tied to one of the two, the same one that’s believed to be behind the rise of King Sombra way back, you know, dark crystals…”

Radiant inhaled sharply at the mention of Sombra.

“... and its mark is also linked to the disappearance of others, beyond just the gang. But its sibling on the other paw… Derek, if you will?” The Abyssinian threw his bodyguard a pointed look.

With a swipe of the gargoyle’s hand, a couple more files rose above the stack to float midair, allowing all assembled to take a look at them.

“Seems like that one is more focused on gaining influence at sea. We got its mark tied to the disappearance of several prominent pirates, marine biologists, and even some sea monsters the Royal Coast Guard kept tabs on. Do take note that the pirates disappeared alongside their ships, so be on the lookout for vessels that don’t match this planet’s ahem… style. Airships included, mind.” Armiger told them. “As far as I know… one of the missing pirates is even a former Captain from the Storm King’s fleet.”

The files floating midair showed them the pictures of said Captains. One old sepia photo showed an extremely muscular grey hedgehog with white quills clad in a naval uniform, another more recent one showed a dour, heavily scarred parrot; and finally the last one…

There was a perfectly decent picture of a small kirin mare smiling at them. She had a dark grey coat of fur, a pale strip of scales running down her back, and a well-groomed aquamarine mane. Compared to the other two, she was actually on the cute side, not the grisly, menacing look that was expected of a pirate.

“You’re sure about that last one?” Dilip quirked an eyebrow at the picture before looking down at the name. “I mean… it’s hard to believe a mare like that called ‘Spring Gleam’ of all things could actually be dangerous.”

“Believe me, she is.” Elaena spoke up in her raspy voice. “That crazy puta is permanently stuck in ‘Nirik’ form, never seen a creature as bloodthirsty as her. I would know, cost me my first ship and half a crew.” She told them, making a show of scratching the scar on her throat.

“I’m sorry but… ‘Nirik’?” Dilip asked her.

“A specialty of kirins.” She rasped out. “Mira, these bastards, they’re normally the stoic, quiet type. But when you get a kirin riled up…” The parrot drummed her talons against the table. “They turn into what we call a nirik. Like a kirin… but black, on fire, and very intent on destroying everything around them. Worse than a raging minotaur. As far as I know, Spring Gleam has spent more time in her life as a nirik than as a kirin. And that…” The parrot’s claws tightened into a fist, a dark look sweeping across her features. “… is precisely what makes her irredeemable. Mental health down the drain, a complete psychopath.”

“So… one demon with a gang of monster breeders on land… another at sea with pirates. That doesn’t look good for us.” Dilip stated. “And that’s without accounting for the monsters. We’re not soldiers you know…” He sighed.

“The situation isn’t completely hopeless Captain.” Sidereal tried with an awkward smile. “After all, those files here pretty much say there isn’t that many of them. And that’s all of them trying to cover an entire planet.”

And yet they kept running into monsters.







The reveal on the origin of the monsters didn’t actually take that long. All in all they were done in about half an hour after that talk. Dilip had Roberto take the investigation files and ordered the Italian to scan and upload them in their database.

Yet another thing they could trade to the HPI, for intel or for parts, that they’d have to see. The spooks had been rather quiet as of late, probably because he had told Eko how long he thought they would stay in Copenhagen. He fully expected him to send them the delivery port for their prototypes once the works on the Rhine were finished. He didn’t really have any reason to contact them in the meantime, though the Indonesian had made a passing mention of how their R&D department had a set of experiments for them once they installed the lab on Rhine.

Hopefully, the prototypes, experiments, and considerable data they were accumulating would set them up comfortably in the realm of parts. The workshop they had built on Amandine might be able to manufacture a lot of stuff, but some things like advanced electronics and high-grade components remained out of their scope, even with the 3D printers.

As were some of the larger parts. Hollow propeller shafts like Amandine’s couldn’t just be made of any kind of steel, and they needed a complex system to connect to the propellers -which were no small things in their own right-.

Under such conditions, it was no surprise they’d have to rely on the HPI for advanced stuff like that. Factories that were able to produce that kind of parts were rather advanced, so the Diamond Dog very much doubted they would be able to find a colony able to manufacture the stuff anytime soon.

That the intel they had on colonies in Mexico told them they might be able to get a refinery under their banner was lucky enough to begin with. And even then, getting the installation into operational state might not be easy.

With those thoughts swirling around his head, Dilip quietly made his way back to his cabin, grabbing a couple files from his office on the way. Some more expedition projects, along with Artyom’s completed After-Action-Report regarding the siren incident.

The motions for heating up a fresh kettle were basically muscle memory for him at this point. He set it to heating in his cabin’s kitchenette before shuffling over to the window, files in hand. Out on the docks, he could see Rhine Forest and the workers finishing the container bay, as well as the new addition of Sirocco. The airship had her ramp lowered, and he could see the forms of Derek and Elaena working around her landing gear, making sure she would stay secured to the ground if the wind picked up.

Raimund was standing by the ramp, the filly apparently discussing something with the Abyssinian that had chartered Sirocco.

The three newcomers made for a mismatched group. The parrot was pretty much what he would have expected from a Captain on a world like Equus, but the presence of an eccentric noble like Armiger was new.

Why did he think the cat was eccentric? His choice of a bodyguard. That anyone would think a young awkward mage like Derek was a good choice was… perplexing to say the least. Not that he was incompetent: his behavior and tone when they moved on to the demons proved he could be confident.

But not confident enough for what could be expected from a bodyguard. That gargoyle had something hidden up his sleeves.

What it was, the Diamond Dog very much wanted to find out.

A whistle from his kettle called him away from the door. Right, time to get to work on that paperwork about… prototypes for the oil reconditioning equipment and a request to create radio relays to extend their broadcast coverage.







Boris slowly started coming to, his mind sluggish from all the painkillers they had pumped into his bloodstream.

He opened his eyes with a groan, only to be blinded by the bright lighting and quickly close them once more. What little he had seen was enough to tell him he had indeed been shot and moved to an infirmary. Some beeping off to his side, as well as the sharp smell of disinfectant pretty much confirmed his assumption.

After waiting a minute, he eventually opened his eyes again to discover the myriad of tubes and cables they had stuck into him. No surprise really… but at least they didn’t intubate him.

Boris was lying on his back in a bed, naked and only covered by a thin white sheet. The position sure didn’t feel comfortable with his wings, but seeing the state of his chest it was probably for the better. A thick layer of bandages was wrapped over the feathers on the goshawk griffon’s chest, with a couple catheters slipping beneath them.

One of his arms had also been completely immobilized by bandages, the soft throbbing in his shoulder leaving him little doubt as to why.

His memory flashed back to the moment when he had looked at the growing red spot on his chest. Eh, at least she had only shot him once, he was lucky.

Looking around, Boris quickly found out he was inside Rhine’s infirmary. No mistake there, Amandine may be a nice ship but she didn’t benefit from having a clinic-sized med bay like the barge carrier. Using his uninjured claw, the griffon reached for the call button above his bed.

Not a minute later, Marta rolled into view on her wheelchair. The Pole-turned-hedgehog flashed him a sympathetic look and rolled closer to his bed. Behind her he saw a red and blue unicorn mare shuffle out of the clinic with a box of painkillers held in her telekinesis, the Cadet barely looking at him before leaving.

“Awake now?” She asked him in her heavily accented English.

“Unfortunately…” Boris growled out in Russian. “Hurts like Hell.” He added, switching to English.

“No shit.” The hedgehog rolled her eyes, the electric blue of her sclera somewhat unnerving to the Russian. “The bullet went all the way through; I’d be surprised if you felt good.” She explained while taking a look at his parameters. 

“How long was I out?”

“Two days.” Marta told him. “You’re lucky griffons have two hearts, otherwise you might have gone into cardiac arrest you know.”

“That close uh?” Boris brushed a talon over his bandages. “Say… I was wondering.”

“Anton?”

“Yeah. How did that end?”

“Ranger Pony sedated her after you fell unconscious. We had her in custody for a day, but since she was mind-controlled, there was no point in detaining her.” Marta scowled. “Frankly I think we should lock her up.”

Boris tore his gaze away from his bandaged chest, eyes focusing on the wheelchair-bound hedgehog by his bedside.

“And I don’t.” He countered. “You ever watch any science-fiction? ‘cause I do, and I’ve seen the mind control thingy play itself often enough to know it’s not her fault.”

“She shot you, you dumb gopnik!”

“For the second time: she was mind-controlled.” Boris repeated in a louder tone, only to immediately regret rising his voice when his injuries reminded him exactly why he was inside Rhine’s clinic. “No matter which version of mind-control she was under, she wasn’t at the helm when her body pulled the trigger.” He added in a softer tone, his uninjured claw clutching at his chest wound.

Marta’s eyes quickly flicked towards Boris’ heart monitor, if only to ensure her patient wasn’t suddenly dying before her eyes. The anthropomorphic hedgehog’s narrow snout twitched before she shook her head, Boris watching the long white quills she had on the back of her head shake at the motion.

“Fine, be that way. Between you and me, we both know exactly why you’re not holding her guilty for that.” She smirked at him.

“Do I, now?” The griffon clicked his beak.

“Don’t play dumb.” Marta snorted with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not. By all means, tell me, why am I not holding her guilty?” He asked her, a gleam appearing in the goshawk griffon’s eyes.

“Come on!” She pointed an accusatory digit at him. “You, male griffon. Her, female, half snow leopard anyone with a sense of taste would find cute-“

“I am cute?” A new voice resounded behind Marta’s back.

Anton came into view just as she walked past the curtain separating Boris’ bed from the rest. The peregrine falcon/snow leopard griffon was clad in her modified track suit, and she was now giving Marta a curious look.

“Wha- nevermind actually. I was just rambling. What are you here for? Doc’s still busy giving Zinoviya lessons on Amandine, your own visit is only due in an hour.”

“Actually I decided to come when I was told a certain someone had woken up.” The hen said, eyeing Boris. “Would you mind if I uh… had a word?”

Marta smirked in her chair, giving Boris a mirthful gaze before shrugging and rolling her wheelchair back towards the clinic’s office.

“Just don’t be too long, he’s still recovering.” She called out over her shoulder before returning to her paperwork.

She didn’t need to inspect Boris’ wounds herself anyway; Doctor Delacroix would do that herself when she got back. And frankly it was for the better, the polish nurse sort of was at a loss when it came to evaluating the progress on his wounds.

Effective as they were, Equestrian health potions were still rather new and she had yet to finish reading through the nursing manual they had been given. Turns out, they did need to take some precautions with health potions, and she wasn’t too familiar with all the possible outcomes.

Back by Boris’ bed, Anton hawkwardly shifted her weight from one side to another. Her wings fluttered underneath her track suit before she lifted her eyes up to look at him. Underneath her feathers, the Russian could see hints of small scars around her eyes, albeit subtly hidden by some of the violet stripes she had adorning her plumage. He caught the sorrow in her yellow-orange eyes.

“I… I wanted to say thank you.” She muttered in Ukrainian. “For what you did. I’m… I’m sorry this ended up with you injured like this.”

Boris leaned back into his pillow, slowly adjusting his wings so he’d not lie directly on them.

“So you do remember what happened…” He sighed, easily switching to Ukrainian.

Might as well, at least that’d ensure Marta wouldn’t be eavesdropping on them.

“Did you tell anyone?” He asked her.

“No… figured it was rather personal…” She said, head held low.

“It is.” The male griffon said in an icy tone. “Nobody in the fleet besides you actually knows I can speak Ukrainian.”

“Not even Artyom?”

“Artyom?” Boris shuckled. “To him I’m just your regular gopnik shithead. Old fool has no idea.”

“That’s uh…” She deflated a bit. “Great I guess? I don’t know why you’d want to keep that hidden. Anyway… I wanted to offer you my thanks. Without you I might still be enthralled right now. I… I owe you my life.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” He gave her a flat look.

“No!” She protested loudly. “It’s you that gave me something to latch on. I was a prisoner in my own head; I was forced to watch as my body refused to respond to my orders…” She gave a shudder that reverberated all the way through her fluffy tail. “It’s not something you want to be subjected to, ever. Even after Gust sedated me I was still fighting inside, even after the siren was killed too if I put the pieces together correctly.” She raised her head, steeling her nerves to look him straight in the eyes. “And it’s you that gave me what I needed to fight back. I’m indebted to you.”

Boris just quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Big words right there.” He drawled.

“Maybe.” She conceded. “Doesn’t change my meaning. I want to do right by you. It may not have been me at the helm, but it’s my talons that carried out the deed. So uh… I asked Doc Delacroix earlier and…” She rubbed a claw against the back of her neck. “She said if I was volunteering to be your caretaker you could leave the clinic earlier.”

“My caretaker?”

“Well, she did say you could leave earlier, not that you wouldn’t be bedridden.” She shrugged. “With a wound like yours even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to walk around. Doc said I’d need to help you with the menial stuff, watch your wounds, change your bandages…” She looked up towards the ceiling as she explained. “So uh… my offer?”

A small smile creased the corners of Boris’ beak.

“Hold out your claw.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said ‘hold out your claw’, ‘cause we got ourselves a deal. Ain’t that hard now is it?” The Russian told her as he extended his uninjured claw towards her.

Frankly the attitude was more for show because even lifting his good claw was enough to send lances of searing pain through his injured shoulder on the other side. She didn’t need to know that though.

Anton eyed the proffered limb for a second before firmly shaking his claw.

“Alright, deal.”







  Elsewhere on the docks, Alejandro was walking up to Sirocco. The airship had her ramp lowered, with Derek standing watch beside it. The Spanish parrot managed to sneak a peek inside her crate-filled cargo hold before the gargoyle standing watch interrupted his observations with a polite cough.

“How may I be of assistance, sir?” Derek asked, not sure of the parrot’s rank, though the golden trim on his coveralls’ shoulders was enough to tell him he was pretty high-ranked.

“Just out on a walk away from the paperwork. Felt like taking a closer look at this here ship.” The Spaniard answered with a polite smile as he looked up at the two looming balloons above them. “Impressive ship she is, we don’t use airships much on this planet.” He commented before returning his gaze to the gargoyle by the ramp. “Courtesies aside, Doctor Venture was wondering if your group was planning to give a briefing on some of the races the Equestrian are… less familiar with, simply put.”

“A briefing?”

“Why yes, a briefing.” Alejandro answered matter-of-factly. “You did mention upon arriving that you had documentation available. Are you going to present the information yourself or should the ponies come and pick up the books so they can arrange it themselves? That’s what Sidereal was asking. We may have learned a lot on ponies, griffons and hippogriffs but…” He shrugged. “No clue on the rest. Hell, I don’t even know the proper name for what I turned into, much less if there’s anything I should pay attention to.”

“Parrots, we usually go by parrots.” A raspy voice joined their conversation just as Elaena emerged out of the depths of Sirocco’s cargo hold.

She had now shed her duffle coat in favor of a lighter sleeveless pilot shirt better suited for the summer weather. Her emerald crest of feathers was held behind her head by a red bandana with her ship’s name embroidered on the side.

As for why she needed the lighter clothing, the subtle sheen of perspiration on her plumage was enough to tell Alejandro the female parrot had been moving crates around her cargo hold. Not that he disliked the more revealing nature of her apparel. Not. At. All.

“Just parrots?” He quirked his head, the hyacinth macaw’s crest of feathers extending halfway up in bemusement.

“We’re practical folks.” She crossed her arms, leaning against a stack of crates. “Diamond Dogs, Abyssinians, we don’t need fancy names like those. Just don’t let anyone call you a harpy.” She concluded with a small sneer on her beak. “That’s a slur if you were wondering.”

“Figured that the moment it left your beak.” Alejandro smiled. “Anything I should know?”

Elaena held up a talon in the universal ‘wait a sec’ motion before once more disappearing out of sight in the cargo hold. Alejandro shared a side glance with Derek as they heard her start rummaging inside before she came back out with a green canvas-covered book with the picture of a macaw parrot on it.

Oddly enough, the macaw depicted on the cover had her wings extended in place of regular arms like every parrot he had seen since the Event, Elaena included.

“Basic biology and magical features in our species. Also includes a bit of history if that interests you. It’s not in Equestrian though, came from Ornithia, my own collection…” She rasped out, walking down the ramp to pass the book to Alejandro.

The hyacinth macaw accepted the book with a soft ‘gracias’, noting in passing with the slightest hint of annoyance how much taller Elaena was compared to him. Sure, male parrots had much more bulk to their frame than the females, but the height difference still felt genuinely weird to the former human.

Then he eyed the foreword on the cover.

He did a double-take.

“Excuse me, but what language is it written in?” He asked in an almost forlorn voice, his ‘thumb’ claw softly brushing over words that hit a place he thought doomed to disappear.

“Standard Ornithian, if a bit old-fashioned. Why?”

Alejandro frowned a second before opening the book to a random page and proceeding to read a few lines. The grammar and syntax weren’t identical but the language sure was similar.

To Galician, his actual mother tongue. Galego…

See, many people were unaware there were more languages in Spain than just plain Spanish –which was, actually, Castilian Spanish-. In fact he was pretty sure even Dilip didn’t know about it, though he couldn’t blame the Indian since he was himself pretty unaware of most intricacies with Hindi, aside from the fact the Mumbai-born Captain could also speak Marathi.

Being from Galicia, his parents had been very insistent that he be raised with Galego as his mother tongue, something he had sworn himself to never forget when he moved on and away from his birth region. Even after years of speaking Castilian daily and having people treat him as if it was his mother tongue, the language still occupied a fond place in the Chief Officer’s heart. He even had a couple hardback books in Galician inside his cabin.

Far too often he had met Spanish speakers who confused the tones he put in his Castilian Spanish and call him boorish, not recognizing telltale hints of Galician grammar that sometimes seeped through. But now…

He followed the lines on the page with one talon. That language… save for a few articles it was by and large identical to Galician. His breath caught in his throat.

“You alright there?” Elaena asked, spurring the Chief Officer to finally tear his gaze away from the book held in his claws.

“Tell me, does this language sound familiar to you?” He asked the other parrot, quickly switching to Galician.

Elaena recoiled slightly, a bemused look on her features.

“Where did you learn Ornithian?”

“Ornithian uh…” The word rolled off his tongue. “On this planet we call this language ‘Galician’. It’s my mother tongue but… very few people actually speak it. It’s mostly confined to a small section of the Iberian Peninsula.”

“Really now? That’s surprising. See, we parrots are actually very spread out as a race, few of us still live in Ornithia so we don’t even have that many native speakers left either.” The parrot deplored. “To discover there are other speakers, even if it’s just a few on another planet, well… that’s a relief. I wasn’t born in Ornithia you know?”

“Really?”

“Nah. Me and my sister, we hatched in Klugetown. A remote trade post. I didn’t see the homeland until I was twenty, and I’m the only one in my family who did.”

And it was rather disheartening that she was the only one. Not even her sister -who was now considered a rather prominent example of a parrot in Equestria- had ever set foot there. Elaena was one of a dwindling population of Ornithian speakers on Equus, all the others never seeing the appeal in learning the tongue of a homeland they never saw nor wanted to see.

Ornithia wasn’t always like that. A shadow of the country it once was. Long before she was hatched, the country had been a well-off land, lush and full of riches.

Sitting down on the edge of Sirocco’s ramp, Eleana beckoned for Alejandro to join her and listen to the tale of her homeland. Out of the corner of her eyes, she also spotted Derek light up a spark in his fingers before applying it to his ears.

A translation spell.

Let the gargoyle listen to it if he wanted, that tale was no secret, though few liked to hear it.

Ornithia was, in fact, a very large volcanic island situated almost on top of Equus’ equator, and was also regarded as a meteorological and geological anomaly.

The main island was shaped like an ellipse, with the snow-capped silhouettes of two volcanoes -Loro and Arara- dominating the landscape with their snow-capped calderas. The particularity with the main island was that the ground didn’t simply go down from the top of the volcanoes to the black sand of the beaches. It actually made several ‘trenches’ in concentric circles around the volcanoes, each seasonally collecting water and spawning a marshy terrain that allowed a very lush rainforest to grow despite the slopes. The island’s location along an important ley line only accentuated the fact, leading to trees so large you could simply carve a three-master out of them if you wanted to.

Elaena fondly told Alejandro about her last visit to the island and about the wealth of rare magical plants and fruits that grew in the jungles of the main island, their magically-charged nature leading to the bioluminescent biome that grew in the darkest, lowest parts of the rainforest, incidentally the most dangerous as well because of the predators that dwelled there, some fierce enough to give Equestria’s famous breed of manticore a run for its money.

Yet the magic of Ornithia didn’t stop there. Elaena’s people had to be crafty to thrive on the island. They had found ways to establish settlements in the upper reaches of the canopy, out of range of the predators and in reach of the juiciest fruits. Their life aloft was what lead them to inventing the first airships, as well as being the reason behind Ornithia’s signature network of suspended roadways that criss-crossed through the branches all over the island.

The only place where you’d find something built on the ground on the main island would be the docks along the beaches. Considering parrots’ preference towards airships, there weren’t even that many of them. Not that you could have built much on the ground even if you wanted to: the marshy terrain caused by the concentric trenches basically ensured the lower parts of the jungle were entirely made out of a maze of a mangrove.

And there was even more to Ornithia than the main island. All around it was an archipelago of small islands, some barely more than a strip of sand with a palm tree. And there were thousands of them all around the main island, each profiting from favorable seas and warm waters. The reason behind those being the much larger atoll that protected Ornithia.

“An atoll?” Alejandro quirked his head.

“Yeah. A Parede da Obsidiana. It circles around the entire archipelago and shelters it from the very rough seas around it. Its obsidian cliffs, when you look at them in the evening sun, they look like jagged teeth peeking over the horizon, with the raging seas behind them. Frankly with a sight like that it’s a miracle my ancestors ever decided to fly over them and set out to explore the world.”

“Wait, I get it all. The island and surrounding archipelago are basically paradise. So why did people leave?”

“Loro exploded.” Elaena whispered somberly. “It’s been seventy-three years now. Princess Luna even says she saw the eruption from space. In a matter of second, a pyroclastic flow blasted through and destroyed most of the inner circles on the main island. Tens of thousands were killed in a matter of minutes. And what happened next… a Néboa da Morte.”

  The ash cloud.

Famine. Ash poisoning. Lung illnesses. The parrots’ lifestyle in the upper reaches of the canopy made it even worse. The fruits they relied on for food could no longer grow because of the ash covering the leaves and darkening the skies. Their young and elders started dying in droves, choking on the ash-laden air that covered the entire archipelago in a dim haze. 

By then airship travel was nothing new, so it was no wonder that most parrots fled the country, particularly considering it took no less than three years for the haze to fade away. Only the hardiest and most stubborn of parrots remained after the fact.

According to statistics, the cataclysm killed a fifth of the entire archipelago’s population, the vast majority of them after the initial eruption. Among the survivors, two thirds fled the country, never to return to a land now associated with death, ash and fire.

The land healed. Trees grew to fill the void left behind in the inner circles, crops sprouted anew in the upper reaches of the canopy. Sure, there were still strips of charred land devoid of trees, but the area they occupied was dwindling as years went by.

But people? Memories last a while, and Loro had left a nasty scar in the heart of its people. 

Most of those who returned only ever did for a while. To pay respects by one of the many memorials that dotted Ornithia’s black shores. Nothing more. They left quickly after that, once they made sure to spit in the volcano’s general direction. It had left such a nasty mark in parrot history it had been removed from their flag, its name now associated with bad omens and only spoken in hushed tones.

Other races later came to fill the void left by the parrots. The boiling lava of Arara’s caldera suited a dragon colony just fine.

Hippogriffs were rather fond of the fair seas inside the atoll, managing to occupy spots nobody else wanted, be it as hippogriffs by nesting on the jagged cliffs of the outer atoll or as seaponies in one of the many reefs of the archipelago.

But of all those parrots that fled the country, only less than three percent ever came back to the land of their ancestors.

“That’s terrible Elaena…”

“It is. But want to know what’s worse? Having most of your species and family decide it’s better to run away from your past and forget about it.” Elaena closed her eyes and breathed out softly, one claw digging under her shirt to lift out a small necklace.

It was just a simple string with an obsidian pendant attached to it. No frills at all, the stone wasn’t even carved, still in a jagged state as if it had just been ripped out of a cliff. She ran a digit over its sharp edge, the motion drawing a drop of blood.

“It’s not my place to judge. I wasn’t there.” Alejandro said, slowly standing up. “Maybe they have their reasons, a cataclysm like that is no small thing. God knows my birth region didn’t have problems of its own with youngsters –me included- leaving the region to seek out work and knowledge elsewhere. Nothing quite on your scale however I’m afraid.” He stopped to stare at the parrot biology book he still held in his claw before offering Elaena his other claw. “So, shall we get back to that first topic?”

  The female parrot gladly accepted the proffered claw, Alejandro effortlessly hoisting her up on her feet before offering her a comforting pat on the shoulder. Going by her face, it wasn’t easy for her to retell her people’s story.

Elaena thanked him with a small smile before motioning for him to follow after her.

“So you don’t know anything about what parrots can do?”

“’fraid I don’t.” He shrugged. “This body feels faster than a human’s, at the cost of some strength but that’s about it.” He mused. “We don’t seem to need to preen quite as much as griffons or hippogriffs, and we got one guy-turned-gal that figured we’re double-jointed. How much more complicated can it get?”

“Forgot about magic.” Derek commented, the gargoyle having decided it was better for him to just follow them, his ears flickering intermittently with the soft glow of his translation spell.

“What? Now we can do magic like the unicorns?”

“Not in that sense, no.” Elaena corrected him just as she came to a halt near a portion of free quay. “But we do have some interesting abilities.”

“What for?”

“Mobility.” The other parrot winked at him before jumping over the edge of the quay.

Alejandro let out a surprised yelp before rushing over, fully expecting to see a swimming parrot or something.

What he didn’t expect was to see her standing there confidently, with her claws on her hips and a grin on her beak. Water was lapping at her bare ankles, but she wasn’t sinking. She was just… there, standing on top of several meters of water as if it were a solid surface.

Alejandro’s lower mandible practically hit the floor.

“Surprised much?” Derek chuckled.

Amandine’s Chief Officer just stuttered in confusion.

“There you go, we can walk on water. See, worldwide, a parrot’s magic is considered as geared towards mobility. We can almost match Earth Ponies and centaurs in a run, we give Abyssinians a run for their money when it comes to jumping, walk on water to at least challenge the seaponies and…” She made a dramatic pause. “… It gets better.”

“Better? Seems impressive enough already!”

“Really now? Sit down then, you might need it.” Elaena chuckled, the rasp in her voice causing the chuckle to take on an unpleasant whistling noise. “Let’s try something: traditional Ornithian attire always keeps the arms bare or lightly covered. Bracelets and tight sleeves are good, but nothing loose like your coveralls. Why do you think we do that?”

“To style on other races with our dashing looks?”

  Elaena laughed.

“That too, but most go naked and don’t make it much of a challenge.” She shook her head, throat still rumbling in amusement. “No, listen here friend: we can fly.”

“Horseshit.” Alejandro snorted before extending out an arm. “That here, that’s an arm, not a wing. And we don’t have wings on our back like dragons or gargoyles either.”

  Sirocco’s Captain squinted at him, a small smile creasing the corners of her beak. She extended her arms out.

“Observe!”

And in a flourish accompanied by a white gleam, her arms turned into a pair of great white wings, with green primaries akin to those she had on her crest and tail. With a heave, she launched herself up in the air before coming back down on the quay in a glide, her wings carrying her weight through the air with little to no apparent trouble.

She came to a rest a few meters in front of Alejandro and Derek, the gargoyle not the least bit surprised by the action, unlike the Spaniard by his side. Elaena crossed her arms in front of her chest, the long primaries forming a cloak of sorts around her statuesque frame.

“I hereby present you the Lost Art of Ornithia. Legend has it magic gifted our feral ancestors with arms to civilize them, grounding them in the process. With proper training, we can revert our arms to their primal state and ascend once more.”

“Just… how?!”

“By the same logic hippogriffs can turn back and forth between land and sea shape.” She explained, opening up her wings slightly to reveal her shirt underneath. There was her obsidian pendant, now emitting a subtle white glow. “We use artifacts. This obsidian is more than just a memorial to the cataclysm. We have always been able to take a shard from Loro or Arara to touch the skies. Nowadays… the diaspora and taboo about the volcanoes has rendered it a lost art. Only a select few on Ornithia still practice it, I myself had to journey up the slopes of the volcano to get my own shard.”

“Ah I see.” The pieces clicked together for Derek. “If the hippogriffs on this planet can turn into seaponies without their pearl shards, there is no reason the parrots couldn’t get their wings either.”

“You genuinely think I can do… that?” Alej’ gestured towards her folded wings.

“No reason you couldn’t. Now… it’s probably going to be harder since I can’t toss you in the water and expect you to come back up with a pair of wings, but I suspect with a bit of elbow grease it can be done…”

She paused a second and proceeded to use one of her feet’s claws to grab a cigarillo from a pouch on her belt, accidentally demonstrating how parrots could still retain a measure of dexterity even in winged form.

Gotta thank the prehensile claws and double-jointed limbs for that.

“… Now I gotta admit, this shape does have its limit. We are nowhere near actual winged species when it comes to performance in the air, so you shouldn’t expect to keep up with a griffon. This is more geared towards surviving long falls, accessing certain areas and, on Ornithia at least, easily make your way through the canopy. Even a trained flyer like myself can only last a couple minutes in the air before I exhaust myself… and as a word of warning: winged species can glide when they’re exhausted. You’re using your magic to maintain that form so when you exhaust yourself…”

“No more wings.” Alej’ completed.

“Damn right. Careful with that trick then. No cloudwalk either.”

“Well alright.” Alejandro replied, gingerly looking at his arm and wondering what it would look like if Elaena’s guess on the winged form was correct. “When do we start training?”

“Later.” Elaena stated, finally dispelling her winged form. “I gotta review the cargo inventory and your visit reminded me I need to pass the documents we have to Doctor Venture’s team.”

“Don’t forget the alchemical items.” Derek pointed out.

“Alchemi-what now?” Alejandro asked.

“Alchemical. You humans don’t appear to have potions in the same sense we do on Equus, so Doc Venture introduced a request for alchemical manuals, some basic gear and components, to pass you the skill set. She said if there was one group that could make it work, it would be yours.”

“Wait so now you’re telling me you’re gonna teach us how to make potions?”

“To a certain extent. We got a crate of samples and ingredients, as well as a couple more worth of seeds for useful magical plants and herbs. All the stuff you’d need to make healing potions, among other things.”

Considering one of the initial plans was to set up a lab and hydroponics on Rhine, this wasn’t too much of a stretch. Hell, Rahul had even come forward with a proposal for a greenhouse container to be mounted on Amandine’s deck once he caught word of the hydroponics, though his idea was more for food.

Now they wouldn’t even need to reverse-engineer the potions.

“Right, potions coming soon. Back to our training, where were we?” He asked Elaena.

“Come back to Sirocco this evening, we’ll see to get you those wings.”

“Alone?” He smiled.

Elaena grinned back before brushing past him, one claw caressing his shoulder.

“Of course. Otherwise it would be boring, wouldn’t it?” She whispered softly in his ear, which only served to make the hyacinth macaw’s crest rise.

Needless to say, Derek hadn’t heard that last sentence.







Way beyond Copenhagen and the woes of Amandine’s crew, one small trawler was seeking refuge from a storm.

Dornada was an Argentinean-flagged purse seiner. She had been sailing south of Cape Horn at the time of the Event, intent on filling her holds before heading back to port much further north. At forty meters in length, she wasn’t particularly big, though large enough to confront the open seas as long as her skipper wasn’t dead at the helm. 

She was no brand new vessel either, and even though Captain Alvarez made sure she was well-maintained, rust still poked through the blue paint and the bearings of her fishing gear were caked in old grease.

So much you can do in the way of maintenance with a crew of five.

Alvarez was old, hard as it was to admit. He was slowly but surely nearing his seventies, he knew he shouldn’t be out in the middle of the Atlantic at his age but… he was left with little choice. Payments were due, and his only son had been injured in an accident on the docks one week earlier. It had fallen to him to take the ship and bring the fish home, otherwise…

As he said, payments were due. Dornada was his girl, he knew how to make her work, and he had taken a few younger folks along to help him with the newer stuff his son had fitted her with. Like the comms station.

Then the Event struck.

One moment they were sailing through quiet seas headed for a fishing spot and… next thing he knew he was wrestling with the helm as they were surprised by a storm that spawned on top of them. He lost one good sailor in the first minute of their reappearance, Paco being swept away by the first wave that hit them on their beam. He never saw it coming. And they were lucky the wave didn’t capsize the ship outright.

To make things worse, he had somehow turned into some kind of parrot. Just like another on the crew, the other two had become weird cats.

No time to dwell on that however. For hours he was forced to remain at the helm and keep the waves from swallowing them all. No matter which course he steered, that damned storm just seemed to follow them.

Dornada was far too old for that kind of struggle; he could hear her engines sputter under the strain. From time to time, the newly made parrot could have sworn he saw hints of a ghostly dirigible up in the sky each time a bolt of lightning lit it up.

At first they tried to head back to their homeport despite the storm.

Half an hour of fighting against the weather lead to the loss of the ship’s antennas, as well as having most of the fishing gear ripped right off the deck. One of the cables must have gotten stuck in a propeller by that point because it was at that point they lost thrust on starboard.

Espinoza, his Chief Mate –now a black cat-, convinced him to switch plans. Going with the way the storm was pushing them, maybe they could limp to the Beagle Channel and head to Ushuaia for repairs. The channel should be better sheltered from the storm. They’d never make it home on one propeller. Not with that weather.

It worked better. Marginally. They still wound up with one casualty. Espinoza broke his leg just as he was climbing down the ladder between the bridge and the chart room. Alvarez gritted his beak when he heard the sickening cracking of bone against steel followed by a pained yowl, but he didn’t leave the helm. He couldn’t. The grey cat was brought to his bed with a splint by the two remaining sailors where they secured him so he wouldn’t be jostled too much whenever a wave sent the damaged ship lurching.

Eventually, Dornada made it to port.

Only to be disappointed by what they found.

As night came, they pulled into the approaches to Ushuaia, fully expecting to see moored cruise ships, lit streets and tourists running back to their hotels to escape the storm. No dice. They were lucky to even see the faint light of the failing buoys. The town was… deserted.

No cars. No ships. Not a single passerby in the streets. All dark, with only the icy rain draping a cold curtain over the city and masking the mountains in the distance. In fact, Alvarez was pretty sure that even if the storm hadn’t torn away their antennas the radio would still have been silent.

“What in the blazes happened there?” He muttered under his breath just as his sailors were tying the mooring lines to a jetty.

Ushuaia was supposed to be a bustling port, filled with vaguely adventurous tourists. That right there… it looked like everyone had just up and left.

Through the rain, he spotted the two yellow silhouettes of his sailors’ parkas suddenly disappear. Quickly, he rushed over to the window and pressed his beak against the window, hoping to spot them despite Dornada’s weak deck lights. He grabbed a walkie-talkie, calling out to them.

No response.

A lightning bolt hitting the side of the nearby mountains briefly lit up the sky. There! Next to a mooring bit, a flicker of yellow.

Alvarez grabbed a flashlight from under his seat and resolved to go after them. What the hell were they thinking, running off in the night like that? In the middle of a storm to boot, and they had a casualty on board. He spared a minute to drop off a walkie-talkie by Espinoza so his Chief Mate could call him if necessary before heading out in the night.

Fat drops of water pelted his parka the moment he stepped out, his own flashlight almost blinding him when the light reflected off the raindrops. A chill ran down the parrot’s spine, the rain was quick to rob him of what little warmth he had.

Ushuaia was as close a port you’d find to the South Pole after all.

With a grumble, the old Argentinean pushed on through the rain and hoisted himself up on the jetty. Those two couldn’t be that far…

He quickly found the mooring bit and knelt down.

There was an abandoned parka, with his ship’s name on the back. He went to grab it, only to discover the pool of goop and blood it was lying in.

“Que diablos…”

Espinoza’s panicked voice came over the radio, garbled, unintelligible. Before he even had time to tune up the frequency and ask him what was wrong, a blood-curling scream pierced the air, the sound echoed by his walkie-talkie.

Alvarez turned away from the bloody parka and moved to run back to the ship, only to bump into a large black silhouette. He tumbled down on his rear, still not familiar with the avian body he had only had a couple hours to familiarize himself with so far.

“So pitiful…” A rough voice chuckled in English, though the chuckle was more of a disembodied gargling noise.

Another lightning bolt hit, allowing the parrot a look at the silhouette.

There was a… creature. Some might have called it a hedgehog in another time, but it was now far too disfigured to even call it that. Rippling muscles bulged underneath a tattered navy coat, the ranks on the shoulders ripped away a long time ago. The creature’s coat of fur and quills was poorly maintained, barren in places which allowed Alvarez to look at the sickly skin underneath and the dark goopy tendrils that seemed to run under its skin. Two such tendrils extended out of its back, extra limbs…

That bore the bodies of his missing sailors impaled on them.

The fisherman’s gaze flicked to the head of the creature. Goop dripping from a half-open muzzle that let out a gargling laugh as it starred him down through vacant eyes.

And behind the hedgehog, a ghostly dirigible hung in the sky.

With a ripping noise, another tendril emerged out of the hedgehog’s back before impaling Alvarez right in his heart. Soon, the Argentinean joined his two sailors in hanging on the creature’s back.

Minutes later, the dirigible left with three new bodies to join its crew and a new wreck half-submerged in Ushuaia’s port, its injured Chief Mate still trapped inside. Injured bodies made for poor thralls…
> Chapter 39: Gargoyles and Magic
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last day of June eventually came, and with it a series of rain clouds drifted over the Danish Capital, bringing with them brief showers along with an overcast sky that alleviated the worst of the summer heat.

The rain wasn’t all positives however. It sent the work crews on board of Rhine Forest scrambling for protective tarps the moment they realized it could very well wash off the still fresh layer of protective paint inside container bay. The arrival of rain also finally allowed them to try out the vacuum pumps at the bottom of said bay.

See, contrarily to Amandine and in similar fashion to many of the smaller container carriers that sailed the seas prior to the Event (a.k.a. feeders), Rhine Forest’s cargo bays were open to the skies. Not a single hatch cover. While it came with the advantage of facilitating access to their cargo, it meant the holds tended to accumulate water rather quickly. It also made her rather vulnerable to water ingress, something Captain Gerig was keenly aware of considering that might have been the cause behind the loss of one of Rhine’s sister ships. MS München disappeared way back in ’78, lost with all hands after one of the worst storms to ever sweep the Atlantic. All that was ever found of her were a couple lifeboats and barges, she never reached Savannah.

That’s what the pumps were for: the bottom of the holds had been covered in grates built over a structure shaped like an inverted V that lead into the bilges. With the ship’s policy of sailing trimmed by the stern, any rainwater (or even seawater, rare as it was for it to pass the main deck considering how high Rhine’s freeboard was) would then flow towards several sets of vacuum pumps installed aft of each of the ship’s compartments.

Needless to say, they had doubly made sure these pumps would be able to remove any water that ever flowed inside to the point where some sailors from Amandine called it ludicrously exaggerated. The light rain that fell that day wouldn’t have been able to threaten them even with the pumps at 2% output.

But it was done. As soon as the paint dried, their container bay would be operational, finally allowing them to load the wealth of containers they had brought back to the terminal. That included the containerized facilities found at the UNICEF depot as well as some homemade stuff like an armory and hydroponic facilities. Labs, additional cabins, workshops, and even a MRI scanner Doctor Delacroix had installed inside a container.

The end of the many modifications came as a relief for everyone in the fleet. This meant a lot of manpower was finally freed up to carry out more expeditions and keep watch around the terminal, all the welders could finally rest, and the installation of an armory on the barge carrier cleared a lot of space inside of Amandine’s own armory.

The hydroponics, lab and MRI scanner also made it possible to move on with a lot of experiments. A sizeable folder of experiment requests from the HPI had been building up in their backlog for the last few weeks. If that wasn’t enough, Sirocco’s delivery of seeds and potion manuals meant Doctor Delacroix was rather curious as to whether it would be possible for them to start producing health potions… or even any of the myriad of potions she discovered inside the manuals. Half a dozen of those would have been enough to revolutionize healthcare before the Event, so there was no way in hell the French-turned-hippogriff would pass that up.

For all she cared, the Earth Pony on the Equestrians’ team might even be able to help her with the hydroponics. He did say he was an agronomist after all.







Around mid-morning, a centaur stallion made his way to Captain Gerig’s office. Amadi entered the room with a dossier tucked under his arm, the Chief of the Barge Department quickly spotting the Captain behind her desk.

“Good morning Amadi, what brings you here this morning?” The small unicorn inquired, briefly tearing her baby blue eyes away from the stacks of paperwork she was tending to.

“Morning ma’am.” The centaur nodded in greeting. “I uh… do you remember that project I mentioned way back when we decided how to modify our ship?”

Raimund scratched the underside of her muzzle with one hoof, her pen coming to a hover midair next to her head.

“Was this the thing about adding more ships to our fleet? I’m sorry, there are so many things I have to keep track of, can’t remember everything we have on our backburner.”

“It is.” The Liberian eagerly confirmed before depositing his dossier on the Captain’s desk. “I thought with the closure of the first batch of works on the container bay we could… just maybe…” He hesitated. “… Consider doing it?”

Raimund’s eyes flicked between the centaur –who was quite awkwardly shuffling under her scrutiny- and the stack of papers inside the dossier.

“I see you did your research.” She commented as she quickly perused the contents of the files. “Care to sing me your pitch?”

“Aye Cap’n.” He perked up. “See, I think we could greatly improve the operational flexibility of our fleet if we added but a small number of auxiliary boats to our barge fleet.”

“Operational flexibility? Explain.”

“Well, I know we got the guys on Amandine. They’ve got their ship, and all the ground vehicles on board, which is great really. Means we can operate anywhere on land, and even mount mobile bases inside with a couple trucks and the containerized units we got from the UN. Now I thought about our role in the fleet, and I think we can go a lot further than just provide a lot of cargo space and tugboats.” He said all in one breath before pausing.

“Like the containers?”

“Containers, and any room or cargo you put inside one is something they can do as well.” Amadi pointed out. “What I mean is… them Amandine sailors, they can uh… project influence on land. But we on the other hand… or hoof… we can do it at sea.” The centaur absently stomped his hoof for emphasis. “Be more like a proper mothership, mind. I say, in addition to the tugs –useful as they are, they can’t go very far- we could take some escort boats for all kinds of stuff. We take a couple small trawlers, and then we can send out expeditions all around further than with road vehicles, without the risk of land monsters, they can fish to get fresh food. We can even arm them if we want! Actually we could even get some actual patrol boats for that; and maybe even hovercrafts to land in areas without ports.”

And he had done his research on the stuff. With the help of the Rhine’s secretary, as well as that of Roberto on Amandine, he had found the locations of several small shipyards in the region. Not the kind of yards that made ships like Rhine, far from it, but they made boats the size of which could fit on top of their barge stacks.

They had even found the catalogues of some of these yards. Some of them did produce the hovercrafts and patrol boats he boasted about. Amadi had dutifully drawn up a list of criteria they needed for any boat they might add to Rhine’s fleet. Size, weight, engine and fuel type.

While the centaur was fervently explaining what he had found about boats and their possible uses, Raimund had crossed her hooves on her chest, glancing down at the ‘patrol boats’ page of the dossier. There was a pamphlet from Damen, a Dutch shipbuilder she remembered as making frigates and corvettes.

Corvettes uh… Escorts. That’s what navy fleets used to protect capital ships. Carriers, amphibious assault ships, vessels couldn’t fight properly. In that respect they were not unlike Rhine or Amandine. They didn’t have proper weapons, .50 cals barely registering as noteworthy in naval warfare.

Admittedly, she was more worried about monster-to-ship than ship-to-ship warfare, but still.

Going down the page, her eyes landed on another advert featuring a British manufacturer.

“Amadi, what can you tell me about this one?”

The centaur abruptly stopped his pitch to take a look at the file the small unicorn was pointing at.

“The Berthon 20 Interceptor. According to our intel there was a local yard that produced it under license somewhere in the Danish archipelago. Seemed like a good design to me.”

And as he explained, he didn’t put it there without reasons. The design might not feature a ‘proper’ cannon or any gun bigger than a .50 cal, but it had three of them. Furthermore, the design was made with ‘weapon pods’ in mind, something which allowed the boats to be fitted with two Mk46 torpedoes or a set of Sea Spear missiles on their aft pod depending on the mission while still apparently being able to achieve speeds of 65 knots. They didn’t seem to lack anything when it came to endurance either: their 500NM range, whilst not big, was certainly nothing to scoff at.

“Alright, get me those, we’re gonna need them.”

“Really?” Amadi said enthusiastically.

“Yes, really.” The mare slammed a hoof on her desk for emphasis. “Consider this the green light for your project. I want as many of those patrol boats as you can find, along with as many torpedoes and missiles as we can accommodate even if it turns us into a potential Halifax explosion, copy that?”

“Parts?”

“Of course take parts along; I don’t want us to waste our time machining them.” She said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Prep me an expedition request for this evening, priority one goes to acquiring these armed escorts. Two goes for hovercraft or any kind of low draft landing vehicle the barge holds can accommodate.”

“Aye ma’am. What about prio’ three?”

“Trawlers. Any room we have left for fishing vessels you fill it. Might even be able to arm them eventually for all I care.” She barked. “Try to make sure they’re of the same class, I don’t want to collect parts for thirteen different kinds of engine.”

“Of course, of course.” Amadi nodded repeatedly at the much shorter filly.

The Liberian centaur departed soon after, leaving behind a rather satisfied Captain. With a smile on her muzzle she pulled an extract from the Equestrian bestiary out of her desk’s drawer. On it were pictures taken from the sea monsters’ section of the book. She brushed the tip of a hoof against a picture comparing the size of a sea serpent to that of a pony before reaching for her phone.

“Hoy Dilip,” She said jovially as soon as she heard someone pick up on the other end “Believe it or not, but the solution to our worries about sea monsters basically just landed on my desk.”







Elsewhere on Amandine, a young gargoyle mage was seen hesitantly making his way inside of the repair shop. All around him were vehicles in various state of repair being tended to by sailors from Amandine’s engineering department, with the sounds of welding and grinding resonating loudly against the walls.

After asking around for directions, Derek came to a halt next to a car lift currently supporting one of the ship’s Defenders. Next to it were tools carefully laid side by side on a cloth, as well as a pair of hooves poking out from underneath the vehicle.

“Excuse me?” The young mage tried. “The name’s Derek, I’m looking for Mister Nikola Dimitrov.”

He caught a sigh from the mechanic before seeing two hands grasp the truck’s front bumper, Nikola rolling out from underneath the truck a second later. There was an impatient look on the Bulgarian gargoyle’s scarred face, which barely abated when he noticed his visitor was one of the newcomers that came with Sirocco.

“What is it now? Can’t you see I’m busy?” He said gruffly, jabbing a thumb towards the truck but not standing up from his creeper.

“I’m sorry uh…”

“Damn right you are.” Nikola snorted, tempted to just dive back under the truck and ignore the bugger.

“Whatever,” Derek shook his head. “I was told the ponies had already done a briefing with generalities for all species, so we’re planning to give some species-specific ones soon.”

“And you’re coming to me… why exactly? Kiddo, if you’re wondering about when to do it just check out the work schedules in the ship’s office. Artyom can show you, he does the planning for us ratings.”

“I did… Actually I should tell you about that. In our culture it’s always left up to the elders to make decisions. Your work schedules crosses over with the others on the Rhine, so it’s up to you to choose.”

“Wait, I’m the eldest?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Beat a guy called Witold by two months.”

“Ain’t that a surprise.” He whistled. “I’m older than ol’ Polish Navy guy. With the way I look nowadays you’d hardly believe that.”

“I take it he didn’t get as lucky when it came to post-Event youthening?” 

“That he didn’t.” Niko nodded. “Not that I’d have any idea how we’re supposed to age you know…” He mused, distractedly scratching the scar across his muzzle with one greasy finger.

“Hence the briefing.”

“Right! Briefing uh…” He scrunched his face, thinking of the best time. “Don’t wanna cut short tonight’s game with Artyom so… what about nine in the evenin’? Can’t take that long now, can it?”

“Well now,” Derek knelt down by him. “Might take a while actually. See, we gargoyles, we’re rather polyvalent to put it mildly.”

“How so?”

“You know how unicorns can do magic, and that they need training?”

“Well, duh.” Nikola rolled his eyes. “Figured that.”

“Then did you figure you could as well?”

“Ain’t that new.” He snorted. “Pal, if I could lift stuff with my mind like sphinxes and unicorns I’d know. I think.”

Derek’s response was to point his hand towards the set of tools next to Nikola. A green glow appeared around his forearm before a torque wrench rose up in the air. Nikola quickly snatched it out of the air before it could float away; carefully placing it back on the cloth it had been laid on a few seconds prior.

“Fine, we can do magic.” He growled before turning towards the mage, an irritated look in his eyes. “I was wrong. I’ll just give you a warning: don’t touch a mechanic’s tools without asking. Ever.”

“Alright, fine.” Derek held up his hands in a placating manner, the young mage even taking a step back. “But don’t you want to know a bit more? Even just now?”

“Okay, but let’s keep the briefing at nine for now. We’ll plan out training once we’re together.”

Derek nodded curtly and went on to tell him the basics about gargoyles. He mostly talked about magic, making a passing mention that he had asked for the gargoyles of both ships to be inducted into the same flight training as the dragons, what with their wing layout being somewhat similar (as in: both being the only bipedal species with wings on their backs).

As for their magic, it was actually similar to that of unicorns, albeit with a few noticeable differences. For one, gargoyles didn’t have their foci directly linked to their brains. In their case, it was the marrow in their forearms that played that role (though for some reason many on Equus tended to believe they did it with their antlers, a common mistake).

In practice the difference was that while unicorns tended to be more geared towards specializing in certain areas, gargoyles on the other hand benefitted from having far greater versatility. Most unicorns only ever learned a dozen spells in their lifetime, including those tied to their Cutie Marks.

Gargoyles differed from that by having very intuitive spellcrafting, which resulted in them instinctively creating their own spell lattices, even untrained gargoyles. It wasn’t uncommon for the average middle-aged gargoyle to have something like forty spells in their repertory, some –if not most- homemade.

That was probably due to their foci not being directly connected to their brain. Far safer when experimenting. Weaving the energies using two arms instead of just one horn might also be more intuitive. Equestrian spells tended to require a lot of mental discipline with few gestures, the complete opposite of gargoyle magic.

Not that they were better than unicorns. What they had in versatility, they clearly lacked in power.

“Might be why none of us gargoyles in the fleet discovered out magic yet.” Niko mused.

“Maybe. Fact is: we don’t have the stopping power of unicorns, let alone that of powerhouses like sphinxes.” Derek said before tapping the glowing gem he wore in the center of his leather rig. “Professional mages like me need to resort to artificial foci like that one to make up for the difference. We also can’t brute force our way through most issues they can. Not a problem if you ask me…” He shrugged. “… Forces us to be crafty.”

Nikola eyed the gem critically.

“Artificial foci?”

“Think of it like a gem that’s enchanted to draw power from its surroundings and store residual magic. I got that big one and a couple more in my pouches, plus some potions and stuff that helps me. When I run short on juice I just cast a spell to suck some power out of the gem. The smaller gems in my pouches can do the same thing, but I also paired them with some enchantments to facilitate certain types of spells.” Derek explained before digging into one of said pouches.

What he pulled out was some kind of glowing topaz. The gem had a metal band wrapping around it, as well as a couple runes and sigils chiseled on its surface. Switching to a cross legged position, the young mage passed it to Nikola who took it in his hand with a bit of apprehension.

As he held it in his hand, he could feel a soft thrumming course through his arm, as if the gem was vibrating. 

“I made that one for spells related to light and electricity. The trick I have with those is to cast the spell through the gem to be more efficient. When I use it alongside the adequate potions, I can basically cast my spells with no effort… at least until the gem runs out of power and I’m forced to wait until it recharges.”

“Complicated stuff that magic it sounds.” Niko muttered, turning the topaz this way and that in his hand. “Sounds a bit much for a guy like me.”

“I’ll keep it to the basics. Advanced stuff like that is an affair for graduates from a magical academy like me. What I’m going to teach you and the other gargoyles is just the basics; the rest will be left up to you and the books we leave behind.”

“That I can work with.” He gave back the gemstone. “Anything else I should know?”

Derek’s eyes trailed over the prominent scar running across Niko’s muzzle, the same one he had got in France, courtesy of the Quarray eels (yes, quar-ray not quarry, as written in the Equestrian Bestiary).

“Did I tell you my surname?”

“Ne, not really.”

“Fireburst. My full name is Derek Fireburst. Now do you know the thing with gargoyle names?”

“Obviously not.” Nikola rolled his eyes.

“Nobody’s born with a surname in our culture. They’re earned during our teenage years; it’s sort of our rite of passage into adulthood.”

“But how do you keep track of families?”

“Magical imprints, can’t lie with those, and it works hella good to prevent cuckoldry.” Derek shrugged. “Plus as a whole it tends not to be much of a problem. Gargoyle culture doesn’t put too much focus on extended family.”

“So… magic DNA testing?”

“I have no idea what DNA is, but a magical imprint is something we use to track someone’s lineage. It’s not even that hard to learn, though for some reason other races don’t like using it.”

“Gee, with what you just claimed about cuckoldry it’s a surprise.” Niko drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t see what you’re talking about.” The young mage quirked his head. “Adultery’s a criminal offense where I’m from; it’s a serious matter for us.”

“I can imagine.” Nikola shook his head. “Back to surnames?”

“Right. When I was born it was just ‘Derek’ and no ‘Fireburst’ to speak of. In fact we also translate names, so my actual surname is ‘Ohňostroj’.” He explained, absently reaching for his tail and fiddling with the tassel at the tip. “I got it during the entrance exam to the magical academy. They wanted us to demonstrate a fireball spell…” He told with a wince.

Sometimes, pyrotechnic spells can work too well. The academy teachers had been just as surprised as he had been when what should have only been a small ball of embers punched right through the walls of the exam room and started feeding off the ambient magic for power.

Turns out, sometimes you should just keep it simple.

“So how much damage did it do?” Nikola chuckled.

“I may or may not have destroyed an entire wing of the academy.”

The Bulgarian mechanic choked back a laugh.

“It’s not funny!”

“Kind of is. So I’d wager, if you get a surname based on your deeds, I’d be called…”

“Scarface. Definitely Scarface.” Derek stated.

“No surprise there, peeps already call me that around the ship.” He shook his head ruefully. “Meh, at least that’s a name I can carry with pride, though I won’t give up my original family name.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re not here to supplant your culture with ours after all.” Derek concluded, finally standing up.

“I’d tell you more, but Sir Armiger’s probably waiting for me right now and you’ll be hearing it during the briefing either way.”

“Yeah got it, scamper off kid, I got some work to do myself.”

On that note, Nikola laid back down on his creeper and pulled himself back under the truck, one hand already reaching for his tools.







“There we go, that should do it.” Johann said proudly, finally closing the electrical cabinet he had been focused on for the last few minutes.

The cabinet in question was attached to a boxy structure made from corrugated steel that had quite obviously been taken from some unused shipping containers. In fact the entire device was pretty much a repurposed twenty-foot container. That was how they had designed it at least.

Out of the top of the device, a simple antenna rose half a dozen stories above the landscape around them, its thin mast kept in place by a couple cables solidly anchored in the concrete of the docks. That would ensure the radio antenna would last a while before something knocked it loose.

Not that he’d assume this relay would last forever, but at least he could expect it not to fail within at least a couple months without maintenance.

The container and antenna weren’t the only things present either. They had plugged a small wind turbine and a couple solar cells to the thing so that it wouldn’t depend on the local power grid. The Northern European grid may still have some power in it thanks to its reliance on green energy, but all those wind turbines would fail sooner or later. The radio relay would rely on its own power, with the turbine and solar cells feeding power into several banks of batteries that would ensure it could remain operational even under adverse weather conditions.

“Thank you so much!” Sandra gushed, the batpony mare trotting over to Johann and wrapping him in a ‘wing hug’.

“It’s nothing. Kind of my job as electrician.” The batpony stallion smiled, his black fur thankfully hiding the small blush that was creeping its way onto his muzzle. She was kinda cute… for a mare.

He still was a bit weirded out by the change.

“Nonsens, nobody forced you to do this. Even Captain Prateek barely considered this as more than a pet project.”

“Well now you will get your radio broadcast.” He looked up at the radio relay.

They had made sure to set it up in an unused part of Copenhagen’s harbor. No crane or buildings there to block out the waves, but still sheltered enough that it wouldn’t be destroyed by bad weather as soon as they left. Even installing the thing wasn’t overly complicated, it being designed out of a shipping container meant they could easily pile all the components on a truck and assemble it on site in as little as two hours.

With a design like that it shouldn’t be too much trouble seeding these relays in any port they stopped in. The parts themselves weren’t that hard to find and assemble. Come to think of it, the software might have been the hardest thing to figure out, if only to make sure the system was secure in a way that nobody could hack into their relays without the proper password.

“Funny thing…” Sandra mused as she looked up towards the antenna as well.

“What?”

“I always dreamed of having my own radio station you know… never figured it would take some weird kind of apocalypse to make it possible.” She whispered, her tone so low even Johann’s batpony ears had a hard time picking it up.

He chuckled.

“You know what this makes me think of?”

“Shoot.”

“You know Fallout? The videogame that is.”

“I think one of my friends played that.” She scrunched her muzzle in thought. “What is it about?”

“It’s a RPG about what happens after a nuclear war. They always have this radio presenter going on in the background, talking to survivors between bouts of old-school music, giving advice and telling them what’s going on.”

“Hvor mærkeligt. Bar the old-school music that’s exactly what I was planning to do.”

“So what were you going to play then? Doubt you can keep talking 24/7, and even then repeating prerecorded shows can get annoying.”

“Dunno really.” The smaller mare shrugged with her wings. “Haven’t decided yet. I kinda like rock music but it’s not that popular and the broadcast is worldwide. I’ll try to mix things up, ask around the fleet for suggestions. Maybe even get some of them to translate the podcasts.”

Her eyes then caught a ray of sun reflecting off of something on the side of the radio relay.

“What’s that?”

“That? Oh, it’s something I added last minute.” Johann explained as he approached a small plaque welded next to where they had connected the cables from the solar cells. “I had it engraved in Amandine’s workshop, it’s just a small explanation regarding what the relay is in English, along with contact data just in case some survivors manage to track them down.”

They lapsed into silence for a minute, both of them staring up at the antenna and the swirling blades of the wind turbine.

“You think I will do well?” Sandra asked him.

“With a voice like yours they’ll love it.”

“Really? You think I have a nice voice?”

“I hmm… I mean… Ja.” Johann stuttered. “Your accent is kinda cute… I think.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” She smiled amiably.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the Rhine’s resident electrician shift his weight from one hoof to another before the stallion visibly swallowed.

“Say, I was wondering…” He started.

“Yes?”

“I was jogging around the quays this morning and there was this sweet spot with a small jetty in view of the city. Maybe we could… get there after the flight lessons you know? Grab a piece of cloud and enjoy the sight.”

“Like a date?” She smirked, half turning away from him.

“Like a date.” He nodded, a bit too firmly before it made his dark blue mane fall in front of his eyes.

Purely for show and to make him sweat a bit, Sandra scratched the underside of her muzzle with one hoof as if she was hesitating. She held the position for a couple seconds before turning back to the German batpony with a small smile.

“I’d be delighted. After the flight lessons?”

“I’ll meet you by Amandine’s stern ramp.”

Right then he saw one of her ears swivel in the general direction of the ships, her features frowning in concentration.

“Excuse me?” Johann tilted his head.

“Oh sorry.” She laughed awkwardly. “It’s not you, it’s my Cutie Mark. See, I think it’s what allows me to listen to radio waves, like a biological antenna. I’ve been eavesdropping on the VHF chatter to train it whenever I can.”

“Really? That’s awesome! Can you talk back?”

“Haven’t tried yet.” She shook her head. “VHF is kinda hard to pick up; I have a better time with lower frequencies, to the point where I need to shut them out with my headphones sometimes. I’ve been experimenting with the ‘bat’ side of things for a few days.”

“So have I. Night vision’s really cool when you’re an electrician I can tell you, and I can even use my echolocation to look for wires through walls. It’s awesome!”

The two of them started talking about their experiments with their newfound capabilities while tidying up the tools used to set up the relay. Bad as it was that the transformation had robbed them of their hands, they were slowly but surely starting to figure out the intricacies of their change and getting used to their new bodies. They swapped tips, telling each other about ways they had found to cope with the changes, from common stuff like fur care to more practical things like how they had to adapt their stuff to be manipulated by a batpony’s webbed wings.







“So no, while I appreciate your concerns, I can ensure you they are unfounded.”

“No reason to fear a group of survivors would steal nukes then?”

“As I said Captain, nukes are complex pieces of technology. Setting them off is far more complicated than lighting a firecracker. A mere civilian stands no chance of getting to that point, and any competent land-bound personnel that would reappear is unlikely to reappear along with enough hands –if they even have any that is- in their group to arm a nuke.” Eko said from the other end of the video call. “Furthermore, we did keep tabs on nuclear arsenals prior to the Event. Their retrieval is one of our top priorities as soon as technology allows.” 

Yeah, and that was a reassuring prospect. Stereotypical shady group starts hoarding the nukes. Can’t go wrong at all. Not that Dilip would ever say that to Eko’s face…

“Alright, and I’d wager you’d be able to contact any reappearing ship that’s armed with nuclear warheads.”

“Indeed.” The Indonesian told. “I don’t suppose you changed your mind on the retrieval of nuclear materials? We’re willing to increase our prices for those, enriched materials in particular.”

“No chance I’m afraid.” He raised a paw at the camera. “I’ve never had to transport that kind of cargo, and I don’t intend to begin the process with a decaying infrastructure and little to no support. Tell your superiors I’m sorry, but the safety of my ship and crew takes priority over monetary gains.”

“Pity.” Eko clicked his tongue, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You didn’t seem to have quite as many calms with nuclear power plants.”

“The plants were a threat to life. All that uranium however, isn’t. It can very well stay there until you get it yourself. Putting aside the matters of radiation, our fleet should soon be able to leave port, will you be ready to reception the prototypes?”

“As a matter of fact, we should. Our R&D department finally released its first prototypes and given us a workable date.” Eko said, already reaching for a stack of files on the side of his desk.

“How soon?”

“One month, give or take. After that we will be able to send a team to get them.”

“Excellent news then. Now, me and my Officers need to know where you lot want your cargo delivered. We need to chart that voyage and retrieve any intel we can on local port facilities.”

“For now? We have chosen a rail yard in Savannah, next to the container terminal. I’ll send you the coordinates. A seaport like that shouldn’t pose any trouble for sailors like yours now, should it?”

“As long as we can prepare for it.” Dilip paused. “Pardon me for not knowing American geography by heart, but which state are we talking about?”

“Georgia.” The HPI agent said with a roll of his eyes.

“Ah… Georgia…” Dilip smacked his lips. “Drawing a blank there I’m afraid.” 

“It’s just north of Florida. As I said: we will send you the coordinates. And Captain?”

“Aye?”

Eko leaned forward in his chair, fingers gripping the armrests tightly and addressing the Diamond Dog a piercing look.

“You have yet to give me a reason to doubt your allegiances. I trust you would not sour the potential gains both of us can get from this alliance for nothing, uh?”

Dilip picked up on the meaning, but he only responded with an amiable smile.

“My collaborators and I very much valuate the agreement we currently have with your organization. Be certain that we understand it is in our direct interest to work alongside you and we will share data and intelligence gained during our voyages.”

“I’m sure you will Prateek, I’m sure you will. Goodbye.”

And with that, Eko’s face disappeared from the screen, leaving behind nothing but the grassy hill of the main menu. Dilip’s shoulders sagged.

“Fuck.”

He needed to throw them off for a while. Needed to throw some intel at them so they wouldn’t pry. Needed to get that lab running to keep the HPI guys happy. Needed them not to discover they were basically hiding aliens from them… 

The airship. The goddamn airship with balloons so big a satellite could see them. He needed to get Sirocco away from Copenhagen, at least until they could give the HPI something to chew on.

And most of all, he needed some tea.

He called Sidereal’s cabin.

“Good afternoon Doctor, I think we need to talk some more about Narvik.”







“But the good ferry-man and his wife lived happily ever after, as king and queen. And they gave a grand ball to the nobility and to the people.... The Self-playing Guitar furnished the music, the wonderful purse scattered gold all the time, and the king entertained all the guests right royally.” Vadim read out in Polish, intermittently glancing down from his book to the form of Andy in her bed.

He was lying down beside the young chick in her bed, reading her the tale of the Good Ferry-man and the Water Nymphs for her nap. She was clearly tired as he reached the end of the tale, blinking slowly as she hovered somewhere between the ‘awake’ and ‘asleep’ status, claws kneading her plush blanket.

Vadim knew she didn’t understand most of what he was saying, though she did seem to pay attention to his voice from time to time when he made a show of pointing at pictures in the book he was reading from. It was an old paperback collection of Polish fairy tales he had stuffed in his cabin, lost for a while under a pile of historical books about the Eastern Front.

He had no idea where he got it from, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Andy let out a final yawn as Morpheus finally claimed victory over her and she nodded off, a content purr escaping the little griffon’s throat. He smiled fondly at her before shutting the book in one soft motion and draping her blanket over her. The book found its way under his coveralls before Vadim carefully snuck out of Andy’s cabin, mindful not to wake up the snoozing kid.

He almost woke her up anyway when Micha surprised him outside the cabin, the hen sneaking up on him and draping a wing over his back.

“Gee, never knew you were such a scaredy-cat Vad’.” She chuckled as both griffons started walking towards the Ukrainian’s cabin.

“I’m not; you just surprised me is all. I was more focused on not waking the kid up than paying attention to what was going on outside.”

“She asleep?”

“Eeyup, good for her afternoon nap.” He said, letting out a yawn himself. “Kinda glad I found that old fairy tale book.” He added, pulling it out of his coveralls to show her.

“Now where did you get that old thing?”

“No idea.” He shrugged. “But it’s in Polish, and I figured you’d want the kid to be raised speaking that. Just so she gets a mother tongue of her own you know…”

“Wait, you don’t want her to learn English?”

“Not as her mother language. English… it’s the lingua franca on board, but it’s precisely because it’s that I don’t want her to only know English. She needs a language she can call her own, and English ain’t that, not on this ship. She’s a kid too; they’re damn good at learning languages when they’re that young anyway. She’ll pick up both languages like it’s nothing, and I wouldn’t even be surprised to hear her spout something in Hindi just from hanging around Rahul-”

“-or swear words.” Micha pointed out.

“That too.” Vadim deplored. “She’ll pick up a lot of them, and I don’t think there is much we can do about it considering some of us use them like commas.”

“You said it yourself: a merchant vessel ain’t the best place to raise a kid.”

“Neither is anywhere during the apocalypse, mind.” He commented just as they neared his own cabin. “Now, all that getting the kid to sleep made me drowsy myself and I had an early watch this morning.”

“You’re taking naps now?” Micha laughed.

Vadim entered his cabin, motioning with one wing for his mate to come in. They had reached an odd point of sorts, with neither abandoning their cabin even though they spent most nights sleeping in each other’s embrace. In fact the Ukrainian was pretty sure some of his stuff was trickling its way into her cabin, just as hers was starting to appear in his.

That Sabaton poster definitely wasn’t his for one.

“Ain’t a crime last I checked.” He said as he hopped on his bed, soon joined by Micha. “I mean, you may not have that much work to do except for expeditions, but I got most of my timetable filled with watches, medical duties that somehow now include research, the kitchen assistance thing, flight lessons, taking care of Andy when I can, running maintenance, and then I got to spare time for Camille’s medical lessons and the entire libraries she has me read through. For God’s sake, show me some mercy there Mich’.”

“Now that you mention it, you did get shafted with all those duties.” She mused as she laid down next to him, nipping at his neck in passing to remove a broken feather.

“It’s crazy you mean!” He complained. “You’d think that considering the only ‘contract’ we have hasn’t even given us a destination yet, we’d have some more free time but here I am running around like a hummingbird on crack.”

  He quickly threw a look towards his nightstand to check the time.

If he fell asleep right then, he might be able to sneak two hours of sleep before dinner. He’d have to chug a coffee or two to retain enough awareness for the flight lessons but provided it didn’t take too much time and he avoided Camille and her ‘extra reading lists’ he might get enough sleep…

Before being forced to wake up at four in the morning for the next watch, of course.

He should probably ask Angelo for some Red-Bull, that might actually help.

“Vadim?” Micha interrupted his musings, the hen brushing her beak through his neck feathers and eliciting a purr out of him.

“Uh?”

“I don’t mean to insult you or anything, but maybe you should talk to the Captain about your daily planning.”

“But why? I can do it.”

“You shouldn’t though. And you don’t have to either. Remember: Geert is an Officer now.”

“So?”

“We kept the same duty plan as before, right? That means the duties of the Third Officer are still set the same as when it was only you. You should bring it up to the Captain, she can probably take the burden of your maintenance stuff so you can focus on your watches and medical duties.”

“That… that’s actually not a bad idea.” He admitted. “But… I know it’s necessary but I don’t like the medical stuff. If I give up the maintenance… I fear it’d be like conceding defeat you know? Like… like first it’ll be the maintenance, then I won’t be needed for voyage planning and navigation and eventually…” The Ukrainian griffon let out an annoyed trill. “… that I’ll be just that: some weird kind of Doctor that’s not really an Officer anymore.”

  He felt the wing she had draped over his back tighten and pull him closer.

“It won’t, I promise. And if you’re afraid that’s the way it’ll go, I’ll make sure we visit the Captain together so it’s clear it won’t ever get that bad, ok?”

  Vadim leaned deeper into her embrace, his tail already starting to wrap around hers even though both were still encased in the ‘tail-sleeve’ they had added to their coveralls for extra protection. The two of them lapsed into silence, Vadim almost managing to slide into slumber before being nudged awake by his mate.

“Say Vad’, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Well shoot.”

“That violin case you got in your wardrobe… what’s it for? I know you’re somewhat into classical music but I never heard you play.”

  The violin case in question had been on the edge of her mind for the last few days, its battered leather a common sight whenever she found herself in Vadim’s cabin, tauntingly daring her to ask what exactly it was doing there.

“I can play. Pretty decently actually. I just don’t usually do it. Learned way back when I moved to Poland…” Vadim trailed off, resting his beak on his forelegs.

He knew the violin inside was nothing special, and that it was just as beaten and battered as the case it came with. Not that it mattered, he had always been very insistent on having it fixed whenever needed.

He did keep it for a reason. That reason being tied to the original name written inside, which accompanied a very particular photo.

“Did I ever tell you how I came to live in Poland?”

“Only that you grew up with your uncle and your mom. You lived in Kiev before, right?”

“Yeah… Right.” He clicked his beak. “Moved to Poland when I was… five I think? It’s a bit blurry at that age. We didn’t do it for no reason mind, my mom was forced to move in with my uncle who lived all the way in Krakow when she realized she couldn’t take care of me and my brothers on her own.”

“Why was she on her own Vadim?”

The grey falcon griffon went silent for a minute, almost holding a staring contest with the violin case.

“Dad died. That violin, it was his you see. He worked at the National Philharmonic for a living. Pretty good at it too from what I was told. But then… one night he puts me to bed before going to a concert and all is good. Then I wake up the next day and I learn that was the last I’d ever see of him. Drunk fuck T-boned him as he was coming back after the concert, half a kilometer from where we lived. Frankly, I don’t know what’s worse: knowing my brothers grew up without a single memory of him or that I was more concerned about some shit cartoon that morning rather than by the death of my own father.”

“Vad’… it’s normal for kids that age not to fully comprehend it.” Micha tried to comfort him.

“I know that… doesn’t make it any less ridiculous, didn’t make it any less painful when my brothers looked at a family picture and went ‘who’s that guy?’ while pointing at dad.”

“So you keep the violin to remember him?”

“Yeah, mom forced me to learn. Bored me to death when I was little but eh, that’s a nice skill to put on your CV I guess?” He lamented. “Never tried it to make it more than a hobby though…”

“Vadim?”

“Yeah?” He turned his focus away from the violin case and back to her.

“Thanks for telling me that. Can’t be easy.” She said, pressing herself closer to him. “Eh, for all we know maybe one day we’ll get you to play for the crew.”

  Vadim’s eyes flicked back to the violin.

“Maybe one day.”







“I’m a what now?” Marta repeated.

The nurse was still inside of Rhine’s infirmary, watching Derek and Armiger come drop off a crate of health potions. Only the first-aid variant unfortunately, the stronger healthcare-grade they would have to make themselves. The two creatures from Sirocco (or rather: Derek carrying the crate and Armiger basically enjoying the sights) had deposited the crate in the office so she could store the potions later, only for Armiger to make a passing remark about her species.

“Name varies depending on where you ask.” The Abyssinian noble turned back towards her between two interested glances at the clinic around him. “Ask the Equestrians, they’ll call creatures like you something like ‘Storm Creatures’ in reference to the Storm King. Ask anywhere in the southern hemisphere and they’ll probably call you ‘Hedgefolk’ or ‘Hedgefog’. Both are technically correct, they just put emphasis on different aspects of your species’ innate magic.”

“Magic? I can do magic? And who’s that ‘Storm King’ anyway?”

“Not in the same fashion as gargoyles or unicorns, no.” Derek interceded with a shake of his head. “It’s… more elementally-tied, like dragons. As for the Storm King, he was a tyrant that abused the hedgefolk to rise to power before moving on to conquer and ravage half the world with his fleet of airships.”

The young gargoyle then turned halfway towards his boss.

“Sir, may I give her a small explanation, if only briefly?”

“Proceed.” Armiger agreed with a flourish of his paw before pulling a chair next to Marta’s desk. 

In the same fashion as Abyssinians and parrots, hedgefolk were basically the result of magic (or Harmony, as Ponies would claim) ‘uplifting’ regular hedgehogs into sentience. Their coarse dark grey fur and white quills matched the hedgehog breed they branched off from, though their ‘wild’ brethren was near extinct by the time the Storm King rose to power.

The land they came from wasn’t welcoming by any stretch of imagination. It was an entire subcontinent with jagged terrain and massive basalt outcroppings breaking up the landscape, leaving only narrow valleys and barren windswept plateaus as workable land.  Even then that land was never taken for granted, thanks in no small part to the geological instability the area was subject to. The birches, the only trees capable of growing on the poor soil, never grew tall before an earthquake or a landslide ripped them out of their roots.

Vegetation and arable land were also rather poor, with pioneer species being the only ones to ever grow naturally, and arable land being a rare thing which forced hedgefolk to invest in alternatives like fisheries and algae culture. They were also the only species on Equus to actually use lichen in their traditional food, since they could digest the toxins and the thing grew all over the place.

All of this resulted in hedgefolk culture evolving into two parts: settlements on the shores of the subcontinent gathered around fishing spots and algae farms, and the other part of the population adopting a more nomadic lifestyle where they traveled with their airships around the hinterland, temporarily stopping above the rare strips of arable land for a few harvests before leaving them to recover.

On the plus side, their mining industry yielded magically-infused minerals only found in trace amounts anywhere else on the planet. The only saving grace of the entire subcontinent, because even the weather seemed against them, ironically the reason behind their innate magic and why they got called ‘Storm Creatures’ or ‘Hedgefog’.

“Why is that?” Marta asked.

“You’ll see.”

A cold and wet climate, that’s what these guys were stuck with, which was only made worse by the warm air that often washed against their shores from nearby Abyssinia. This clash of cold and warm near their shores resulted in a sort of ebb and flow system where half the year was taken up by an alternation between thunderstorms and heavy fog.

And somehow, that’s what Harmony decided to match their innate magic to. Fog and storms.

“Sounds like bullshit.” Marta snorted.

“I think this calls for a demonstration.” Armiger smiled before standing up, the feline staring Marta down with a glint in his eyes.

“A demonstration? Kitten you’re talking bull…” The wheelchair-bound Pole waved at herself. “… I don’t even know what I can do. You think I’m suited for a demonstration?!”

“Simple…” Armiger smiled, Marta then spotting one of his paws reaching for the flintlock holstered on his hip. “Incentives!” He cried before flicking the hammer and pointing the gun right between her eyes.

An icy sensation ran down her spine, the primal instinct of fight-or-flight calling to her as her electric blue eyes focused on the muzzle of the gun a mere centimeters away from her muzzle. 

Get away. Get to safety. GET AWAY!

There was a feeling, like her ears popping. In the blink of an eye, the world seemingly turned gray.

“There we go.” Armiger winked at her before holstering the flintlock and sitting back down. “Your demonstration, milady.”

Marta looked at her paws in wonder; the limbs had taken on a wispy, ethereal appearance. Dark grey fur had turned to translucent white, like…

Like fog.

“So that’s why we’re called Hedgefogs.” Was all she said, watching herself turn back to corporeal form.

She wasn’t even mad at the pistol thing. That was kinda amazing.

“Precisely.” Armiger nodded. “Your species’ fight-or-flight reflex is geared towards escaping. In the prevalent fog banks where they come from, it works very well to run away from danger. You’re also intangible when you do that… except to species that can cloudwalk, obviously.”

She picked up on the fight-or-flight thing and asked Derek to elaborate.

“Most Hedgefogs are rather skittish in nature, paranoid even, unlike species like centaurs and minotaurs who face threats head-on.” The mage said. “Even though your quills act like foci for your other magic –which is electric manipulation, a form not unlike the dragons’ fire magic-, even your response to that threat proves your species aren’t fighters. The electric stuff, that’s for when you’re backed into a corner, we’ll show you the manuals.”

“Wait, I heard you say that Storm King guy took over like half the world!”

“That he did.” Derek nodded. “But he was more than a simple Hedgefog. See, your species is keenly aware of their fearful nature. So they sought a solution, and through magic they created a warrior subspecies.”

“We call them Legionnaires.” Armiger added.

“The Storm King was the first, an albino version made more powerful. Compared to you, they’re bigger, bulky enough to rival minotaurs, but they don’t have magic, save for the Storm King.”

Considering Hedgefogs were about as big as Diamond Dogs (though less muscular), that made for quite the difference in Marta’s imagination.

“That got out of control didn’t it?” Marta deadpanned.

“Less than a month after he had his army completed. They had gone overboard trying to counterbalance their innate skittishness and made them all far too aggressive. They immediately shed their defensive role, subjugated their creators, took control of the nomadic airship fleets in the hinterland and moved on towards Abyssinia. That marked the beginning of a dark time for the entire planet, something Hedgefogs are still paying reparations for. The surviving Legionnaires all got life sentences, as did the research board that created them.” Derek recited in a practiced manner.

Marta crossed her arms and bit back a snort.

“I just learned about my newfound species and I’m already thinking they’re a bunch of morons.”

“No argument there.” Derek shrugged.
> Chapter 40: Expedition Away
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning rose above Copenhagen, and with it began yet another day filled with training, modifying the ships and learning about races from the ‘aliens’.

A day that was barely beginning for Alejandro. The Spaniard woke up in a bed that wasn’t his, with an arm wrapped over him and a soft breath rustling the hyacinth macaw’s neck feathers.

Right. He was on Sirocco. And the breath on his neck…

“Bos días.” Elaena greeted him in her raspy voice, one of her claws ruffling the feathers on his chest.

“Bos días to you too.” He replied with a smirk.

He knew if he turned right now, he would be greeted to the sight of a corset-wearing female parrot, the lace enticingly hugging her curves; the sole thought of it enough to make mini-Alej’ rise to the call.

But not today. He had work to do. And so did Elaena, probably.

“You know, for someone pretty new to that body, you were not half-bad yesterday.”

“Neither were you.” Alejandro smiled cockily. “I must say, knowing the human equivalent, I can’t really regret the change.”

“Oh really?” Elaena blinked, one of her ears twitching before she propped herself up on one elbow.

The male parrot was far from being a sore sight himself. At least that’s the gist of what went through her mind as her pink eyes swept over the rippling muscles and large shoulders Alejandro sported, all barely hidden below his dark blue plumage.

“Or maybe it’s you.” He winked at her, the yellow down feathers around his eyes highlighting the gesture before he swung his legs over the side of her double bed. 

He could see his clothes lying in a pile next to the bed. Not the usual orange coveralls he wore when working on Amandine, but instead civilian attire he had retrofitted to fit his new shape, which included a sleeveless Hawaiian shirt he probably would never have worn had it not been for parrots’ attraction to that kind of colors.

Elaena’s cabin was eerily reminiscent of the kind found on sailboats before the Event: cramped, with a visible effort spared towards saving space by using folding furniture and recessed compartments. Her bed was in the center on top of a small dais, the bed being fitted with a set of white gossamer curtains with hints of green dye matching the color of the bed sheets.

Just like the rest of Sirocco’s structure, the interior decorations matched the materials used to build the airship: varnished balsa wood panels all over, with the stronger green-painted aluminum beams and girders forming the skeleton of the structure and appearing here and there, mainly around doors and portholes, or to support the fixtures for the gas lamps that lit up the insides of Sirocco.

And there were also the signs indicating Sirocco was basically Elaena’s home: sepia pictures hung on the walls along with souvenirs from her voyages. A half-open closet in a corner of the room showed him some articles of clothing like a colorful Victorian aviator suit or her own set of dress blues.

Leftovers from their ‘funtime’ on the previous day also littered the cabin: a couple wine bottles by the side of the bed, their discarded clothes…

The obligatory used condom lying halfway to the small bathroom adjacent to the Captain’s cabin.

“It’s been a while since I had that kind of fun.” Elaena commented.

“Same here. The fall of civilization doesn’t really lend itself to fooling around.”

They didn’t even intend for it to occur. Not really. They had already had sex the first time after Elaena’s improvised flight lessons.

The second time however wasn’t planned. Alejandro had already mastered his winged form, he didn’t really need to go back to Sirocco for extra lessons, Gust and Radiant could have provided that. Yet he came back, out of uniform and with alcohol.

And she had put on lingerie.

Frankly the sole opportunity of letting off some steam after all the stuff that went on was a relief. The two of them had a lot more in common that he first thought.

“Anything planned today?” She asked him.

“Besides the usual duties?” He shrugged. “Just more training. We had a reunion about some expedition planning late in the morning but you already know about that.”

  Alejandro rifled through his pile of discarded clothes, eventually spotting a golden glint and pulling out his watch. Two more hours before the reunion. Plenty enough time then…

They wound up fucking one more time in the shower, the cramped space forcing them against one another as they rubbed soap through their plumage, Elaena hanging off Alejandro’s neck with her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Better be careful, this could become a bad addiction.” He chuckled just as he was running his talons over her taut buttocks, absently twirling her tail feathers with one digit.

“Doubt anything like that could be considered bad.” She answered, her crest feathers sticking to her neck from the water running down her back.

Unfortunately they had to move on sooner or later. Sirocco was an airship, and much smaller than seagoing vessels like Amandine. Her water tank was tiny, so…

They blew through it all in one shower. Whoops. At least they would be able to refill it from nearby Amandine, the car carrier’s desalination plant could produce in one day ten times what Sirocco could store at maximum capacity.

Soon enough, both of them shuffled out of Elaena’s cabin to move on for breakfast. Outside the cabin was a sort of ladder/hallway that occupied the bow section of the airship: up and forward lead to the chartroom and the cockpit in the ‘neck’ of the ship.

In the opposite direction, the hallway curved back down towards Sirocco’s accommodation: a common room that doubled as the meeting room, the mess, and the ship’s office. It connected to a hallway leading to the passengers’ cabins, and another to the kitchen where a rustling told them Derek was currently making breakfast.

In the looks department it wasn’t too bad looking. The usual balsa wood panels occupied the walls, their varnished colors pairing decently with the thin carpet and its navy/gold diamond pattern. Furniture was rather sparse, what with the weight saving requirements of an airship, but it did feature things like a dining table, a well-crafted library and even a couple couches in a ‘lounge’ of sorts, separated by a curtain from the rest of the room. Light streamed in from a pair of portholes pointing forward, as well as one ceiling window under which hung a small chandelier.

And then there was a ladder in the back of the room, one hatch leading up to the weather deck, another leading down to the holds.

Sirocco was very different from most cargo vessels, or even most airships. As Elaena had told Alejandro earlier, she was not meant to carry vast amounts of cargo. Her net payload of 16 tons was still but a sixth of what purely cargo airships could carry. No, what she specialized in was high-value cargo.

She was much faster than the 60 knots average of other airships, and she also flew much higher than they could thanks to her ability to pressurize her crew cabin –though for reasons pertaining accurate navigation, she preferred to fly below the cloud cover-. She could safely cruise at 90 knots far above whatever threats could go after her precious cargo.

And if anything somehow managed to follow her that high? Push the engines to full ahead and reach 120 knots. Anything that could manage that would have to be small enough to be vulnerable to the breech-loaders above the cockpit.

And then she even had a bit of extra utility. Despite being built with a single-parrot crew in mind, Sirocco packed six extra cabins in her accommodation. With her speed, Elaena sometimes managed to attract a small crowd of rich entrepreneurs that needed to get from one continent to another fast. Something she was all too glad to charge them for.

Two of these passenger cabins were now taken up by Derek and Armiger, with the gargoyle greeting them with a wave as he emerged out of the kitchen, one bowl of porridge in hand and a magic manual stuck under his armpit.

“Morning lovebirds.”

“Morning Fireburst.” Elaena greeted back. “That’s odd; I’d expect Armiger to be here right now.”

“I take it you didn’t hear the outburst then?” Derek said, taking a seat on a bench by the long table that occupied the center of the room.

“Beg your pardon?”

“He left in a huff when he realized the water tank was empty, complained he couldn’t manage a good day’s work without proper care to his fur.”

“Wait so where did he go?” Alej’ asked.

“Either Rhine or Amandine, probably to ask access to a bathroom or something.” Derek shrugged.

“Never knew the guy was some kind of prima donna.” The Spaniard’s ears twitched in amusement.

“Not really, he’s actually pretty decent as far as nobles go.” Derek told. “It’s just typical of Abyssinians like him to care for their fur.”

“Like parrots and our feathers?”

“Not like that at all.” Elaena shook her head vehemently. “We do that and all the dyes and bright colors to look nice. Abyssinians use their fur as… sort of like a societal code? The way they brush and style it is like a body language that reflects their social status, their political opinions, marital status and even more…” She explained, one talon drawing circles in the air. “… frankly speaking, I don’t care about it at all, way too complex for me. Nobles like him though? It’s basically an obligation, just to not be treated as a pariah.”

“Interesting. Never figured it could be that complex.”

“With most races it doesn’t get that complicated.” Derek pointed out, porridge-filled spoon in hand. “Subtleties like that are a strictly Abyssinian thing. See, their magic…” He started between two spoonfuls. “… it’s mostly passive. They have this extreme sensibility to the flow of magic with their brain. It can go a number of ways really, because we don’t fully understand the brain and few species have their foci in their brain.”

“Unicorns?”

“Horns, not brains. It’s close, and linked near-directly to it, but still a separate organ.”

“So what does it change?”

It all depended on the individual actually. Most Abyssinians turned out to be empaths, one assumed reason behind their success as a trade nation. It was also what lead to that culture of subtlety (and guile, depending on which species you asked), their society evolving with the fact that most of them could perceive subtle cues and small changes in each others’ emotions.

There were even tales of groups of Abyssinian scholars honing their empathy to the point where they mastered a form of telepathy. That, however, had never been confirmed by the Abyssinian Crown.

Of course in other cases it went a different way. Abyssinians that didn’t have any innate empathy developed a different form of magical sensitivity.

The Nine Lives was its street name. A form of prescience with varying degrees of intensity. Sometimes it manifested itself as an actual form of precognition –albeit rarely-, though it more often led to a short-term version where the Abyssinian developed a ‘sixth-sense’, in a fashion. It made them able to sense threats, predict movements in a fight, or even dodge projectiles.

Needless to say, most of their armed forces were prescient Abyssinians, empaths being more suited to civilian life. As far as Derek knew, the King himself was a prescient, while the Queen was an empath.

“Makes them infuriating to spar against.” Elaena told Alej’ after coming back from the kitchen with two servings of dried fruits mixed with seeds.

“You know you can just force them into something they can’t dodge, right?” Derek pointed out.

“Contrarily to you, mage, I can’t just toss a fireball in the fray and call it a day.”

“What about Armiger?” Alej’ asked.

Elaena paused between two bites of her breakfast.

“Not sure. Never sparred against him and that’s always the best way to figure which type they actually are.” She frowned in thought, her ears lowering as she did that. “Don’t quote me on that, but I think he’s a prescient. Cat guy may insist on the subtle codes of his species but he doesn’t seem to like doing it.”

“Yeah, I’d assume the prescients wouldn’t be too fond of all the codes the majority of the species presents as tradition.”

“Can’t tell, I ain’t Abyssinian. Must be annoying living in a world where you’re expected to pick up on cues you can’t even sense.” She mumbled.

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence, with Derek making a point of avoiding looking at the two avians across the table who were both a bit close to each other.







“Greetings everyone.” Dilip began as the projector next to him turned on. “Today we are going to review next week’s expedition schedule. Now that the works on Rhine Forest are winding down, we’ve reached a point where most of the stuff we wanted in Copenhagen has been secured and possible threats within the city limits have been eliminated.”

And that included an unfortunate encounter an art retrieval team had had with a runaway herd of rhinos. He didn’t know which was worse: the damage done to one of their unimogs (which, though fixable, had Scarface swear profusely at the amount of work), or the fact they shot an endangered species so many times they weren’t sure whether it died of bullet damage or lead poisoning.

“If anyone has any objections towards the presence of our… otherworldly allies, please air your grievances now.”

The Diamond Dog ended that sentence just as he was lifting his eyes up from his notes to look at the assembled group.

In front of him, a wide variety of species were sitting here and there at tables inside Amandine’s cafeteria. Some Officers, but there were also many curious ratings and even Rhine’s half-dozen cadets sitting together in one corner of the room –including the injured one splayed across the back of one impala centaur mare-. All of the Equestrians were there too, as well as Sirocco’s crew.

Their presence went uncontested, though a few sailors cast annoyed glares in Armiger’s general direction, which the noble promptly ignored.

“Now, several long range expeditions have appeared on our radar. I’ll start off with the easy one…” Dilip said before lifting up a small printed list for all to see.

“I have here an empty roster for an expedition aimed at retrieving a fleet of boats for Rhine Forest, commanded by Chief Barge Officer Amadi. We’re looking at several sorties towards Odense and its surroundings, maybe even Sweden, with requirements for several barge pilots, drivers, and guards –preferably veterans-. Any slot that is not filled by tomorrow evening will be picked at random among competent crewmembers.”

A hand –or hoof, rather- went up in the crowd, belonging to a white appaloosa unicorn stallion with bronze spots and mane. The flag patch on his white coveralls –an addition some sailors had taken to wearing after raiding a sewing shop- depicted him as a German from Rhine.

“Ordinary Seaman Diethelm, Barge Department, sir. Can we… alter an expedition’s course? To get something else while we’re on the way.” 

“Looking for something in particular sailor?”

“Yes sir. A farm, looking for horseshoes.”

“We can help with that.” Cheese Cake interjected.

Dilip raised a paw to stop the lanky mare before she could start a rant.

“Thank you Miss Cake, but I think this matter may be addressed later.” He apologized before turning his eyes to the unicorn stallion that had asked the first question. “As for altering an expedition’s planned route, then yes, you may. But, any change has to be approved by the supervising Officer. Understood?” 

The seaman lowered his hoof and Dilip watched Cheese slip him a note in her telekinesis. Partial as he may be about allowing crewmembers to flick around the countryside picking up stuff they wanted… both he and Raimund felt it necessary to let them.

They couldn’t exactly pay them, Euros, Crowns, Dollars, all that money might as well be toilet paper. Maybe once they started connecting colonies and trading resources they’d be able to give each sailor a share of the profits… but that might take months before trading could become a reality.

“Back to the original subject.” He coughed. “Let’s move on to expedition number two: Gothenburg.”

The riskiest, by far. They still had the bridge’s CCTV recordings showing pictures of the murky gas cloud floating above the city like a deadly blanket. It may have been weeks since they passed next to the harbor and spotted the cloud, but that didn’t necessarily mean the gas would be gone.

“Sir, why are we even considering going there?!” It was Carlos; the Filipino cockatoo who had up until then been sitting next to Danny had stood up in protest. “We all saw the cloud over the city, and I don’t think I’m the only one here thinking there are dozens of other cities we could scavenge from!”

“That is true. However, the expedition to Gothenburg is no mere scavenger hunt.” The Diamond Dog calmly explained before half-turning towards Sidereal. “Doctor Venture, if you’d please explain?”

With a curt nod, the mare stood up and moved in front of the assembled crowd.

“It is a recent discovery we made yesterday while scanning the flow of magic using mage sight.” She began. “I was looking in the general direction of Narvik –what for, we’ll explain later- when I spotted a… blob of sorts at a range that put it in the vicinity of Gothenburg’s harbor. The magical signature appears to match that of a survivor group.”

“How big a group?”

“Along the lines of 20-30 individuals.” Sidereal stated. “It’s the same system I used to locate your group. With so few sentient beings around detecting the natural magic production that’s the signature of… terran lifeforms I guess? I mean, with so few creatures around, any survivor that reappears stands out rather starkly against background magic, particularly considering you produce magic in addition to processing it unlike us on Equus.”

“We believe that with such a grouping, it’s possible for a vehicle filled with survivors –a bus, a tramway car, a small ferry even- to have reappeared. I don’t think survivors reappearing on foot would survive the gas, but with the protection of a vehicle, they might.”

“So that’s a rescue mission.” A red kite griffon in the back concluded, Valentyn, Rhine’s Second Engineer.

“Correct.” Dilip confirmed. “We need to find them, and get them out of Gothenburg. It’s no immediate departure since we have to make sure all of our chemsuits are properly fitted for whoever volunteers for that expedition, so I expect a departure within… three days, give or take.”

Which also included giving Bart enough time to finish training the Piranha drivers. They may have started training them, but that didn’t mean their performances were actually any good at the moment. That and they didn’t really have any other vehicle that was both CBRN-protected and capable of getting to Gothenburg and back on one tank.

The CV90 had the protection, sure, but it would have run out of fuel just as it was reaching the target city. Towing a 35-ton IFV out of a toxic gas cloud wasn’t really on his bucket list.

“Considering the important nature of that expedition, I’m assigning Chief Engineer Schmitt as Expedition Leader. We still need one Medical Officer and another Officer -or Engineer- to fill the lead slots. That is up to you to volunteer for.”

In fact there weren’t even that many ‘free’ slots on the roster considering the rescue team would have to bring Sidereal –and probably another Equestrian- along just to locate the survivors. The mare herself would need some training to use a chemsuit with a SCBA.

To make things worse, they only really had two Medical Officers and one of them was still injured, so that really was a ‘choice’ in name only. Come to think of it, with Marta, Boris and Camille still injured, Vadim was the only healthy medical personnel they had left. They’d need him to take care of the survivors.

“Now let’s move on to the last expedition…” Dilip said, the dog throwing a side glance towards where Elaena and Sirocco’s crew were sitting… and Alejandro as well apparently, the Spaniard having an arm around Elaena’s shoulders.

Frankly speaking, he wasn’t even surprised considering Alej’s reputation.

“Narvik.” He stated simply. “By now, most of you should probably be familiar with our latest hypothesizes regarding archeology and ley lines. Narvik appears to be the site of the closest convergence point, which is why Captain Ceylan here has volunteered her vessel for the expedition. Be aware, this will be the furthest expedition we’ve ever done, by far. Captain Ceylan, if you have anything to add?”

Elaena stood up slowly before moving to join Dilip in front of the crowd, a confident smile on her beak. She began reciting the usual: required personnel for the expedition, expected departure –two days from then- and expected duration.

Sirocco also needed to be properly prepped for the expedition. They would have to do a transfer of hydraulic fluid and fresh water to fill her tanks. She would have also liked to bunker on some coal slurry -the fuel Sirocco’s burners ran on-, but it was pretty clear she wouldn’t find any in Copenhagen.

Charts too was something she needed. And there they ran into an obstacle: they didn’t have any aeronautical charts. Ground charts, highway maps, city plans, nautical charts, sure.

But nothing an aircraft could use. Using a ground chart would have been ill-advised, what with the mountain ranges that ran across the entirety of Norway. Not knowing where or how high the mountains exactly were, that was just asking for trouble.

But they had a couple days to figure it out before leaving at least.

The objective was straightforward at least: fly to Narvik, let Derek use mage sight to locate the convergence point, do some observations and maybe find some artifacts to analyze. What they knew about the ley lines at the moment was entirely based on assumptions; they needed actual data if they wanted to figure out what lead to the present situation.

Another thing Dilip wouldn’t say out loud was that he needed to keep Sirocco away from Copenhagen for now. He couldn’t allow the HPI to find out about the aliens on their own terms, so that meant the expedition wouldn’t even be bringing a satellite phone along.

GPS was fine though, being a passive device. So were radios, some of which would soon be fitted to Sirocco. Provided whoever was operated the radio kept an eye on the frequency, it was highly unlikely they would accidentally broadcast far enough to be heard by the HPI agents all the way in America.

Or by the Asian facility either. Eko wasn’t really forthcoming about that one.







Aleksei never was much good at coding.

She had no trouble admitting to it. The skill always took second place to her role as Amandine’s Third Engineer, and she had received very little in the way of formal training prior to the Event.

Unfortunately, it didn’t really matter whether she was good at it or not at the moment. Just that she could do it, something very few people in the fleet could boast about. Micha could code too, but she was even worse than her –if such a thing was even possible-.

The griffon had come to her weeks ago with her problem about creating a conversion algorithm for the radio log. Put it in a format where they could actually read and analyze it, just so they could take a look at the background noise that had occurred prior to the Event. Vadim had been pretty clear about it: he had caught a lot of static on all frequencies before the Event whisked the ship away and propelled them a few hours into the future.

The last few weeks of work on that pet project had been… unfruitful, to put it mildly. But now that she had a code repository to base herself on, the Latvian was advancing by leaps and bounds in a matter of hours. Sure, the conversion algorithm was about ten times the size it should have been if created by a competent coder, and it was probably three times as slow, but at least her earlier tests on a few samples showed it worked.

She caught the sounds of hoofsteps entering the engine control room before she could finally start the conversion process on the radio log.

“Hej, you weren’t there for the expedition briefings?” Sandra’s accented voice pierced through the constant rumbling of the generators just as the batpony came down the stairs.

“What for? I’ll be staying here anyway. Not much to do besides letting the paint dry on Rhine and keeping the generators running.” Aleksei grumbled before inviting the shorter pony to sit down beside her.

She might have to tidy up the control room after her coding spree though. There were notes and manuals lying here and there across the command consoles and on the ground, with her chair in the center of the whole mess. Sandra awkwardly hopped from one free spot on the ground to another before fluttering her wings and joining her by the central console.

“So watcha doing here?” She asked, the little pony peering over the console at the engine room below, through the observation window.

“Just coding. Our little expedition at the tech company finally allowed me to finish my project.” The light green hippogriff explained, waving her talons over to her laptop. “I was just about to run the algorithm one last time.”

Strictly speaking she didn’t need to code down here in the engine room. She just preferred doing it because she could work on it during her watches and very few crewmembers ever came down there without a reason.

With a theatrical tap of her talon, Aleksei finally pressed the button that would set the code in motion. As a testament to the inefficiency of the whole thing, a loading bar immediately appeared in the middle of the screen, the laptop’s cooling fans starting to whirr in protest at the load she was putting on the hardware.

“Sounds like a complicated program you’re running.” Sandra commented.

“It really isn’t.” She sighed. “I’m just that bad. At least now we will know what went on on the radio when the Event struck.”

“So that’s a radio recording! You should have told me, I can help analyze that if you want. It’s my job after all.”

“Eh, why not. We’ll see if that’s necessary.”

After a minute of awkwardly staring at the loading bar in silence, the algorithm finally finished processing the data and spat out a neatly compressed file. Aleksei eagerly opened it with her audio player, its flashy menu appearing on screen…

Only for the program to start replaying some garbled screech mixed with static that sounded like someone was rubbing nails against a blackboard while torturing a litter of disabled kittens.

At least that’s what it sounded like to the hippogriff, her ears flat against her skull at the sound. Once the recording finished playing, Sandra watched her sag in her seat before half-collapsing against the command console with the lower mandible of her beak quivering.

“Seventy hours…” Aleksei whispered, looking forlornly at the display on the laptop. “I clocked seventy hours of work trying to wade through the code, went back through at least a dozen manuals, mustered an expedition just to get a repository to make the algorithm… and that’s what I get?” The last sentence was said in such a low tone Sandra had to take off her headphones to catch it, and there may have been a few swear words in Latvian inserted here and there.

“Al’?” Sandra prodded the near-catatonic Engineer with a hoof. “Al’, it’s alright. You didn’t fail.”

The hippogriff didn’t move, except for a subtle twitching in her ears that invited the batpony to tell more.

“I can take it from here.” She comforted the Engineer. “It may get a bit complicated, but your recording is repeating every frequency at once on the same document. I have a program to do that on my laptop, so if you give me a copy, I can start trimming off the ‘human’ frequencies since we probably won’t care about maritime broadcasts, then I can isolate the real electromagnetic burst from the background noise, identify the exact waves, and if I’m lucky I might even be able to wade through all the encryption.”

“Wait, encryption?” Aleksei suddenly raised her head and turned towards Sandra. “Where did you even learn about that?”

“I have weird pastimes, and a weirder special talent.” Was all the batpony said. “Let’s leave it at that. You’ve done your part, now it’s my turn to pick up the torch, and it’s best left to professionals, ok?”

“Fine… I’ll make you a copy.”

But before she could reach for her laptop, a dark purple hoof slammed it shut.

“Later.” Sandra stopped her, a grin appearing on her muzzle. 

Had it not been for her quite unsettling row of fangs, the expression wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Cheshire Cat. The fangs and slitted yellow eyes instead looked disturbingly out of place on the shorter batpony.

“Work can wait. I came down here for a reason you know.” Sandra whispered, leaning ever closer to the hippogriff.

“… yes?” Aleksei hesitated, not knowing whether to look like a deer caught in the headlights or the subject of a weird friend’s antics.

“Can you play billiard?”

“What?”

“Billiard. Snooker. Pool. Whatever you call it.” She mimicked holding a cue in her wings and hitting a ball. “They’re holding a contest on Rhine Forest since they looted a table for their rec room, and I hereby enlist your assistance.”

“You can play pool?”

“I… honestly I’m terrible.” Sandra smiled sheepishly. “But I convinced Sri to hang out with me for the contest and we need a third member on the team. I think we hit it off decently on your expedition.”

“I basically called you a slut and told you off for flirting with crewmembers.” Aleksei deadpanned.

“Frankness! Frimodighed! That’s what I need in a friend!” Sandra exclaimed before throwing a hoof around her neck. “Somebody who’s not afraid of telling the truth.”

Aleksei just blinked.

“Come on!” Sandra let out a whinny. “I’ve been looking around, everyone on board at least hangs around with someone.”

“Are you taking pity on me? I have friends on board I’ll have you know!”

“Really? Find me somebody you can hang out with on shore leave.”

Aleksei straightened up in her seat and crossed her arms in a huff.

“Micha for one.”

“Busy dating Vadim while Rahul watches Andy.”

“Angelo and Carlos.”

“One is playing videogames; the other already made a team with Danny and John for the contest.”

John being number three of the trio of Filipinos they had on the crew. Their resident plumber had become a pale yellow hippogriff mare, if a bit on the short side (though what with how tall hippogriffs were among quadrupeds, it wasn’t even that short).

“Ajit!”

Sandra actually laughed at that.

“Try again! Even if he wasn’t a Diamond Dog, the guy’s still like a puppy: friends with everyone. Hence: doesn’t count.”

“Fine.” Aleksei relented with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll come and play pool. How did you even make friends with Sri anyway? No offense but except for the other vets she’s a bit of a shut-in.”

“Same as I did with you: push through even if it pisses you off.” Sandra grinned. “Had to get help from Artyom to pry her open, but I managed to barter her out of her cabin.”

Which involved having the rest of the veterans take part in the contest. Bart, Artyom and Scarface were on another team, Artyom having made up an excuse about putting one pony per team so everyone had to make do with hooves.

Artyom himself recognized it wasn’t healthy for the Indonesian to solely hang around with the veterans. She needed another friend group, just so she wouldn’t start seeing only in shades of grey from the sheer amount of ruggedness and gruffness of the veterans.

That last part being Sandra’s extrapolation.

Probably. With magic in the equation that might actually happen. She was pretty sure she had seen an angry sailor expel steam from his ears at one point…

“Wait, you’re just creating your own circle of friends on the crew now.”

“Ja, and what’s wrong with that?” Sandra cocked her head smugly.

Aleksei pinched her beak and let out a sigh.

“We hired a social engineer… fantastisks.”

“Just try to find something to wear that’s not a set of coveralls.” Sandra called over her shoulder as she hopped off her seat and made for the stairs. “Even if it’s just a track suit at least it’s not those orange coveralls.”

“What’s wrong with our coveralls now?”

“That you all look like escaped convicts, that’s what. See you in the evening!”

The Latvian decided to let it slide and just rolled her eyes. No sense explaining to the Dane how important high-vis clothing was when someone fell overboard.

Now did she remember to retrofit her regular clothes?







A knock on the door.

“Come in.” Josselin called over his desk, the unicorn momentarily pushing aside the files he had been going through.

He was in his cabin working his way through his daily paperwork. The standard fare, nothing unusual. His role as Rhine Forest’s Third Officer made him responsible for the maintenance of all the firefighting equipment and other life-saving appliances like the lifeboats.

The former in particular was proving to be rather troublesome. While Amandine may have been able to provide blueprints to adapt their SCBA’s to their new forms –something which mostly involved turning the gas masks into a one-size-fits-all version that worked for muzzles, beaks, snouts and all else-, firemen’s suits and chemsuits were something else. That was mostly owed to the centaurs. Quadrupeds like ponies and griffons could be given roughly the same type of suits –provided the ponies tightened the straps-; Diamond Dogs could roughly fit in the same suits used by parrots, hedgefogs and Abyssinians.

But the damn centaurs? Sure minotaurs were a problem too with their sheer size, but there were only two of them in the entire fleet. Centaurs though? Thirteen. And until he found a solution to the problem of fitting them with proper protective clothing, that would be thirteen souls that could not be assigned to damage control parties if worst came to worst.

His door opened and in shuffled his new visitor. Rear half first actually, as he was greeted to the sight of half an impala backing into his cabin. Speaking of centaurs here was one.

Which brought him to another one of his duties. Him being the lowest-ranked Deck Officer on the Rhine, the French stallion had been saddled –pun intended- with managing and evaluating the Deck Cadets. The other Officers helped sometimes, giving the cadets a lesson or two, but he was the one who kept track of every evaluation they took and decided their work schedules.

There were three Deck Cadets on board, exactly as many as they had Engine Cadets: Carla and Sebastien, the two Belgians that found the roles in their couple reversed, and then…

Asha. The youngest of the three at eighteen-years old. And, at least according to Josselin, the most controversial.

The controversy wasn’t because she was a centaur, nor a mare, nor was it because she was Congolese. Well, actually it kinda was, but for matters of ethics. It went back to before the Event and Rhine’s planned role as an offshore support vessel.

See, the Nigerian company that had bought the vessel and ordered them to sail to Lagos actually wanted them to be able to operate around the entirety of the Gulf of Guinea. The problem was… offshore industries tend to be intrinsically protectionist. Meaning if you wanted to operate inside a country’s EEZ for offshore work, you had to employ a certain number of locals.

Granted, Asha wasn’t the only Congolese present on board, but she was the most concerning of them. At least in Josselin’s opinion. The others were all certified ratings, already experienced and used to the industry. Her on the other… hoof, she had just completed her first year of maritime academy. An education that was paid for by… roll-of-the-drum… Rhine’s operator.

Unlike the others, she couldn’t have ‘rolled with the blow’ if the company decided they didn’t need her anymore. Worse even, had it not been for the Event they could have very well decided to cut funding while she was still studying and even demand the money back.

“Sir?” Asha interrupted his thoughts.

Josselin shook off his train of thought and jerked his head back towards the Cadet. No sense wondering about the ethics of what could have been. Now they were all just stuck together, for better or for worse.

It was a testament to centaurs’ height that even though Asha was laying down on her side with her impala half, she was still easily a head taller than the unicorn stallion who was sitting on his haunches in his chair.

“My excuses Asha, I’ve got a lot on my mind as of late.” Josselin apologized before pulling out a couple files in his telekinesis, including her Cadet Training Record Book. “It’s for your weekly evaluation, right?”

“Aye sir.” She nodded.

“Please don’t ‘sir’ me. I’m not even 30 and you haven’t done anything that warrants calling me that either.” He chuckled. “Just call me Josselin, everyone does.”

Actually it was his surname, but he never bothered correcting anyone. He wasn’t too fond of his first name.

“Understood.” She nodded firmly.

Josselin idly took note of how she was wringing her frizzy ponytail in her hands, ears held low.

“Anything you need to tell me?”  The brown-furred stallion quirked an eyebrow at her.

“It’s about my weekly projects…” The wringing of the ponytail continued. “… I got help doing it.”

Guilt now?

“What kind of help?” Josselin asked cautiously, already pulling one of the projects out of her files.

Nothing too important. Cadets had to complete certain basic tasks during training. Draw a cross-section of the ship, list all life-saving appliances, draw a plan of the bridge… Simple things that ensured they were familiar with the vessel they sailed on and routine operations.

“I asked the other cadets for advice.” She blurted out, not making eye contact.

“Advice? Only advice?”

“Yes, I asked them how they did the tasks.”

Josselin sighed.

“Look Asha, there’s nothing wrong with asking for advice. I’ll admit I’d prefer if you asked regular personnel instead of your fellow cadets, but I think I can let it slide since they’re a couple years ahead of you in their education. What does matter is that you do not plagiarize their projects. Projects for which –I must stress- it’s perfectly normal to ask around for information.”

Honestly he’d be more worried if she came to him with the cargo procedures without having asked around.

Unfounded guilt aside, there wasn’t much he could tell her about training that week. She was dutiful in her studies, nobody had any remarks against her and she even got good marks after a test on signal flags he had asked the bosuns to have the cadets take.

“Asha?”

“Yes sir?”

“Josselin. It’s Josselin.” He insisted.

“Yes Josselin?” She repeated, if a bit shyly.

“I hope you are aware that with the… turn of events our new situation brings, your education may take a different turn. There will be no going back to an academy for regular lessons and exams, not anytime soon.” The stallion said, making a show of flipping through her Cadet Training Record Book. “You of all Cadets will be the most affected. Carla and Sebastien were already done with most of their studies but you… I expect you’ll be one of the first Officers in a long time to have a mostly hands-on education.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going…”

“That it will take longer before we deem you ready to swap your Cadet ranks for those of a proper Officer.” Josselin stated. “I will have to come up with a rearranged training program to make up for the lack of academics, and you’ll have to understand that my duties will take precedence over your education.”

He paused to check if this was all getting through. After getting a meek nod from the impala centaur, he continued.

“To that extent, you –as well as the other cadets- will be given new duties. The Captain has already approved the motion, so here I have yours.” He told her, his telekinesis carrying a thin folder over to her.

She snatched it out of the air and took a look at the title.

“Hydroponics sir?”

“Josselin.” He corrected. “The idea came from Chief Officer Wetzel. With the addition of the container bay we’ll be adding a number of compartments to our vessel. It’s no big thing really: a workshop there, the hydroponics, the armory. You catch my drift. That’s where you Cadets come in play. You’re going to be in charge of those ‘mini-departments’ if you will. Of course you’ll still have navigational duties and your lessons, but we’re thinking long-term now.”

“That I understand… but why the hydroponics? I thought Doctor Delacroix wanted to take care of them.”

“A last minute adjustment. Tell me Asha: are you aware of your new species latent ability?”

“I… I’m not.” She shook her head.

“Then I believe an explanation is in order.” Josselin smiled before he slid her yet another file.

Actually assigning her to the hydroponics made sense when you accounted for the fact she was a centaur. The reason being that, in some respects, centaurs were pretty similar to Earth Ponies. Both species shared a… connection of sort to the land and plant life thanks to their magic. Their presence alone could be a tremendous help to fertility, they made plants grow faster, they made crops healthier, and their care could turn the most barren of soils into a lush oasis.

Centaurs were sort of a mix between minotaurs and Earth Ponies in a fashion. A heavyweight species with quite a bit of strength and just a touch of magic.

Asha wasn’t the only centaur cadet, but the other one being an engineering cadet made it preferable to assign her to the hydroponics. She was scheduled to take some lessons on agronomy from Pulp Orange later that week, just so she would know what exactly she would have to do.

Josselin was confident being responsible for a small section of the ship’s operations would have a positive effect on the cadets. They would have the opportunity to oversee operations while still remaining in reach of Senior Officers who could step in if need be. Might also be their first confrontation with the eldritch beast that went by the name of paperwork. That was an enemy every Officer had to face eventually. Really, they were doing the cadets a favor.







It took but a few days to get the expeditions ready. The one headed for Narvik was the first to leave.

Modifying Sirocco for the expedition didn’t even take that long. They unloaded anything they didn’t really need:  most of the biology manuals, books and documents meant to for the survivors; the alchemical gear that they proceeded to move to Rhine’s new labs.

Of course they didn’t unload everything. Some of the stuff in Sirocco’s holds was also meant for other survivors the aliens may find once they moved on. They also kept their supplies and filled up the airship’s tanks.

Sirocco’s mast also received the addition of a couple radio antennas, along with a GPS receiver to help them in their voyage. The chart problem was eventually solved by deciding to follow nautical charts and go around the mountains, along the Norse shore. It wasn’t ideal by any stretch of imagination; in fact it made the travel length jump from seven hundred to just over a thousand nautical miles.

Luckily Sirocco was a pretty fast ship. By Alejandro’s reckoning the airship should be able to get to Narvik under twelve hours, provided the winds were favorable.

And he’d be coming along.

Dilip wasn’t particularly enthused at the prospect of his Chief Officer leaving on an expedition, but the Spaniard felt compelled to point out he wasn’t really needed on Amandine. Not until they sailed out.

“I know why you’re doing this.” The Indian said as the two of them were watching the last preparations for the expedition.

Mikhail from Rhine Forest would accompany them. The Ukrainian assigned as guard to cover their back was now in the process of loading a couple ammo crates on board of the airship, along with a dismantled .50 cal to complement her breech-loaders.

“Do you?” The parrot smiled, rolling his shoulder to adjust the strap of his seabag.

“Please, I know what you and Elaena have been doing.”

“Aye, and what’s wrong with that?”

“She’s an alien Alej’. At some point, you two will have to part ways.”

“We know.” Alej’ smiled. “This ain’t gonna be a problem. That’s not the first time I’m having that kind of relationship Dilip, and I find it all the better. It’s not aimed at lasting, we’re just cruising on the honeymoon phase, and we’ll leave it at that when we part ways. I’ve done, I’m doing it, and I’ll keep doing that in the future.”

“If you’re so sure… then I can’t really stop you.” The Diamond Dog ran a paw across his muzzle with a sigh. “Be careful out there. You got your sat phone?”

“In my seabag. Anything bad happens, I’ll turn it on and call.”

“Prioritize the radio.”

“I know. The moment I turn it on, they will know we’ve been doing stuff behind their back. I won’t use it unless absolutely necessary. But…”

“We will tell them, eventually. I’d just rather they didn’t look into it too much, they will know about it once the Equestrians leave and we sold them the data they had.” Dilip promised. “I know we’re threading the needle.”

“Damn right we are.”

He was about to add something about the HPI when their discussion was stopped by the arrival of Geert. The scarlet macaw hobbled in their direction with her cane, a chart tube stuck under one arm.

“All the charts for your voyage. All tracks are already drawn, with waypoints set on clear landmarks. Can’t miss them from the air, and even if you do I put countdowns between each waypoint so you know when to turn.” She immediately began, holding out the chart tube to Alejandro.

“Thanks, that’s going to save me a lot of time.” He accepted the charts with a smile before eying the cane she was resting her weight on. “Still held back by your hip, uh?”

“Dislocated hips take time Chief.” The scarlet macaw winced. “I can put some weight on it, but not to the point where I can go a day without my cane.”

“On the bright side it gives you a classy style.” Alejandro comforted her before smoothing his crest and looking off in Sirocco’s direction.

Mikhail was done with the weapons, the purple dragon now waiting for him by the ramp, seabag over his shoulder and claws on his hips.

With him, they would be the only former humans on board. Elaena had insisted she didn’t need a large team, so Sirocco would only be leaving with her original trio, the two sailors, and Radiant. The Pegasus’ experience with airships being what put him on the roster.

“Right, gotta go…” Alejandro trailed off. “Stay safe you lot, ok?” He concluded, giving Dilip and Geert firm handshakes before jogging over to Sirocco.







Not five minutes later, the Spaniard found himself inside of Sirocco’s cramped cockpit. Elaena was already there in the pilot’s seat, inspecting her instruments and working her way through her preflight checklist.

“All good over there?” He asked her, squeezing past her seat to go hang the first chart on a cork board on the port wall.

“Instruments are alright. Wasted a bit of time readjusting the compass to the local poles but it should be fine. Got a bit of a worry with accuracy since we’re going pretty far North, but it should do it.”

“Yeah, normally we’d use a gyrocompass this far North to avoid the magnetic/geographic difference but Sirocco just couldn’t fit one.” He commented while placing the pins to keep the chart on the board.

This was only the first one they would be using for that voyage. All the rest were still a deck below in the chart room. You always have to use the chart with the largest scale available, which is exactly why they wound up with two dozen of them prepped for the voyage.

The charts weren’t the only thing to navigate by, of course. Outfitting Sirocco with a proper ECDIS was impossible, but they had managed to rig her with a small GPS screen that showed their coordinates without leeching off of the airship’s pretty limited acid-lead batteries.

Elaena decided to hang the instrument next to her altitude gauge.

Radiant was on board as well. The Pegasus was busy inspecting the two steam engines that powered Sirocco’s propeller, back in the aft section of each of her two balloons. Interesting machines as they were: high pressure engines that ran on coal-water slurry. Alejandro was a bit… partial to say the least about the idea of powering an airship with a steam engine, but Elaena reassured him the system worked just fine.

They might have to refuel on fresh water in Narvik though. And avoid taking too many showers. Hopefully they’d find a source of fresh water; otherwise they might have a lot of work ahead of them with the reverse-osmosis pump.

“Eh Captain.” Radiant’s voice echoed through the starboard speaking tube. “Engines are A-Okay, but what do I do about the gas bladders?”

“Leave ‘em.” Elaena quickly said. “That gas ain’t any kind of tech an Equestrian like you would know about. They’re fine, last overhaul was a month ago.”

And the gasbags may actually be the most interesting piece of tech on Sirocco. Each of her two balloons held about twenty of them, and they contained a very peculiar mixture of gases. Plural that is.

See, the trick was that they didn’t carry just any kind of gases. They weren’t just lighter than air, that wouldn’t have been enough. They were a rare (and expensive!) kind of magically-infused substances produced via alchemy that also generated an upwards force.

A force Elaena could control with a bit of trickery, which she did once the flight checks were complete, sailors from all around the docks gathering to see her take off.

With a flick of her talons, Elaena started explaining in detail to the attentive Alejandro (the male parrot uncomfortably squeezed between the chart and the pilot’s chair) how each gas bag was fitted with a solenoid around it. She needed to run some current through them to ‘activate’ the gases inside.

Once the current was on, she could do one of two things: heat them up or cool them using Sirocco’s cool and hot water circuits. Changing the temperature of the gasbags while they were ‘active’ would change the upwards force by a factor far higher than the change in lift caused by the temperature changes. This was all thanks to the control she had over the chemical equilibrium inside, something she could easily lock down by turning off the solenoids. One gas in the reaction had downward lift, the other giving upwards lift, she just had to manage the ratio carefully.

Which was exactly how Sirocco managed her altitude without resorting to ballast or venting gases, and this was exactly how they took off.

In her seat, Elaena carefully steered the airship away from the harbor’s cranes as they started climbing, Alejandro’s ears quickly popping from the change in altitude. The ships and sailors below them shrunk down in size until they reached an altitude of a thousand meters. Then, the female parrot gave a satisfied nod before flicking a few controls to stabilize their altitude. She shut off the current in the solenoids to ‘lock’ the airship at the right altitude before he talons wrapped themselves around the engine telegraph.

With a rumble of her engines, Sirocco sped away from Copenhagen. Headed North. To Narvik.
> Chapter 41: WSU Radio
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

High above the skies of the Kattegat, an airship was seen speeding north, flying just below the cloud cover. Drizzle pelted the myriad of small windows that made up the cockpit, a soothing noise for the nerves of Elaena.

She was still secured tightly in the pilot’s seat, though not for long anymore. She unfastened the webbing straps that were supposed to keep her in place during the worst of maneuvers before running a quick check on the instruments.

Unlike many other airships that had been made with multiple crewmembers in mind, everything on Sirocco was laid out so she could steer her herself from the safety of the cockpit. Brass gauges and instruments were all pointed toward her, with the control levers for the maneuvering fins occupying the center of the layout and the two sticks of the engine telegraph –starboard and portside respectively- on her left armrest.

The controls for the gas bags were on her right, almost integrated to her armrest inside of a marquetry box she knew cost twice as much as all of the other instruments combined. For a reason, because behind the gauges and thin wood of the box rested a set of enchanted crystals that transmitted her crucial information. Namely: the temperature of the boiler, the voltage she had left inside the batteries, and some tank soundings –both for coal slurry and fresh water-… among other things.

The voltage most of all couldn’t be allowed to fall down to zero. If it did, she wouldn’t be able to control her altitude anymore, something that had already happened once back when she wasn’t familiar with the system. Against all logic, Sirocco didn’t have an alternator, mostly because of cost. Acid-lead batteries were all she had.

She had been forced to fly over to the nearest airship dock and use signal flags to request for emergency ballast. The locals Zebricans had not been amused.

Neither was her wallet for that matter.

Glancing up at the compass readout, she quickly made sure she still was on the right track, comparing the number she was seeing to the track on her chart.

She would have to thank the one that had prepared the charts –Geert if she remembered correctly-. The Dutch Officer had gone the extra mile and mapped all chart switches along the track, as well as indicating courses with the local magnetic variation already accounted for, just to spare her the math.

Rather professional for a young Officer.

“All good?” Alejandro’s voice was heard, the hyacinth macaw’s head poking halfway through the hatch behind her.

“All good.” She nodded. “Just gotta keep an hour and a half on that track and we’ll be on the first waypoint.”

Which was just as well for her since that span of time allowed her to get off the pilot’s seat and go grab a snack. She snatched a copper-plated chronometer that had up until then been hanging on a chain attached to the altimeter and motioned for Alejandro to back off a bit.

“I can afford to step off for a bit, she’ll stay her course.” She reassured him after the other parrot threw a concerned glance in the direction of the unoccupied pilot seat.

Saying that she let herself fall down the hatch at the foot of the ladder one deck below.

“Alright… you know if you want I can pick up the helm.” He told her, pressing his back against the bulkhead so she could move past him. The ‘room’ was pretty cramped as is, being near the tip of Sirocco’s ‘neck’.

Come to think of it, that part of the airship did remind him of a tortoise’s neck with the way it extended ahead of the main structure. It may be a bit bulkier than that, with the (small) chart room one deck below the cockpit and Elaena’s cabin one more deck below before rejoining the central structure between the balloons, but Alejandro was pretty sure the main point to that part of the airship was specifically so that the cockpit could see past the balloons.

Still made Sirocco look like a fat turtle though. A flying turtle with oblong balloons on either side of its shell. And no tail. And a belly that hung out below it.

Not really a turtle then.

“I’ll show you how the helm works later.” Elaena clicked her beak before winding up the chronometer in her claws. “For now, I just really need to grab a bite.”

  They descended back down in the common room, to be greeted by the sight of the rest of the crew. Radiant was discussing stuff with Mikhail and Armiger in the lounge. Derek was sitting on his own at the dining table, reading.

Elaena didn’t acknowledge any of them, instead moving on towards the kitchen with a purpose in her step.

“How is it going Chief?” Alejandro heard Mikhail call out.

“We’re on track. Give us an hour and a half and we’ll be over Gothenburg.”

“Wait, aren’t we headed for Narvik?” Radiant blinked.

“We are. We’re just flying over the town so we can see whether or not it’s still contaminated by a gas cloud. The guys that are actually going to go there need to know, so they don’t bother with the Piranhas and chemsuits for nothing. Got it?”

“Makes sense.” The Pegasus nodded. “You gonna tell them via radio?”

“Well, duh. What else? Passenger pigeons?” Alejandro almost broke out in a laugh. “We gave you lot a radio for a reason.”

“Yeah, and that’ll cause a stir when we get back to Equus.” Radiant pointed out with a hoof.

“Just like the rest of the stuff we’ll be giving you.”

“Come again?”

“We didn’t tell you? Shit, sorry. I meant to say we’re going to give you copies of blueprints for a lot of the tech Amandine and Rhine Forest use. Combustion engines, induction motors, desalination plants, we even have plans for all the telecommunications tech and some of the more advanced stuff. We kinda owe you a payback for all the books and lessons.” Alejandro said.

Judging by the way his tail moved, the parrot was pretty sure that had Armiger been a cartoon character, he’d have had dollar signs in his eyes. Not without any reasons either: he was pretty sure that anyone bringing back information-era tech to a late industrial-era world (at least that’s what he assumed they were at) could make a pretty penny selling the plans.

Patenting them though… that might have been more profitable, but he doubted the cat could have gotten away with it. A bit too brazen.

But that wasn’t his problem to worry about. The aliens could fight for the plans once they got back to their world for all he cared. They had just brought a measure of equity in the deal.

Elaena came back from the kitchen with a bowl of nuts and a fresh loaf of bread stuck in her beak. She addressed the passengers in the common room a nod before nudging Alej’ in the ribs with her elbow and motioning for him to follow her back up to the cockpit.

They quickly came to an arrangement: the two of them would alternate watches of two hours at the helm until they arrived. Narvik was twelve hours of flight away, not nearly enough to cause the two of them any measure of fatigue. Elaena made use of the first hour of flight before they reached Gothenburg to quickly teach Alej’ how to steer Sirocco properly.

Not such a complicated affair considering Amandine’s Chief Officer only needed to keep her on course. The rudder fins, one ventral and one dorsal aft of each balloon, were what made it possible to change course –though it could also be done by applying different amounts of thrust on port and starboard-. Sirocco also had two pairs of horizontal planes fore and aft that allowed her to make small changes in altitude or even pitch up and down if needed, but they were already good in the altitude department so he wouldn’t need these anyway.

If anything, the complicated part with using the fins correctly was that they weren’t even using hydraulics. Turns out, setting four entirely mechanical cable-driven fins in motion while travelling at the speed of 90 knots required quite a bit of upper body strength, something the male parrot thankfully didn’t lack.

“Ain’t that complicated now is it?” Elaena smiled over his shoulder while keeping an eye on the compass.

“Verticality aside this isn’t too different from a regular ship.” He admitted. “Still, I’m sure I’d do better with a wheel instead of levers. Can’t help but feel they’re a bit counterintuitive.”

“I’m with you on that, but at this point I’ve gotten so used to the lever system there is not point wasting money on a wheel. My sister always puts one on her ships, but sometimes I wonder if she even realizes the difference between an airship and a seagoing ship.”

“You don’t get along much it seems.” The hyacinth macaw commented.

“She has her ideas on how to conduct business and I have mine. We’ve both been in the trade for all our life, learnt from the same parrots and studied in the same place, yet she somehow wound up with delusions about the pirate lifestyle.”

“She went pirate?” Alej’ now sounded a bit alarmed.

“Nah. She barely qualifies as a corsair, even with that stunt she did way back when Equestria was invaded. I’ve always told her to look for the secure and reliable sources of income, but no! Cargo transport is boring and dreary she keeps saying.” Eleana muttered, her raspy voice dripping in contempt.

“So she’s not a pirate, and cargo is not her thing. What does she do?”

“Salvage and archeology, basically. Looks for wrecks, recovers downed airships and, verbatim, looks for booty.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I wish.”Elaena winced. “Might explain where she got the pirate delusion from though. Girl wouldn’t even look at my yearly figures. She hits dry spells for months at a time while I rake in a steady cash flow, but whenever I start to get through to her she finds a moon rock or some shit and it’s like talking to a wall.”

“And the end result?”

“I still make twice what she does. Gross that is. Her operating costs are through the roof, while mine…” She trailed off.

“Yeah, not much I imagine.”

Guess it pays off to be a single-crew ship.

What Elaena didn’t say was that while she could tolerate the attitude towards cargo hauls, it was the pirate jig that drew them away from each other. The scar she had across her throat was more than enough to tell that pirates shouldn’t be messed with. Her sister on the other claw, she chose to roam the skies living a romanticized fantasy of a life the ponies in Equestria were all too happy to gobble up.

Hearing stories of the dashing pirate Captain going on quests looking for treasures long lost? That they liked, but most of them utterly failed to acknowledge the actual pirates. The ones that ransacked isolated settlements in the southern hemisphere and attacked ships when they were at their most vulnerable.

The attitude was understandable considering the northern hemisphere (where Equestria was) was nowhere near as dangerous, but that didn’t make her sister’s attitude any better. She knew damn well what went on in Klugetown.







Sirocco eventually reached the vicinity of Gothenburg. As expected, the Swedish city still was covered by an immense cloud of gas. Even from a thousand meters up in the air, they could see the murky yellowish/orange haze that blanketed the streets of the city through the windows of the cockpit. Parks and vegetation had withered away from the contamination, leaving dirty brown blotches in the cityscape.

There were only a few buildings that were spared from the contamination: residential districts on the outskirts of the city, and some of the taller skyscrapers in the CBD. The former had the local topography to thank for that, since the hills around the city put the small houses just high enough that they were spared from the gas, as were the top floors of the skyscrapers.

Hopefully that was where the rescue team would find the survivors.

The most contaminated area appeared to point towards a factory near the harbor, where the haze was so thick they could barely see the top of the factory’s twisting maze of chromed piping and gantries.

Thankfully, it seemed that Gothenburg’s uneven terrain helped prevent the gas from contaminating the rest of the region. The city, much like any city on the western side of Scandinavia, was built amidst a jagged terrain with steep rocky rises all over the place. The city centre and the harbor were built at the mouth of the river between two such rises in the terrain, which thankfully seemed to keep the heavier-than-air gas contained to the city.

The small archipelago west of the estuary was the exception to that. Winds coming from the hinterland had blown some of the gas in their direction, killing flocks of gulls and removing any traces of shrubbery on the islands before it moved on further to sea and dissipated.

“Whelp, better hope those survivors are in the safer parts of the city.” Elaena muttered.

“I hope for them. Wouldn’t want to be stuck in a confined space in such a situation…” He trailed off, glancing at the chart on the board next to Elaena. “Anyway, alter course to two-eight-five for now. We’ll move west across the sea until we hit Kristiansand, then it’s all smooth from there. Just keep the shore on our starboard side until we reach Lofoten.”

As for Alejandro, he went down the hatch back to the chart room where they had installed the radio station. Calling Copenhagen to tell them about the gas cloud was nothing too hard, though Sirocco’s limited batteries forced him to keep the transmission short. Dilip was rather displeased at the news, the possibility of survivors being in the uncontaminated parts of the city doing little to raise his spirits.

Because it didn’t change anything. The expedition team sent to Gothenburg would still have to pack hazmat suits, SCBA’s and the Piranhas.

“He doesn’t sound happy.” Armiger noted.

Alejandro startled. The Abyssinian noble had somehow snuck up on him while he was speaking with Dilip, his feline form nonchalantly leaning in the doorframe.

“That he isn’t. We’re taking insane risks sending a team in the middle of a gas cloud at the possibility of finding survivors. He was probably hoping I’d tell him it had dissipated in the meantime.” He told the noble whilst making sure the radio had stopped broadcasting.

“Your Captain doesn’t seem too fond of taking risks.”

“Because we can’t. We’ve been walking on thin ice ever since we reappeared. No safety net, no Coast Guard to pick us up if we wreck the ship, no salvage crews to pull us out if we ground her, and much as I loathe admitting it, our medical capabilities aren’t even that good.” The parrot recited with a shake of his head as he was hunched over the chart table. “I’ve been called out on that, mind. Our bosun, Artyom…”

“The blue dragon?” Armiger quirked his head.

“Yeah, him.” He nodded. “Complained a few times we were overdoing it with the risk assessments.”

“Risk assessment?”

“It’s a formal procedure we do to examine the dangers of certain tasks and minimize risks to ship and personnel. Regardless… as long as it’s just us and our ship with not even a single colony to return to, we will have to show extra care for even the most routine tasks. Any misstep…” He made a cutting motion with his claw. “… and Amandine could be doomed.”

“Using colonies as a safety net. You know, I’m no marine specialist but judging by the size of your ships you will need a fairly large industrial base.”

“It’s not going to be easy, I know.” Alej’ sighed. “I don’t even know if we will ever achieve it, but our world relied heavily on maritime logistics for supply chains. If we don’t start finding and linking colonies soon, our civilization could very well start slipping back decades on the technological scale.”

“So?”

“So what? I’m Chief Officer, not Captain. I may worry about that stuff but it’s up to Prateek and Gerig to find a solution. What I can tell is we will need to negotiate some deals. Ships need their own kind of stuff, but we can’t ask colonies to produce supplies and parts just for us. That is gonna be a huge change for the industry.”

“I don’t get it.” Armiger frowned.

“How does the shipping sector work in Abyssinia?”

“That depends.” Armiger crossed his arms. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Who owns the ships? Who charters them?”

“That would depend on the kind of ship. Regional freight transport –anything that stays in Abyssinia- is typically transported on smaller tramp freighters owned by companies. International cargo on the other paw, that’s where you get one-ship-companies. Heirloom ships, where the Captain is typically the owner and it’s more of a family affair.”

“That system practically died out here on Earth. That’s what I meant about the change. We typically just pick up the cargo and transport it. There is no negotiation aspect on the shipboard side of the industry; all deals are handled by companies and agents shoreside. Been that way for a while now, which is no surprise considering no single individual could possibly shoulder the financial burden of a seagoing ship.”

“They’re costly aren’t they? Considering how big Amandine is I wouldn’t be surprised if she cost a significant amount.”

“You aren’t particularly versed in the ins and outs of the maritime sector are you?” Alejandro glanced at the feline over his shoulder.

“I’m more of an industrial. Factories, workshops, some vineyards even, but no fleet management.” Armiger admitted with a shrug.

The parrot noted in passing how the Abyssinian’s tail tended to mimic his shrugs by bobbing up and down. Funny, he never really paid attention to that…

“Then I’ll have you know the problem with ships is not the upfront cost of building or buying them. What gets you in the long run is the upkeep. And it’s skyrocketed in the last years of our civilization. Pollution insurances, P&I clubs, vetting, classifications and flag-state requirements. Pair those with crew salaries that require the hiring of graduated Engineers and Officers, stupendously high fuel costs and the steady increase in size… family-owned ships were doomed to disappear. The only industries where they remained were for inland navigation and fishing fleets, and even then they were only a fraction of the total.”

“Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind when I get back to Abyssinia, might be interesting to know how that industry can develop.”

“Investment ideas?”

Armiger’s eyes twinkled in amusement, the tip of his tail drawing small circles in the air.

“My my, minutes of talking and here you already figured me out. Hats off to you.” The cat smirked.

“Flattered. My point still stands. Ships that reappear will be unclaimed by any shipping company, with only their Captains and crews as legitimate ‘owners’. That means the negotiation side of the job will be coming back, for good or ill. No relying on shoreside agencies to figure out the most optimal trade route for a specific ship any time of the year. Figure out the supply chains yourself, and make sure to be where you’re needed at the right time to pick up freight.”

Armiger blinked at him, an owlish look appearing on his muzzle.

“Something wrong Armiger?”

“Nothing, just an idea.” He shook his head. “But please, call me Louis. ‘Armiger’ can stay in Abyssinia’s cigar lounges, we’re on an expedition! Back to my idea. Elaena, she owns Sirocco. You should ask her how she manages it, might help you when it’s time to do it yourself.”

It was Alejandro’s turn to blink in surprise. That… really wasn’t such a bad idea. He thanked Armiger –no, Louis- before quickly grabbing the next chart on their list. Speaking of Elaena, she’d need that chart in a few minutes when they passed Stavanger.







Sirocco continued on her route, following the Norse shoreline all the way north to Narvik. Elaena and Alejandro relayed each other at regular intervals behind the controls, making sure the double-balloon-airship kept a steady course and didn’t change her altitude or speed too much.

Radiant could have helped with that, but Sirocco was already made to be piloted by a single parrot, he’d just have been redundant at the job and his body type barely fit in the pilot’s seat anyway. The Pegasus thus found himself relegated to the role of keeping an eye on the engines, something that wasn’t even particularly necessary because of Sirocco’s one-parrot-crew jig.

He did spend a good while marveling at the engineering behind the craft, wondering whether a pony like him could buy one once he got back from the expedition.

Elaena mentioning Sirocco’s price tag put an abrupt stop to that. Even she had to admit, she was lucky to have gotten her claws on the airship. Radiant managed to intercept her between two bouts at the helm and, with sensible use of coffee and some subtle prodding; he managed to get her to open up on how exactly she had acquired the airship.

It was a bit underwhelming really. No grand story of stealing prototypes from a mad scientist, no humongous treasure to finance a revolutionary vessel or anything quite like that.

Just making sure you’re at the right place at the right time; and that you slide enough bits –or Abyssinian marks (A-Mark for short) rather- in the right creature’s pockets.

Elaena had been lucky enough to wash up in Abyssinia after the loss of her first ship. Her former crew was quick to scatter as soon as they left the hospital, leaving her with nothing.

Nothing but a hefty account at the Royal Bank and earnings from the book on piracy she had written while recovering in the hospital. She may not bother with actual parachutes but you’d be hard pressed to catch her off guard on the financial side.

Then she just played a few parties like fiddles.

Party one: Abyssinia’s Royal Academy of Fine Engineering. Eternal lovers of any exotic tech they could get their paws on. She ‘donated’ the cats her notes on traditional high performance Ornithian lift gases while making sure the newspapers caught her in the act.

Paired with her newfound fame -courtesy of her book-, it took but a day for letters from various engineers and shipwrights to land in her lap.

Her book helped. The  narration in there made sure to draw a picture of her and her sister while putting emphasis on the fact she was the more ‘tame’ of the duo. She was a sound investment, little risk taking, no theatrical antics; just steady, reliable investments.

And investments they were. The academics wanted to see the Ornithian lift gases in action, the shipwrights wanted to get the opportunity of making the next revolutionary airship, investors wanted their name on it, and the Abyssinian Crown just wanted good publicity.

A few months later, she was flying out aboard a brand new Sirocco. A design optimized to fill a niche in the industry few others could fill, something which quickly started raking in money. In as little as five years of careful management along with investments on the side, she managed to buy all shares of the vessel.

Meanwhile, the ground flew under them. If many countries had a relatively straight shoreline with beaches, Norway was the complete opposite. All the fjords and inlets, some of them digging dozens of miles into the hinterland, gave the shoreline a jagged appearance. The border between sea and land was made even harder to distinguish by the presence of hundreds of small islands of all shapes and sizes, some just a hundred meters across with but a few weeds and a fisherman’s shack on them.

The reason behind that landscape came from the geological nature of Norway. See, contrarily to most of Europe’s shore, the Scandinavian Peninsula was made of mostly igneous rocks like granite unlike the far more brittle sedimentary rocks found elsewhere, such as limestone. That was the reason behind the massive outcroppings and mountains that arose out of the land a mere hundred meters away from the shore: it simply was that much harder for water to erode.

From the air, all these cliffs and rocks gave the land a dark grey hue similar to a blackboard. That dark grey paired up with the green vegetation growing out on the slopes and in the narrow valleys, wherever there was enough land for it to grow. Pines, hardy weeds and all kinds of vegetation able to weather the harsh conditions that swooped in every winter, placed over the landscape as if painted there by the strokes of a giant brush.

But no fields, or at least nowhere near as many of them as in Sweden. Norway didn’t lend itself to the same kind of agriculture as Southern Sweden.

Elaena didn’t regret their decision of going around the mountains. From the portholes of Sirocco, they could all see the clouds wrapping around the snow-capped mountains, some high, some low, all buffeted by strong winds.

Without a proper chart she was pretty confident they would be a smoldering wreck somewhere on the slopes had they not decided to use nautical charts and go the long way around them.

A chill started to seep in the air as they flew further north, the temperature dropping down a good five degrees as their latitude increased. It wasn’t really that cold, Norway or not it was still summer. The clouds and drizzle that had loomed over them since Copenhagen were also left behind by the point they passed Alesund, trading place with the cottony shapes of stratus clouds in a blue sky.

It was also about that time Louis and Derek discovered exactly why Norway was called the Land of the Midnight Sun. Their voyage may have lasted twelve hours with their departure around noon, but night never came. They were now too far north for that. In Narvik, the sun didn’t set from late May to late July.

A few hours after passing Alesund, the Lofoton Peninsula finally appeared ahead of them.

They were there.







“So he just left you with a manual?”

“Basically.” Scarface shrugged. “Said you’d be able to help me figure out the rest as soon as I could focus magic in my arms.” The gargoyle told, forearms lighting up in a red translucent aura for emphasis. This was about the only thing he could do at the moment. Derek had given him and the other gargoyles a couple lessons on magic, but all of that went out of the proverbial window when he left with Sirocco.

The young mage’s parting words were why he was now addressing Sidereal. Not that she wasn’t on an expedition roster herself, but she wouldn’t be going far enough to cancel the unicorns’ magic lessons…

… which now seemed to include the sphinxes as well. He could see Farkas and Thanasis sitting on their haunches near a magic lantern, eyes closed in concentration.

It wasn’t that odd actually. The more the Equestrians trained regular ponies and species they were familiar with, the more of their attention they could devote to rarer species. This was how Gust wound up giving flight lessons to winged bipeds, and also how Cheese and Sidereal found themselves beginning to teach sphinxes the basics on magic. By Derek’s reckoning, Nikola could ask the latter to teach him magic.

“I’m sorry uh…”

“Nikola, or Scarface if you want.” The Bulgarian completed.

“Sorry Nikola, but I don’t think gargoyle magic and unicorn magic mesh particularly well. You have your kind of magic and we have ours, the spell lattices and weaving are intrinsically different because of the very nature of our focis.” Sidereal apologized. “We’re already having difficulties teaching the sphinxes.”

Farkas opened her eyes, only for the lioness to notice they were shining like a pair of flashlights. Cheese rushed over to help her dispel the accidental spell.

“I can see that…” Scarface drawled. “But is there really nothing you can do? Any tips?”

“I could, but I fear any advice I could give you would be… ill-suited. Either I tell you advanced stuff I learned for my PhD you couldn’t care less about, or I give you advice that’s meant for unicorns that may not even work for you.”

“Pity…” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “Well then, guess it’s back to flight lessons for now.”

And he didn’t even particularly like flying. Those wings on his back were more of an annoyance that forced him to readjust his entire wardrobe and wouldn’t let him sleep on his back. They got warm or cold at the slightest change in temperature, something that was particularly annoying when he had to go between the relative freshness of Amandine’s car decks and the stifling heat of the engine room.

“I could try something.”

He perked up.

“That manual he gave you, I could try to take a look at it tonight. I think I know enough about magic to interpret what’s inside and figure out how you’re supposed to make it work.” Sidereal mused. “No promises though, I’ve never read any academic publications that came from gargoyles.”

“It’s the thought that matters. Thank you.” Scarface gingerly handed her the manual with a polite smile before walking back towards the rest of the assembled gargoyles on the other side of Amandine’s main deck.

She spotted a few disappointed looks before one of them motioned for the others to follow with a wave. If they couldn’t train in magic, at least they’d make sure they could fly as soon as possible.

“Nikola?” Sidereal stopped the Bulgarian before he could get too far. He addressed her an inquisitive look but didn’t say anything.

“Those wings of yours, they seem to be bothering you.” The red mare pointed at them with her hoof.

“Yeah, always seems to feel hot or cold at the worst of times.”

“I know dragons use the skin in their wings to dissipate heat. They run hot. Maybe you’re supposed to use them for temperature control, just saying.”

He was just about to deny that when the thought struck a memory of Derek. Now that he thought about it the mage did always carry a cloak around, even now in summer. At times he’d wear it above his wings, other times he’d just fold it.

“I’ll look into that.” He nodded curtly before turning around to join the other gargoyles.

Watching him depart, Sidereal starred down at the manual she had dropped by her forehooves. The thick paperback book had a mention on the back of the cover. ‘Translated to Equestrian’.

Ugh, those were always so inaccurate.







It took him a while and a lot of trial and error, but Vadim was finally flying.

Not gliding. Not helplessly beating his wings to stay aloft. Flying.

The grey falcon griffon let out a delighted caw as he zoomed above the stacks of containers and headed for Amandine. Behind him, other trainees cheered him on, most of them still busy doing glide training.

He caught the sound of feathers beating against air behind him so he angled his wings ever so slightly to slow down. Micha shot past him in an orange-clothed blur, soon followed by Gust, the Equestrian Ranger matching his speed.

“Congrats!” The gold-furred Pegasus spoke up, his red and blue tail trailing behind him and leaving –for some reason- a faint contrail. He had shed his gambeson, not needing the armor as long as he stayed within the limits of the terminal the sailors kept secure.

“Thanks! Just a question…” Vadim paused to bank around a tall container crane. “… where do I go from here?”

“Two things.” Gust stated. “One: keep flying so you can stay longer in the air. I’m not talking minutes, I’m talking hours spent aloft. Do it all the time, just to keep your wings fit. Even if it means hovering half a meter above the ground when you’re inside.”

“What’s number two then?” Micha butted in.

The bald eagle griffon had just completed a lazy turn around Rhine Forest’s gantry crane and was only now joining their ‘formation’.

“Maneuvers.” Gust grinned before starting to beat his wings faster.

They watched him roll over and start doing tricks around the cranes and between the stacks, his lithe equine form hugging the obstacles, never straying more than a meter away from them before he shot up in the air with a corkscrew. He allowed himself to stall at the apex of his climb, before dropping into a glide that brought him back alongside the two griffons flying side by side.

“You’re flying now, which is good, but there is more that can be done. I’m not going into cloud stuff further than the fact you can walk on them for now, but you might want to learn some tricks. Hovering, flying backwards, upside down, obstacle runs.”

“Obstacle runs?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m an Everfree Ranger.” He admitted. “I find it rather important. We have our courses where we must fly as fast as possible through a forest.”

Together, the three of them landed on top a container stack.

“But why?” Micha asked. 

“Everfree’s a big forest. The canopy doesn’t always let you fly up to avoid danger –and believe me there is danger in spades -, so we need to reach certain speeds through forestry without hitting them.”

“You told me Pegasuses…”

“Pegasi.” Gust corrected.

“Right, Pegasi.” Micha rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you say your uh… kind is more suited for high altitude performance?”

“We are. Doesn’t mean I can’t achieve it with a bit of elbow grease. Sure, batponies will beat me in a forest run, but it’s no trouble as long as I meet the criteria. That and there is more to the job than just flying through forestry. We have other species in the ranks too. Unicorns, Earth Ponies, it’s more than just a bunch of flyers shooting crossbow bolts at critters.”

“Eh, if you say so. Not like I can verify.” She shrugged before suddenly swiveling her head in the opposite direction. “Be right back.” She blurted out before spreading her wings.

She had left Andy with Aleksei; the Latvian hippogriff had been taking a short rest and could stand to watch the kid for a minute or two.

Or not.

She was currently chatting with Sandra, completely unaware that a certain hatchling had become disinterested in her coloring books and was now stalking a seagull.

Not. On. Her. Watch.

She saw Andy get ready to pounce on the surprisingly oblivious gull, an unhealthy ball of feathers covered in grime no sane creature would ever consider as prey. The poor animal was probably more plastic waste than flesh at that point.

Kid didn’t seem to care. Micha intercepted her just in the nick of time, pinning her tail to the ground with her talons and halting her mid-pounce. Andy let out an outraged squawk, the outburst making the seagull fly away now that it had noticed the two predators in its vicinity.

The older hen fixed a stern glare on the hatchling who had the presence of mind of at least squirming a bit.

“Seagulls aren’t for eating. They’re full of diseases. You just had dinner.” She barked, sharp raptor eyes not leaving the kid.

Andy meekly tugged at her still pinned tail before lowering her head.

“Kurwa mac…” She heard the kid mutter under her breath.

  Micha furrowed her brows, her grip on Andy’s tail subconsciously tightening. First words she heard her utter and… it’s just swearing. Now she wasn’t really surprised the kid’d pick up words like that but…

That didn’t really make it any better.

“Don’t say that Andy, those are bad words.” She sighed, letting go of her tail.

On the one claw, the kid was finally starting to speak so she didn’t feel like chastising her about it. On the other claw… she might need to watch her language around the kid now that she was picking up on what she was saying.

Can’t really blame Andy though. She’d be surprised if she actually knew what she’d just said actually meant.

“I’m sorry Mich’, she slipped past me.” Aleksei rushed over with an apology.

Micha looked down at Andy who was now pressing herself against her side with an apologetic look. She did understand the scolding tone then.

“It’s nothing.” She shook her head, brushing her talons over Andy’s back.

Not really, but she didn’t feel like being rude.







A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought.

“Come in!” Schmitt barked, setting aside her blueprints for now.

It was late in the evening, well after the usual flight training they did at that time. Up until then she had been hunched over her desk touching up the blueprints for the oil reconditioning system they’d need to complete, eventually.

Not really urgent, per se, but it seemed like her transformation didn’t cure her insomnia problems. So… might as well make use of that time.

Scrunched paper balls littered the floor all around her desk, along with a few empty thermoses long depleted of their precious coffee. On a corner of her desk were also a couple chewed-up drill bits and screwdrivers the female dragon found herself sticking in her maw increasingly often as of late.

Her door opened to reveal a somewhat disheveled hippogriff, the blue feathers of his mane/crest sticking out at odd angles to go with the myriad of coffee stains he had on his white coveralls.

“Engine Cadet Rüdiger ma’am, here to report on my progress.” Frederik barked tiredly.

Schmitt’s eyes flicked to the alarm clock on her desk, it was showing her a number uncomfortably close to midnight. Kinda late to go from Rhine to Amandine just to report his progress.

“Speak up, how did it go with the flow rate calculations?” She waved a claw towards a chair in front of her desk.

“It took us some time, but I think we’ve done it.” Frederik told her, sliding a small laptop on the desk, along with a couple printed excel sheets. “It took all three of us engine cadets, but we’ve got an idea of what we’ll need.”

“Scale model or full size?”

“Both.” The hippogriff smiled. “We… uh, shit.” His face darkened.

“Something wrong?” Schmitt raised an eyeridge at the pause.

“Not really. I just don’t know how to say it in English.”

“Just switch to German then.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m Luxembourgish, languages aren’t really a problem for us.”

“Danke.” Fred said in relief. “The other Engine Cadets all speak German too, so we did it in German instead of English.”

“They’re German too?”

“No, French, but they learned it in high school. One is from Alsace even.  Anyway…” He clicked his beak. “We ran our calculations with the system requirements you wanted. The excel sheets should give you an indication of the suction head required to make the system work, but it’s gonna need booster pumps otherwise the whole thing will be a cavitation fest.”

“How many times did you run the iterative calculations?” She asked, brushing a claw over a drawing of the system.

“Five times on the scale model, twelve times for full size, got an accuracy of about .01%. We also did the thing backwards: depending on the pumps we’ve managed to salvage around the docks, I added some flow tables for each setup along with output-by-rpm graphs.”

Honestly, the difficulty with the whole thing would be more about having to make the whole oil reconditioning system work for oils in varying states of degradation. The differences in viscosity required several measures to make the whole system viable. Flow and pump requirements were a secondary thing Schmitt was perfectly comfortable with handing off to the Cadets.

What she was getting stuck on at the moment was introducing a system that would make the vilest of oily sludges pumpable and cleanable.

So far, the only thing she had come up with to get to the desired viscosity was a freshwater injector paired with a mixer. Not ideal, both because it forced them to use fresh water to clean oil, and…

Well, mixing fresh water with a heavily polluted and spoiled sludge was ecologicallyunwise to say the least. Sure, she very much doubted any activists would show up on their doorstep mid-apocalypse so she totally could throw the contaminated water overboard once it had helped with cleaning the oil and keeping a decent viscosity inside the system…

Nah.

She told Frederik to wait a second before pulling out a large sheet of paper with the general drawings of the system.

Freshwater injector it is.

  But!

She also drew another oil/water separator at the end of the system, along with an oil-content monitor. Technically she wasn’t cleaning the water they rejected, but at least they’d make sure not to leave an oil slick on the surface whenever they cleaned oil. The usual really, just keep the oil content below 15ppm. They did the exact same thing when they discharged bilge water at sea, and it was perfectly legal.

“Okay, let’s do that… we’re not going to do the water injector for now since shore oils aren’t that spoiled yet.” She began, snatching a blank sheet of paper from her printer and writing down instructions on it. “Tomorrow I’m going with the expedition to Gothenburg, but that doesn’t mean the project stops with my departure, got it?”

“Jawohl.” Frederik nodded.

“What I want you Cadets to do is start building the scale model without the water injection system. If you manage to complete it in time, go take some oil samples to run through the system.”

“What kind of oil exactly?”

“Bilge samples. The nasty stuff, let’s not forget we’re cleaning that oil now. I don’t know how you do it on Rhine, but if you don’t have any take some from the sludge tank on Amandine, ok?”

  Frederik nodded.

“Good! Remember: you take two samples at the same time and use on in the system. Compare the purity of both. What I want to know with this test is if the system is viable.”

“But what if the result isn’t usable in the engines?”

“It won’t be. Ever. It’s bilge oil. I don’t think we’ll find any spoiled fuel for at least a few months, so that will have to do. So that’s three tasks for you lot tomorrow: finish the blueprints for the scale model with…” Her pencil hovered over some of the excel sheets before circling a pump setup. “That setup. Build it. And if by the time you’re done you’ve got some time to spare, run the sample through it and do a performance evaluation.”

The German hippogriff bit back a gulp as he watched the orange dragon write her instructions on the sheet in front of him. That would take hours! They had just spent nearly as long doing the calculations, and it was only by convincing the others that they might get some down time after the crunch that they’d got the job done.

“We uh… ma’am?”

  Schmitt winced internally at the reminder she was now female. She waved for him to continue.

“I don’t think we can do it all in one day.”

“Of course you can’t.” She shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, her wings rising at the motion.

“Excuse me?”

“This task sheet…” She grabbed the piece of paper in her claw and waved it at him. “Consider it as such: do your usual tasks, routine stuff, and then use what time you can spare to work on the project.”

“But…”

  Schmitt aw’ed.

“You crunched through the calculations didn’t you?”

“We did, yeah.” Fred lowered his head.

He had an inkling of an idea his goodwill with the other cadets was about to dip significantly.

“We have months ahead of us before this whole oil reconditioning business actually becomes relevant. There is no use exhausting yourself over it, ok?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright listen…” Schmitt leaned back in her chair, her tail coiling around one ankle as she stared at him through piercing blue eyes. “I’ll give you a piece of advice: pace yourself. You already know you can’t pass exams by crunching overnight. You may pass the first, but by the time the second comes around you’ll already be a wreck. Think of all our projects like exams, and oil won’t start spoiling until the end of the semester. Is that clear?”

“Crystal ma’am.” The hippogriff sagged. “I’ll… tell the others tomorrow.”

“I’m not chastising you.” Her maw parted in a predatory smile. “But they might. You did good work; just make sure to pace yourself next time.”

  He nodded weakly.

“Dismissed. Get some rest Rüdiger, you’ll need it.”

  As for her, with another couple hours of work she might be able to drop dead and overcome her insomnia…







“Hello world! Copenhagen here, with DJ Jensen.” Sandra cheerfully began.

She was sitting at the radio station they had installed in her cabin, a high-quality mic hanging in front of her muzzle, adjusted just right to her height so she could comfortably sit on her haunches in the comfortable desk chair she had a sailor bring there.

She may not have been on Amandine for long, but she was already starting to give the cabin a homier feel. Stuff she had gotten back from her houseboat in Christianshavn had found its way here and there: family photos from before the Event, wall posters to balance out the drab colors of the wall…

The obligatory soundproof wall panels. The batpony had received a very clear message that her role as radio operator and broadcaster would not be an excuse for disturbing their sleep.

Right now she was comfortably leaning back in her chair, her favorite pillow pushed against the armrest and a cup of tea held in her ‘wing digits’. She had her laptop open on her desk next to the radio station, a blinking red light clearly telling her she was now broadcasting.

To the entire world. Satellite radio helped with that.

“Now let’s not be fooled. I know this will be broadcasted worldwide but if my knowledge of radio tech before the Event is any good, there won’t be many of you hearing me. Pardon the accent by the way…” The Danish batpony rolled her tongue in her mouth. “I’m not exactly a native speaker, but I figured I’d get a better audience in English. Back to radio tech then… satellite radio isn’t what I’d call widespread, so unless you’re in the vicinity of the Oresund you won’t be hearing me on FM or AM anytime soon. And if you’re near the Oresund, then forfanden haul ass and get to Copenhagen.”

She took a sip of her tea and glanced at her notes. Right, get to the main dish.

“By now you’re probably wondering why you’re hearing the voice of one lovely girl –or mare really- on the waves. And you’ll be hearing more of me in the future, be sure of that. Daily planning will be one emission put on repeat every two hours with my delightful playlists in between. I’ll make sure to record something new everyday, tell you the news, change the playlists so you poor solitary survivors don’t go stark raving mad.”

“Thing is, I’m no solitary survivor. Eh, this might be the closest thing we’ll have to an advertisement on this channel actually. See, I gotta thank a bunch of sailors for rescuing me and giving me that radio. Poor me would have been eaten by timberwolves otherwise, wouldn’t that be a pity now?” She laughed.

“My thanks go to the sailors of Amandine and Rhine Forest. We’re making an organization with them, a fleet, if you will. If you want to contact us, we’ll be very interested to hear about you and maybe even your colony…”

Reading off her own notes, she explained them the procedure on how to message them via satellite mail or call them on a satellite phone. She made sure to give both her cabin’s number and that of the bridge so they’d get their messages.

“But enough with trivialities. I want to celebrate my… I guess I should call them shipmates now?” The purple batpony smiled. “So…” She lifted her teacup in her wing. “Here’s one… teacup of mint infusion? Here’s one to that glorious bunch of sailors, which, by my right as the only media on the entire planet, I hereby unilaterally christen as the World Seafarer Union. No, you don’t get a choice, now the world knows you as that. If anyone’s listening, please give a round of applause to the sailors of the WSU, coming soon to your neighborhood.”

She paused.

“Well, only if you live near the shore. Tough luck hinterland people, guess you’ll have to live with becoming my pen pals. DJ Jensen, out.”

And with that she keyed off the transmission. She pushed the desk chair into a spin with a cheerful squee.

“I did it mom! I’m a pirate radio now!” She cried out in Danish.

Just like Radio Mercur in ’58.

Her cheering was brought to a stop by the ringing of her alarm clock.

Right, the date with Johann. Batponies date at night.
> Chapter 42: Land of the Midnight Sun
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Way north in Norway, Sirocco was reaching the end of her voyage.

The Lofoten peninsula had finally appeared through the windows of the cockpit, its massive shape unmistakable. Roughly twelve miles across and going as far as ninety miles out at sea, its bedrock ridgeline was hard to miss for even the most nearsighted of sailors.

Prior to the Event, the area had been a particularly popular touristic spot, thanks in no small part to the landscape. Tall mountains seemed to rise out of the sea and wrap around a myriad of small bays and rocky beaches, sheltering them from the worst weather formations coming from the nearby arctic.

This ‘shelter effect’ resulted in a pretty mild climate for the latitude that allowed vegetation far more lush than should have been possible to paint the lower half of the mountainsides with shades of green. It might have also been the reason why that area of Norway had been part of human history for millennia. Traces of civilization going as far back as five thousand years had been found in the area, and even before the Event it had remained popular as a fishing haven.

Not that Alejandro knew any of that. He was far more familiar with the recent history surrounding the area and its industry.

Which, in all respects, told a lot about its strategic importance.

He was aware of the 1.3 billion oil barrels the Norse government had refused to exploit in the area. Frankly, it was only now that he got a good look at its raw beauty he fully understood why they chose to prohibit extraction.

The second important aspect was something which had made the entire fjord a point of strategic importance back during the Second World War. See, the fjord they were supposed to follow to Narvik, the Ofotfjord, it was ice-free. All year long, despite being well inside the Arctic Circle.

For one it meant that back in WW2, the Germans had occupied Norway and started using Narvik as a staging ground to prevent the Soviet fleets in Murmansk from accessing the North Sea. The multiple inlets and mountains inside the fjord also provided excellent protection from assaults, both from the air or from surface vessels. Nazi capital ships the likes of Tirpitz wound up hunkering down there at regular intervals during the war.

For second, its ice-free status made it an important shipping port to access Scandinavian resources, the most notable of all being iron ore extracted from Lapland. Trains laden with ore came all the way from Kiruna’s mines to Narvik’s mineral terminal, to the point where the amount of ore ferried through there numbered in the millions of tons per year. 

Fjords are no mere inlets too. They run deep. Ofotfjord was some 250 meters at its deepest, and their charts told them that even the ore terminals offered more than twenty meters of depth. There were very few ore carriers in the world that even needed that much water and those that did reach the limit could still carry loads close to 300.000 tons.

That much he could tell Elaena.

“Well, when you compare that to Sirocco’s payload I’m starting to feel inadequate.” She chuckled while flicking some switches on the controls for the gas bladders. “I mean, I usually make do with the sixteen tons of net payload but I wouldn’t complain being able to load that much.”

“How much do airships carry anyway? Pure cargo airships that is, not express ships like Sirocco.”

“At their biggest? I’d say just over a hundred tons. Still not much, so aviators typically go for precious cargoes.”

“Not iron ore then.” Alejandro concluded as he peered over her shoulder through the windows of the cockpit.

He could see the mountains –some covered in snow- close in around them as their altitude decreased. They were still a fair distance away from Narvik, but they could already notice hints they were nearing civilization.

The typical Scandinavian houses, with their wooden walls painted a vivid red. He remembered someone telling him in an anecdote that the color was red not because for style but because the anti-weathering paint contained high amounts of iron oxide.

“Well, iron ore certainly not.” Elaena continued, shutting down the altitude control once they were about two hundred meters up. “But Diamond Dogs use airships to transport precious metals and gems back from their more remote mines and settlements. They still need big airships to do that, and even then they’d rather use trains to do it.”

“Why don’t they then?”

“Tough luck with that. I said ‘remote’ and I mean it. Had to carry a group of engineers up to one of these mines one day and I can tell you: there is not a single train in your world or mine that could climb those slopes.” She paused to make sure they were still flying in the center of the fjord. “Diamond Dogs are damn good miners you know, so you usually find them where the ore and gems are. That, unfortunately, rarely coincides with places you can easily access.”

“Hard to see them as such considering the only dogs I know are sailors.”

“True, but that doesn’t change what they’re capable of. Prateek may not be a miner –actually he’s as far removed from one as you can possibly be-, but I’ve seen plenty of dogs working in the mining industry. These pups outdo any other creatures at the job, they do the surveying better, they dig better, and they do it safer. Heck, they have mining advisors going around the entire planet inspecting mines and helping increase safety standards.”

“That good?”

“Expensive as some are, it’s widely accepted that implementing their advice and hiring a forepup or two for your mine will cut down the death toll by 80 percent and double productivity. Frankly I think that’s for the better.”

Really, it was. Equus as a planet had dozens of sentient species inhabiting it, each fundamentally different from the others and fitting particular niches. Those niches were exactly what prevented massive scale wars, or one species outgrowing all the others.

Each of them had their specialty, meaning that there was always one species that would be better suited for a particular task. Agriculture? Earth Ponies and Centaurs. Magic? Unicorns and Gargoyles. Weather control? Pegasi, or griffons, to an extent.

In some cases the niche was a bit different. Hedgefogs for instance. They were not particularly better suited than any race at anything, but the niche they filled was in adapting to the subcontinent they came from.

“Kinda sounds like you’re boned if you want to be something that doesn’t fit your species. You know, ‘cause then there will be a couple other species better suited for it.”

“Nah, not really. You just have to train harder if you really wanna do it. Or you’ve got protectionist regulations too. There is always a little bit of ebb and flow with that on Equus. One country opens its market to foreign labor and goods for a generation or two before the pendulum swings the other way. It rarely goes too far because most nations are still made up of only one species as the majority –Abyssinia and Ornithia being exceptions to the rule of course, and even that could change in the future-.”

Of course it could change. Abyssinia may still be a very safe place, but there was an underlying tension on the political side of things that meant the cats could very well change their mind on the imported workforce in the future.

And if they did, it wouldn’t even be anything new. It had happened in the past, and it would happen again in the future. The King and Queen would enact measures that disadvantaged the foreign workers, and then they’d just move on to greener pastures. Klugetown maybe, or the Infernal lands.

“Sounds a bit cynical if you ask me.” Alejandro told her.

“I’d rather call it ‘objectively detached’. I certainly don’t like that system. It’s callous and unfeeling. It doesn’t care for those that have to move on with the flow. Far too often, creatures are preyed on as they seek for opportunities, or they wind up abandoned on the side of the road, unable to keep up and stuck in foreign places.”

That and she’d far too often witnessed passengers tell her how they longed for stability. You couldn’t settle with mobile workforces like that. In most cases that wasn’t really a problem. Youngsters would ‘work with the flow’ in their younger years before heading back to the homeland with their earnings and settle for a more comfortable –if less profitable- lifestyle.

Those that could that is. Some never managed to spare enough for that kind of luxury.

Narvik eventually appeared in sight, near the end of the fjord. It had been built in an area where the slopes of the surrounding mountains flattened enough to allow for stable foundations, the entire town a red and white blotch making a stark contrast against the green forestry in its direct vicinity. The grid-planned streets, along with the general square and utilitarian appearance of the buildings made it clear everything there had been built in recent times (by European standards) to fulfill the town’s chief industry. Its terminal.

The ore terminal itself certainly was hard to miss, a huge red mass near the shore with its abandoned conveyor belts and damaged warehouses connecting the piers to the extensive rail yard that snaked its way through town before disappearing in the mountains. Left unattended, all the heavy machinery had run rampant and continued working for a while despite the disappearance of all ships and trains. Piles of ore and overturned hopper cars laid all over the place in what would have been enough damage to close the terminal for weeks prior to the Event.

Now that might as well be forever.

Of course overtime the town had grown to be more than a workers’ village built around the terminal. Colleges, museums, and even a touristic industry had joined the fray, as was testified by the multiple cables cars that connected the town to a nearby ski resort.

Not that any of those were relevant at the moment, doubly so for the ski resort. Sure the weather was a bit chilly, but it was July, snow wouldn’t reach the town for a couple months. It was present, but only high up the mountains, far above Narvik.

Elaena brought Sirocco down in an industrial area near the docks, the double-ballooned airship touching down, her landing claws making a loud ‘clang!’ when they hit the concrete. A few moments later, the props stopped spinning when Radiant shut down the engines.

Around them were several warehouses and workshops, most made out of corrugated steel and whitewashed cinder blocks. Weather and storms had clearly swooped in at some point since the Event because many of the windows were broken, shards littering the weed-riddled concrete between so many fallen cranes and abandoned machinery.

It was at about that moment that Derek poked his head through the cockpit’s hatch.

“Eh there you two, the boss is asking whether you two already got a plan figured out.”

“Tell him we’re staying downtown a few hours, just a matter of refilling the water tank and maybe see if we can salvage a few batteries.”

“Batteries? We’re low on voltage already?” The gargoyle asked in alarm.

“Nah, but we’ll be flying ‘round the mountains. Lots of altitude adjustments in perspective, so I’d rather be on the safe side.” Elaena explained as she was detaching herself from the pilot’s seat.

One after another, the three of them squeezed through Sirocco’s neck back down to the common room where they were greeted to the sight of Louis examining a chart of the city and the surrounding region on the dining table.

“Everything in order?” The noble asked detachedly, eyes not leaving the chart.

“As good as it gets.” Elaena replied, though she didn’t join him at the table and stayed halfway through the doorframe. “We’re near the port, I’d assume finding what we need won’t be too much trouble.”

“And our main objective? Need I remind you we didn’t come here just to enjoy the sights?”

Well, most of all the expedition had been approved just so they’d avoid revealing the aliens’ existence to the HPI. That however, was something not even Alejandro was privy to.

“You don’t.” Alejandro frowned. “And I think I know how to go about it. Like it or not but Elaena and me just pulled twelve hours of navigation in short shifts. If we want to fly into the mountains safely, we’ll need to catch some rest.”

“And of course you found something to keep us busy in the meantime Chief.” Mikhail guessed.

The purple dragon was sitting cross-legged in the lounge section of the common room with a random book in his lap. In all honesty, Alejandro didn’t know much about the Ukrainian, save for the fact his past military experience was what justified his presence here as ‘guard’.

Eh, he seemed professional enough to make it work.

“Naturally.” The hyacinth macaw nodded. “Derek, we need you to cast mage sight and start scanning for the exact location of the convergence point. We had a vague idea it’s around here, but now that we’re on site we need something accurate.”

Radiant chose that moment to join them, the Pegasus just coming back from the engine room with his black mane sticking to his head from the sheer heat of the boiler.

“Ah, how is the engine room?” Elaena jumped in.

“A-OK. Nice engines by the way. The props are uncoupled and the burner is off. Judging by the pressure in the system we got a couple hours before it cools down completely, just in case you’d want a quick start.”

“Excellent, let’s hope it stays that way.” She rasped out before motioning for Alejandro to continue.

“As I was saying, Derek needs to find the convergence point’s exact location. While he does that and I get my beauty sleep, Mikhail, you think you can hotwire a truck and top off our water? And the batteries too, we need extras in the holds. Truck batteries should do.”

“Anything for me?” Radiant asked.

“Keep watch or help Mikhail, either works.” The Spaniard shrugged. “If there are any monsters in town, then they’ve seen us for sure.”

Not that it should be any trouble, with two breech-loaders, the .50 cal or even the M203 Mikhail had equipped on his C7.

“Well, with that we’ll make sure to wake you up by nightfall.” Armiger smiled.

“We’re in the Land of the Midnight Sun, Louis. If there is any nightfall, it won’t be ‘til next month.” He chuckled before walking back towards Elaena’s cabin.

Tired as he was, he didn’t think either of them was in the mood for a romp in the hay.







More than seven hundred miles south of Narvik, things were moving ahead as well back in Copenhagen. In the few days that had followed the planning phase for all the expeditions they were chartering around the region, Amadi had already managed to locate and bring back several of the boats Gerig had approved for retrieval.

A pair of cargo hovercrafts was the first to join their fleet of auxiliaries, soon to be followed by no less than four stern trawlers.

“Amadi.” Raimund asked, the unicorn walking closer to the edge of the quays to get a better look at the new additions.

“Aye ma’am?” The centaur politely replied as he took position a few ways behind her.

“The hovercrafts, where did you get them?”

The question was actually rhetoric. She just had to take a look at the two things they were currently lifting on board of Rhine to know where they came from.

The Tre Kronor roundel painted on each of the propeller nozzles at the rear of the hovercrafts was pretty obvious.

“Sweden ma’am. Got them from an army base near Helsingborg. There were three of them there; so we salvaged the third one for part before bringing them. Parts are inside their holds.”

And they were no small things. Amadi had managed to find the one class of hovercraft that just fit the length criteria of what could fit in the barges’ holding cells at 20 meters. 

Aside from the engines and propellers, the design appeared rather simple, if powerful. Their cockpits on the front were offset to portside to leave room for the bow ramp which allowed access to the cargo bay in which there was enough room to fit several dozen passengers, as well as a container or a couple cars, depending on the mission.

The rest was rather simple. A couple antennas and one navigational radar on top of the cockpit, some life rafts near the cargo bay’s escape hatches, and the Swedish Army’s version of woodland camo for paintjob.

They weren’t armed though.

“But how do we load them?” She wondered. The bow ramp was neat, but they definitely couldn’t load cargo that way while the hovercrafts were stowed on board.

“They have hatch covers on the roof.” Amadi pointed out. “We used them to load the parts, didn’t even need a crane to open them.”

“Good, good. Now, what can you tell me about the trawlers?” The filly switched subject, turning her attention towards the four boats that were still waiting to be loaded.

Not that much actually. The four white stern trawlers Amadi had picked all came from the same yard. They had been retrieved by a team in Odense, the town where Maersk used to build their ships. They were also twenty-meters long, like the hovercrafts, but only half as wide and with a flat bottom that made it rather easy to stow them in Rhine’s barge cells.

From a design viewpoint, they looked fairly modern too. A tumblehome hull with inverted bow to better withstand poor sea conditions was helped by retractable stabilizing fins on either side. They had all the instruments needed to set out at sea, and the range to have a use for it, something Raimund very much intended to put to use at some point.

Using them for missions other than simple fishing wasn’t too much of a stretch either, as Amadi later ensured her they could house up to seven sailors on a voyage, and that their fish holds had room for forty tons of fish.

No deck space for containers though. Then again, she’d have been surprised to see trawlers that size load up TEU’s.

“So that’s only the interceptors left.” She stated.

“We should have them in a day or two. I might have to request more sailors on the expedition though I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“It’s not only about the boats with the interceptors. We need to get ammo for them, and they can’t carry it all. I think I’ll need to dispatch a lorry or two to get enough missiles and torpedoes to last us a while. But ma’am?”

“You sound worried.”

“Not worried, just… not very confident. It’s all very complicated tech these weapons.”

“It’s just like with the tank on Amandine Amadi, we’ll spare the time to train on how to use them. You just have to play your part, we’ll be proficient with this tech in due time. Finish your expeditions, and then the others will pick it up while you catch some rest. You look like you need it.” Raimund told him, not even needing to glance over her shoulder to picture the bags under the centaur’s eyes.

Seriously, there was a weird tendency to crunch on her ship and she didn’t even know how it came about. Even the Cadets seemed prone to do it, something her Third Officer had written her a memo about.

Not that there weren’t occasions where it was justified –she was damn well aware of that-, but that was for when they were on a tight schedule or when the safety of the ship was threatened. Not for expeditions like that.







On the other end of the docks, Sidereal was reaching an anxiety bursting point, with only Pulp’s presence by her side helping alleviate the sickening pressure in her head and stomach.

The day had come for the departure of the expedition to Gothenburg. They had spent the last couple days preparing for what would await them there. The gas. She had had to go through some extensive training just so she could use what the sailors had called a ‘chemsuit’.

Dilip really didn’t want to take any chances with the expedition, a fact which was only heightened by Alejandro’s confirmation that Gothenburg was still contaminated.

And here she was now, sitting in the back of a Piranha APC whilst Schmitt worked her way through a checklist. They had given her a hazmat suit, a completely airtight set they had managed to retrofit for use by quadrupeds, with its own air supply.

The downside was, most quadrupeds on Amandine were bigger than ponies. Griffons, hippogriffs, sphinxes, all were much bigger than her small unicorn frame. She had been forced to wrap duct tape around the limbs just so the thick rubbery material would be tight enough.

On her back she could also feel the unmistakable weight of her SCBA’s air tank, once again something the sailors had gone through great lengths to retrofit. They had been very clear to her that she was to only put on the mask and close her suit once they were on site.

Drawback of the air tank: it only contained thirty minutes of air. For a human, they had no idea how long a pony would last.

And here she was, already strapped down in her seat, marinating in a sweaty hazmat suit, a quivering wreck thanks in no small part to the numerous pictures they had shown of what might happen to her if she came in direct contact with the deadly gas.

That was completely different from just the monsters, them she could fight, she could shield against, she could…

“We’ll be fine Doc.” Pulp reassured her, the larger Earth Pony stallion throwing a hoof over her shoulder in comfort. “These guys know what they’re doing, and we won’t even have to leave this uh… APC, until you actually find the survivors.”

“I know…” She muttered. “It’s just that feeling I got when we were training with the suits. It’s so oppressive, like I can’t breathe properly and I’m always one gasp away from choking.”

“That’s normal Doc. Everypony feels that way as they said, and it’s fine. Just keep an eye on the manometer and fall back to the Piranha once it starts whistling, ok?” He tightened his grip around her shoulder. “You can take on a tatzlwurm, a little bit of gas can’t hurt, right?”

“Yeah… yeah, right.” She breathed out. “Thanks.” She smiled.

“It’s nothing. You’re claustrophobic, right?”

“How did you guess?” She jerked her head.

“I got a similar feeling wearing the suit in training.” The stallion shrugged. “Not too bad for me, but I get the feeling. Eh, phobias are a thing, nothing to be ashamed of. I run away from spiders myself.”

“A big stallion like you?” She chuckled.

“Like an elephant seeing mice.” He smiled. “Now Doc, can I count on you with this? I mean, I bucking hope I can, ‘cause I can’t really close my suit and open my air tank with my hooves.”

“Eh… don’t worry, I will.” Sidereal nodded firmly, her resolve reaffirmed.

By then Schmitt was nearing the end of her checklist. The orange dragon was wearing a hazmat suit as well, not really willing to try if her draconic lungs could manage with industrial-grade amounts of gas in the air. Just like them, she was wearing it half-open to catch some fresh air while she still could. She ran hot already, no need to enclose herself in a dank type one suit if she could help it.

She was talking to another Engineer from Rhine Forest that would take command of the second Piranha to depart on the expedition. A red kite griffon by the name of Valentyn.

At least he didn’t have to use duct tape to tighten his hazmat suit. Tough luck on using his wings though…

The gunner’s hatch opened and a unicorn stallion let himself fall down in the seat. Bart, he would be their gunner on the expedition… and the go-to expert on the Piranhas, being the only one with actual experience using them.

In total there were ten of them going on the expedition. Most would be there to man the Piranhas and ensure all crew seats were filled: gunner, driver and commander. Then they had two ‘passengers’ per APC, leaving them with plenty of seats for possible rescuees.

She and Pulp had been assigned to the lead APC. There were two more in the other APC, but the only one of the two she could actually remember was Vadim, filling the role of the expedition’s medic.

“You two ready?” Schmitt asked all of a sudden.

Sidereal turned in surprise, blinking owlishly at the female dragon that was now peering through the open ramp with one hand on her hip.

“Doc?” The dragon tilted her head, blue eyes staring at her in concern.

She shook off her confusion and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. We’re ready, yes.”

The dragon stared for a second, tempted to ask her what was wrong but Pulp quickly flashed her a look. He had it under control. She decided to leave it be and squeezed inside the crew bay, quickly pressing the ramp controls and moving deeper inside to go sit in the commander’s seat.

Sidereal kept looking at the ramp, watching its armored plate rise slowly. Amandine’s car deck faded from view, leaving her and Pulp inside of the cramped, dimly lit crew bay.

She huddled a bit closer to the stallion.

After a few exchanged words on the radio and Schmitt barking some orders at Carlos –the parrot filling the role of driver-, the Piranha lurched forward with a rumble of its engine. For all the difference that it made, they didn’t see anything of the terminal as they left, they didn’t see the streets of Copenhagen, they just… vaguely felt the turns as they left, stuck inside with no windows.

“We’ve barely left and I already hate this thing.” The mare grumbled.

“Yeah, military vehicles… niet made for comfort.” Bart butted in.

The sky blue unicorn stallion had turned away from his seat to keep an eye on the passengers.

He had one of the good seats, facing forward and with a hatch to get air and see where they were going.

“Are they all like that?” Pulp genuinely inquired.

“Enkel those with good protection… mostly.” He shrugged. “Take my seat if you want, but I need it back in Gothenburg.”

That solution proved more tolerable for the claustrophobic mare, her built-up tension finally letting up the moment she poked her head through the open hatch to see the Swedish countryside run past.

The two eight-wheeled APC’s then took a turn onto a highway headed north, a huge sign by the side of the intersection showing them in bold the three hundred kilometers that separated them from the contaminated city.

In the Piranhas’ defense, they could drive at 100km/h, so it wouldn’t take that long.







Resupplying most of Sirocco’s needs didn’t even take them too long.

They had to thank Narvik’s industrial nature for that: the wealth of workshops and warehouses near the docks still hadn’t been looted… meaning they were also the only survivors in town. Mikhail only needed an hour or two before he and Radiant came back with a hotwired truck filled with two dozen truck batteries and a couple cubic meters of fresh water.

And they had made an extra stop on the way, as evidenced by the map Radiant held proudly between his primaries when the two of them came back.

“I didn’t understand most of what they had in the tourism office, but it looked like they did get Equestrian-speaking visitors around here.”

“English.” Mikhail corrected.

“English, right.” He shrugged with his wings before turning towards Derek and Louis. The two of them were hunched over a nautical chart of the area, with lines drawn all over it from the gargoyle’s attempts at locating the convergence point. “I found a map of ancient sites around the area.” He added, laying it on the table for all to see.

That made it a lot easier. Derek only had to cross-reference his lines of bearing pointing at the convergence point with the map of ancient sites before they got an actual fix on its location, at the tip of a small inlet south of the main fjord, less than a dozen kilometers away from the town.

A few hours later, they woke up the two parrots in Elaena’s cabin and Sirocco once more took off, keeping to a low altitude so they could easily observe their surroundings.

With the exception of the parrots in the cockpit, the rest of the crew kept to the weather deck on Sirocco’s back as they flew ever closer to their goal. Armiger stood confidently towards the front of the airship, a brass spyglass held in his paws.

Whereas the main fjord had been some five kilometers across near Narvik, it shrank down to a couple hundred meters near the particular inlet they were aiming for, forcing Elaena to slow Sirocco down to a crawl.

Steep verdant slopes bordered on either side of them, the vegetation quickly fading away the further up they got before finally trading place with the ever-present snow that covered the summits. Norway may not be deathly cold this time of the year, but that didn’t make it a tropical paradise.

Going inside the fjord, they found themselves flying over a bridge at its mouth, scattering a herd of roe deer that had been tentatively nosing at the foreign structure. Up in the air, they saw a large flock of dark-feathered birds fly a few circles high above them before turning away and disappearing behind a mountain.

“Rocs.” Armiger simply stated as he kept an eye on them through his spyglass.

“What? These were monsters?” Mikhail jerked.

“More like pests.” The feline sneered. “They pose little harm to airships like Sirocco but they frequently attack isolated creatures in mountain ranges all over Equus.”

“You sure?” The purple dragon didn’t sound too convinced.

“Positive. They’re a particular kind of bird. Did you see their wing feathers?”

“Looked like they had fairly large primaries.”

“Because their wings are slates. Their wing and back feathers at least.” The feline explained as he folded his spyglass. “That makes them extremely sturdy, and when it’s combined with their natural impact resistance… well, let’s say they’re dangerous for a reason.”

“Any advice?” The Ukrainian asked.

“Stick to groups.” Derek joined the conversation. “Rocs suck at attacking groups, even in flocks. They have this nasty habit of folding their wings when they dive to protect themselves from attacks and charge at their prey. So they rely on blunt trauma to incapacitate you, before they can finish you off using their talons.”

“So you can’t shoot them when they dive at you?”

“Unless you land a headshot, then no.” Derek told him. “Make them commit to the dive then dodge, the impact on the ground won’t stun them but you should be able to get a stab at their belly once they’re on the ground.”

“And don’t stand near cliffs either. They’re mountain birds, they can and they will toss you off if you give them the chance.” Louis added.

Mikhail looked off the direction the flock had left to, their image still vivid in his mind. The birds didn’t appear that big. Maybe as big as condors, then again he was no expert.

“They don’t look like they could do that.”

“Yet they can.” Derek crossed his arms. “They’re strong enough to pick up a healthy Earth Pony, don’t underestimate them.”

He didn’t argue.

Sirocco carried on her way, her crew now keeping their eyes open for any flock of slate-feathered birds that may attempt an attack. Fortunately, it seemed like the birds deemed the airship too dangerous to assault because they didn’t show up again.

There was a thin road going parallel to the slopes, showing them once more how quickly infrastructure could decay after the Event. A landslide had collapsed it at some point, leaving behind a massive amount of churned dirt and broken trees from which bits of nearby electric poles still poked.

A lone farmstead stood at the end of the fjord, with its red-painted buildings arrayed in a small circle around the courtyard where a flagpole stood, proudly displaying the Norwegian colors. It had been built a little distance away from the shore itself, with a narrow dirt track connecting it to a small jetty where they spotted a capsized speedboat rusting away amidst the piles of seaweed that had washed up on shore.

Most of the terrain in the direct vicinity around the farm was occupied by meadows where, oddly enough, the cattle had decided to stay. Cows and sheep merrily grazed away, lazily looking at them as Sirocco landed next to the farm.

Mikhail scowled at the cattle the moment he made his way off the ramp, rifle at the ready.

“You look worried.” Derek asked, right behind him.

“We’re not alone.”

“What makes you think that way?”

“Look at their trough…” The dragon pointed a claw towards the clustered cattle. “It’s full, and I don’t think it rained around here recently.”

And they got their answer soon enough when Radiant went to explore the farm. The Pegasus landed in the middle of the courtyard, kicking up a cloud of dirt when his hooves hit the ground. The farm looked too well tended-to for a place that hadn’t been occupied for a while. Clean windows, watered flowers, and a lazy sheepdog that lifted its head to look at him before letting out a yawn and going back to its nap, still chained to the flagpole.

There was a noise behind him.

“Hva er du?”

  Radiant quickly turned on his hooves. There was a small equine standing in the barn’s entrance- No, not an equine, a reindeer.

”Hva gjør du på mitt land?” He repeated, slowly advancing towards Radiant.

The grey Pegasus reflexively took a step back and fluffed up his wings. Reindeers were a rarity in Equestria, their presence almost the matter of legend what with how little they mingled with other species. Their tribes lived further into the arctic wilderness than even the Crystal Empire, where no other creature could possibly dwell with their ease.

And here was one such creature, his brows furrowed at him for intruding on his farmland. He was about as big as a unicorn –the shortest of the three pony tribes- with a thick mottled beige fur. He had an icy blue mane on top of his head, to go with pearl white antlers that matched the color of his cloven hooves.

Most interesting of all was the flannel shirt he had covering his front half and the eerie glow he had surrounding his antlers, not unlike that of a unicorn.

Which might go a long way to explain the farming fork floating midair between them.

“I mean no harm!” Radiant cried out.

The suspicious look on the reindeer lessened somewhat, though he kept the fork pointed at Radiant’s throat.

“You. Tourist?”

“You speak Equestrian?” Radiant repeated.

“We all learn in school here.” He lifted up the fork so Radiant wouldn’t forget about it. “What do you do here?”

“What do I- I mean, I’m here to explore the area!” Radiant quickly said. “I’m no thief! I swear!”

The reindeer snorted and Radiant was relieved to see him rotate the fork and quickly jab its teeth in the dirt.

“You hiker.” He stated. The flying pony wouldn’t be the first tourist to accidentally wind up on his lands, they often did that when hiking up and down the mountains, and he’d had to call quite a few taxis from town to come pick up exhausted groups in the past.

“No! I mean... sort of, I guess? I’m with the airship...” He jabbed a hoof back towards where the farmer could just see the top of Sirocco’s balloons and her mast above the farm. “We’re looking for the convergence point.”

Going by the look he got from the farmer, he didn’t really understand that last part. Instead, he turned his focus towards the visitors.

“How many?” He grunted.

“There are six of us. What’s your name?”

“Jeg er Gunnar Haugen.” The reindeer curtly said before motioning with his head towards where they had landed the airship. “Come, you show me to friends. We talk.”

And talk they did. Louis was delighted to meet the cloven creature, the noble never having had the opportunity of visiting their territories on Equus, and Gunnar –gruff as he may sound- actually was rather relieved to find a sentient creature to talk to. They invited him to share a cup of coffee with them inside Sirocco’s common room, and soon, Gunnar began reciting them his tale.

Turns out, the collapse of the road and the sinking of the only speedboat at the jetty meant the farm was completely cut off from the world. Gunnar had been stuck there for at least a week since his reappearance, a week he had spent quickly adjusting to his new form and protecting his cattle from the rocs. 

Which is how he figured out reindeer had access to a range of powers not too dissimilar to unicorns. He had had plenty of opportunities hurling farming implements at the pesky birds, something Radiant counted himself lucky not to have been on the receiving end of.

They told him the gist of what happened. The Event, how long it would take for people to return, they even told him about the incursion of monsters and the demons he’d have to be on the lookout for. To say he was disappointed to hear he might be alone for a while would have been an understatement, but he vehemently refused their offers of bringing him back to Copenhagen.

This was his home, and unlike them sailors, packing up and leaving wasn’t part of his way of life. His parents had lived here, and their parents, and so on for longer than he cared to remember.

What he did agree to was for them to drop him off in Narvik. He needed to replace his speedboat with a sailboat and salvage quite a lot of stuff, because there would be no fixing the road anytime soon. Alejandro also took the opportunity of giving him their satellite phone number –as well as Sandra’s broadcast frequencies- so he could tell them if he ever changed his mind.

But they had to move on to what they were here for at some point, and thus Alejandro found himself asking Gunnar if he had seen anything out of place (well, out-er of place) in the area.

“The forest.” Gunnar simply said before pointing a clover hoof at a porthole. “Rock carvings, older than Viking times, strange... stuff happens. Sitka –my dog-, he’s afraid.”

It was slightly further up the slopes, beyond the meadows around the farmstead, beyond the few vegetable patches growing even further. There was a thick row of bushes marking the separation between farm and forest, with only a small dirt path and a mountain brook connecting the two. Going by the height of the ferns and nettles bordering the path, Gunnar wasn’t much of a forester.

But even then they didn’t need Derek to tell them this was the place. They could feel the thrumming of energy just out of range, behind the trees.

“The rock carvings are old.” Gunnar went on. “Here near the farm, it’s the oldest. Beginning of sacred path.”

“A sacred path?”

“Yes.” The reindeer nodded. “Carved through the cliffs, goes up to top of mountain. Archaeologists came from Oslo to check it, they say the higher you go, the closer you get to Viking age.”

And this settled it, as soon as they were ready, they would escort Derek up that sacred path and finally figure out something about the convergence point.

“By the way, did you know you’re not actually stuck?” Louis added. “Reindeers can fly.”

Gunnar then introduced them to the darker aspects of Norse vernacular.







Meanwhile in Sweden, the two Piranhas had finally reached Gothenburg.

And, just like they had been told, most of the city was covered in a thick yellowish/orange miasma. They stopped their APC’s side by side on top of a hill overlooking the city, with all the team squeezing out of the hatches to have one last briefing on top of their vehicles.

They’d need to. Specific measures had to be taken with the Piranhas. They may be protected against CBRN contamination, but that would only last as long as they kept all openings secure. The moment they stepped out, the interior would be contaminated.

This meant two things: one, none of them could take off their suit when they came back after getting out. They’d have to hook themselves to the air manifold inside their respective vehicles and rely on the APC’s air filtration system.

Second thing was that they’d probably be forced to stop once they escaped the miasma just so Bart could use the decontamination kit. It was either that, or stay hooked on artificial air for the three-hour trip back to Copenhagen.

“Doc, think you can start narrowing down their location?” Schmitt immediately asked as soon as Sidereal joined her on top of their Piranha.

“Of course.” The mare nodded before she lit up her horn with a mage sight spell.

And they quickly got a new line of bearing pointing them towards the CBD. With a bit of luck the survivors would be hiding somewhere in one of the skyscrapers that managed to be high enough to keep their higher floors above the gas.

“Wait a minute.” A feminine voice interrupted them.

It belonged to the sole female Abyssinian in the entire fleet. Lekan, formerly a Liberian male assigned as a rating in Rhine’s barge department.

Female Abyssinians were an oddity of sorts, at least when compared to minotaur cows and female gargoyles. They didn’t have the amazon-esque curves and massive bosoms of the minotaurs, nor the matronly appearance of gargoyles.

Instead, as evidenced by Lekan’s appearance, they were rather on the flat side in the breast department, even when compared to humans. They were just as tall as the males of their species, with a much lighter frame, narrow shoulders and soft curves that made it easy to spot their gender despite their (relatively) flat chests.

If their general appearance wasn’t enough of a tell (because of concealing clothing, like the chemsuit Lekan was wearing), they also had a longer tail and bigger ears than males.

As for Lekan, she had turned into a breed called a savannah cat. Some kind of tame version of a serval with tawny fur, black spots all over and rounded ear tips.

And right now she was sitting cross-legged on top of her own Piranha (she being Valentyn’s gunner).

“So if we’re contaminated as soon as we open the ramp, how can we even evacuate the survivors?”

“Teleportation.” Sidereal replied matter-of-factly. “I can’t get them all the way back to Copenhagen but at least I can take them to a safe spot outside the city.”

“Can’t you just... teleport in from here?”

“I need to find them first. I don’t do blind teleports.”

And it seemed simple enough. Dive in the gas, lead Sidereal to the survivors, then leave once she got them all to safety. Most of their worries would go towards keeping an eye on the limited air supply they had in their air tanks.

With as little as thirty minutes for each of them, they could not afford any mistake.

They all climbed back inside the APC’s –much to Sidereal’s displeasure- and, with a rumble of their engines, the two vehicles descended into town.

In the lead Piranha, Carlos watched his already limited field of vision shrink down to almost nothing once they hit the gas cloud, the miasma shortening how far he could see to a pitiful distance.

“Yo I can’t see shit here.” The cockatoo complained with a trill as he looked through his periscope. “Gunner, you see anything on thermal?”

“Better, but not much.” Bart grumbled. The thermal optics on the .50cal could pierce a bit of the haze, but that bit wasn’t much better.

Heat signatures was something it could spot with little trouble. Cold-on-cold detection though? It was made to target vehicles and infantry at night and behind smoke grenades, not the corners of a building in a gas cloud thick enough to make the Bhopal gas tragedy look mild.

Carlos was forced to slow down to a snail’s pace if he wanted to keep himself from plowing straight through a storefront.

The damage caused by the contamination was even more evident from up-close. They had no idea what mixture of gas was in the air, but they might be able to make assumptions just by seeing how all of the vegetations had withered away.

Grass had turned black; trees had their wood become so weak they collapsed under their own weight, the remains so brittle they disintegrated into fine particles when Carlos pushed through them. All that damage was even more noticeable because of how many parks and trees city planners had spared room for. All for naught, thanks to an abandoned chemical industry running amok without anyone to manage it.

Even things like the sun shades on storefronts and curtains had disappeared, which wasn’t even saying anything about the puddles that had formed here and there across the road. They made sure not to drive through them, just out of caution.

Still, Gothenburg wouldn’t have been too much of an eyesore before the Event. The streets didn’t hold a candle to Copenhagen, but there were countless other towns that wished they could look half as nice. Winding streets, some wide, some narrow led them through a scenery where 19th century stone buildings seamlessly shared the streets with modern creations made out of glass and concrete, a mixture echoed by the roads themselves where strips of asphalt ran parallel to pavement and tramway rails.

Sidereal’s guidance eventually led them to what appeared to be the tallest building in town, a conference centre. At more than twenty floors tall, its red-and-white facades towered above the rest of the cityscape, easily high enough to avoid the gas if the survivors had found refuge around the lookout deck built at its top.

Schmitt had the Piranhas stop just short of the ultramodern building, close to the quays where they could just about spot a marina through the miasma, most of the ships there having drifted from their moorings when the gas gnawed at the fiber of their mooring lines. Some were fine, their fenders having done the job of protecting them from collisions. Others were less lucky, now lying halfway sunk in the water with their masts entangled with the others’.

“This the place Doc?” The orange dragon asked, already getting her SCBA and chemsuit ready.

“Yeah…” The unicorn mage’s eyes were shining from her mage sight. She was looking at the top of the skyscraper as if the Piranha’s hull wasn’t even there to block the view. “I can feel it, large energy spike on the top floors.”

“Alright then!” Schmitt nodded firmly before finally securing her mask to her muzzle. “Get ready folks, ‘cause we’re going in.” She told everyone, voice now muffled by her mask.

Inside the crew bay, Sidereal steeled her nerves while she was helping Pulp get ready. The Earth Pony may not be able to carry a weapon, but his sheer strength might actually be as helpful as that of a minotaur.

That and she wouldn’t have gone if she was the only Equestrian on the expedition, no offense to the ‘Terrans’.

“Remember, we got thirty minutes so don’t waste your time. No looking around the lobby or anything, go for the stairs and get to those survivors ASAP. Gunners, stay down here and keep the engines running. Gotta be on the lookout for monsters.”

And they didn’t waste time. As soon as everyone was ready and the gunners were hooked to the air manifolds, Schmitt gave the order of opening their tanks.

Their mismatched group of bipeds and quadrupeds immediately rushed towards the lobby, all sailors with their guns at the ready. All clad in bulky yellow chemsuits that hissed and whistled whenever they took a breath out of their SCBA’s.

Pavlos was there to take the lead, with Schmitt and Vadim in tow. They led them to a staircase and the climb began.

It was about that time they started cursing modern architecture and non-intuitive design. Twenty stories were already high enough to run up in the limited time they had –particularly when laden with gear and breathing through a SCBA-, so having to look for where the next staircase was didn’t improve the situation.

“C’mon!” Pavlos urged them on, the gargoyle quickly waving his arm at the next row of stairs down an office-filled hallway. “Hurry up you lot! All the air you waste now is air you won’t have to get down! Only ten more floors and we’re above the gas cloud!”

To their credit, they did push themselves to their limits to get there in time. Pavlos’ constant words of encouragement made them able to reach the ‘fresh’ levels after only using a third of their air supply. Still, they waited before they were at least two floors above the gas cloud before closing their air valves and taking off their masks.

Sidereal in particular let herself fall down on her belly with a groan.

“I’m an academic for Faust’s sake. We’re made for lifting books and reading… That stuff here…” She panted. “I’d rather leave it to the specialists.”

They took a short pause to allow everyone to catch their breath before Schmitt and Pavlos eventually forced them to stand up. The survivors were probably waiting for them.

And so the dragon quickly arranged her chemsuit to make herself presentable. She adjusted the strap on her rifle before confidently striding up the stairs to what she assumed to be the lookout deck.

She opened the door, already expecting to see a crowd of relieved survivors of whatever species Swedes could turn into…

… Only for all those hopes to be immediately quashed. Because the carpet was stained red.

All around the lookout deck, what must have been less than a dozen bodies lay dead, their bodies still warm and the carpet still wet from the blood. She stumbled inside, falling down on her knees at the sight of… reindeers, griffons, hedgefogs, even a lone teen dragon, all dead.

And on a coffee table, near a broken window, laid a pulsating gem.

“A decoy…” Sidereal fell down on her haunches next to Schmitt, a haggard look on her muzzle at the sight of the bodies. “We got tricked… by a BUCKING DECOY! A DECOY!” She repeated, stomping a hoof against the bloodstained carpet.

Pulp went to approach the mare to offer comfort but he stopped when he caught a gleam reflecting the sunlight. He turned his head. There it was. A cloaked equine looking at them through a spyglass. He was on another rooftop.

The equine noticed him because he threw him a smirk and pointed a hoof a couple stories below them before quickly disappearing in a flash.

“Was that…” Pulp started only to be stopped when the entire building shook.

They heard glass breaking outside and Schmitt immediately rushed over to a window to see what was going on.

A giant four-headed reptile was slowly climbing up the tower’s side, using three of its heads to grip the façade, with the last one throwing the dragon a predatory look with its toxic green eyes.

It roared at her, wisps of gas seeping out of its mouth.

This wasn’t a rescue… this was an ambush.
> Chapter 43: Rocs Fall, Rocs Die
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Up North, the hunt for the convergence point continued.

They decided to split up in two groups. Louis and Mikhail would escort Derek up the so-called ‘sacred path’ so the mage could make his observations. As for the rest, namely Elaena, Alejandro and Radiant, they’d stay at the farm to keep an eye on Sirocco and sift through her cargo hold for anything they could give Gunnar.

The farmer remained vehement about not coming back to Denmark with them. The farm was a family heirloom, and he had spent far too long tending the cattle and the vegetable patches to just abandon them. His ‘deal’ with the expeditionists remained the same: they’d take him to Narvik so he could replace his sunken speedboat (probably with a sailboat) to get a link between his farm and the rest of the region. They also shared Amandine’s satellite phone number with him, if the reindeer ever changed his mind.

Elaena also elaborated on Gunnar’s theoretical flight ability.

“Wait, like a Christmas reindeer?” Alejandro did a double take when she said that.

“No clue what Christmas is, but I know reindeer tribes fly over to Equestria each year for Heart’s Warming Eve. The lack of wing never seemed to bother them, they just… hover above ground.” She explained whilst digging through book-filled crate. “There it is!”

Alejandro peered over her shoulder to see her pull a thin book from under a stack of papers. It had a picture of a Pegasus mare with a pith helm posing for a picture with a demure reindeer doe. The snowy background also seemed to feature a village of thatch huts covered in snow with more reindeers around, all clad in vivid blue and red garb similar to Sami clothing. It had a title in English (or Equestrian, same thing really): ‘Daring Do’s nonfiction: Preindustrial Civilizations of the Northern Realms’.

Considering how Sirocco’s planned route would take her south once she was done with the sailors, giving Gunnar the ‘manual’ on his new species wouldn’t hurt. He was probably the only reindeer they’d cross path with. Elaena was also pretty damn certain Roberto had scanned and uploaded it in Amandine’s database already.

“Maybe I can fly, doesn’t change much.” Gunnar shrugged after accepting the book.

“Why so?”

“Alright, flying… gives me one way out of here. But I can do that already.” He pointed a cloven hoof at the mountains above them. “Plenty of trekking paths up there. But it’s no good for supplies.”

And flying wouldn’t be any better. What he needed to actually salvage stuff from nearby Narvik was a way to get a vehicle (with a load of cargo bigger than a backpack) from town to his farm; which only left him with boats as an option now that the main road had collapsed.

Maybe it could be fixed eventually, but that certainly wasn’t something that could be done by one man… or one buck in his case? Regardless, boating was something he’d have to resort to from now on.

All things considered Gunnar honestly wasn’t doing too badly as a survivor. He had food, water, a healthy stash of medicine in his bathroom’s cabinet… Power could easily be solved once he brought back some stuff from town with a salvaged (not stolen) boat. In fact, the biggest hazard so far probably came from the rocs.

“I’m not afraid.” Was all Gunnar said about the bords as he showed them the insides of his farm.

It wasn’t a bad place to live in. Very utilitarian, but the vast amounts of varnished wood and thick carpets did bring a cozy feel to the place. Gunnar went to an L-shaped couch near a coffee table, lifting the cushions off with his telekinesis.

“I can throw tools with my mind… drives them off.” He began, one cloven hoof lifting the lid off a concealed compartment under the couch. “But I got better if I need it.”

There was an olive green box under the couch. Gunnar casually flicked the code lock on it, to reveal the guns inside. A hunting shotgun and a bolt action rifle. Yeah, he may not necessarily use them, but he was covered in the arms department. If his guns were enough to drop a moose, then he had no reasons to fear the slate-feathered birds if they suddenly grew a pair.







At about the same time, Derek’s group had reached the edge of the forest.

Mikhail was with the group, and frankly right then the Ukrainian dragon could understand why Gunnar told them his dog was scared of the forest. There was some sort of weight hanging in the air, pressing down on his throat and ears with a soft thrumming.

“Sidereal was right…” Derek whispered in awe, the foci in his forearms crackling just from the ambient magic. “That convergence point… it’s something ancient.”

They had left the farmstead behind them, with its greenhouses, wooden fences and the cattle pens. Ahead was the forest, with its tall pines and the bushes that formed a barrier in front of them. 

Derek pushed past the bushes and into the forest proper. They were on a narrow dirt path that snaked its way up the slopes towards the mountains, following a small mountain brook that likely supplied the farm with fresh water. The scent of pines and tree sap hung heavily in the air, filling their nostrils with its sharp smell. 

All around them, tree trunks rose up perfectly straight along the slopes, the ground colored a dark orange from fallen needles. Bushes and nettles sprouted here and there, green splotches of color against the orange and brown of bark and fallen needles. The ground visibly sloped at a shallow angle, steadily climbing up the mountainside.

There were also rocks emerging from the ground in places, most of them covered in moss, some not, closer to the farm. Those were most likely stones Gunnar had removed from his fields and tossed in the forest.

The trek up the slope to the start of the ‘sacred path’ wasn’t too long. After a climb a couple hundred meters uphill, they reached a short cliff. It wasn’t particularly big, only three to four meters in height and with the forest already encroaching upon it. It ran for a couple hundred meters along the path, the carved cliff on one side and the brook on the other.

But what the cliff face showed… that made them certain they had reached their target. 

Dozens –no, hundreds- of carvings both small and large covered the stone, every single one of them glowing softly in various shades of blue. Sparks of light flickered at random intervals on the carvings, as if the Event had supercharged the site and given it a new burst of energy. But there was more than just the glowing carvings…

The more they approached them, the more… vivid the world seemed to become around them. Colors became more intense, the sounds of birds and the wind in the trees became sharper, even the brook the path was following appeared to take on an unearthly sheen.

And then was the ever-present thrumming against their eardrums.

Derek was the first to approach the carvings, the gargoyle quickly conjuring up his mage sight as his hand carefully hovered above a line of runes.

“Fascinating…” He whispered. “I’ve been to several convergence points in the past. None of them were anything like this.”

Mikhail warily looked around. The place felt… weird. Far more intense than any mere carving had any right to be. A dry pine needle fell down from a branch above them, and the purple-scaled dragon watched the intense magical field wrap it in a blue glow mid-fall, gently accompanying it the rest of the way, like a snowflake in winter.

“So?” Armiger crossed his arms after he joined Derek next to the carvings.

“As I said Sir… The underlying magic here differs far more from Equus’ own magic than I’d first thought.” He frowned. “It’s like… back home we build sites and shrines on the convergence points and when you look at it, you can see there is a difference between the site itself, and the surrounding flow. But here? The magic’s a perfect match.”

The implications behind it were… puzzling, to say the least. Usually some civilization –or lifeform- would pop up on the convergence point to profit off the increased magic in the area. In each case, there was at least some measure of difference between the convergence point’s magic and that of whatever building was found there.

In the case of these carvings however… Derek had a perfect match in front of him. As if the carvings had been chiseled out just as the convergence point formed.

The thing was, as he fiddled with the tunings on his mage sight spell, he could see the difference between the original magic of the site –the humans’- and that which came after the Event. It was like… the new magic was a liquid, the convergence point a river, but now the riverbed was filled with seawater instead of freshwater.

“I need more observations.” Derek stated after he recorded his readings on a blank quartz gem. “The reindeer, he did say the path goes up to the mountaintop, right?”

“That he did.” Mikhail nodded. “You think we’ll need to go that far?”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged. “I need to look at the history of this place to figure out more.”

And look at its history he did. Together the three of them marched on uphill, through the forest that they soon left behind. All along the way they’d stop at regular intervals so Derek could take a look at some more carved stones, or an old cairn built alongside their path. They all kept that eerie blue glow about them, the energy in the air still palpable even when they left the forest.

Bushes and lichen traded place with the pines, rocks slowly starting to become more prevalent the higher they got. But still, carved stones with runes and drawings of the men of old popped up along the way. Derek would sometimes stop just to take a look, other times he’d take a blank gemstone from the pouches on his rig to record a magical reading or just write something down in a thin leather-bound book.

The oddest thing was… even though they were now pretty high up and still going, none of them experienced any difficulty from the effort. As if… well, come to think of it the convergence point probably did energize them. That would go a long way towards explaining how they could casually trek halfway up the mountain without getting tired.

Mikhail paused to look back. Way down below them, the tip of the fjord and Gunnar’s farm were now nothing but a blotch, with Sirocco’s balloons hardly distinguishable from the herds of cattle around it at this distance. Normally he’d probably be concerned about the cold at that altitude, but he was a dragon now. They ran hot.

Very hot. He could do just fine with his plate carrier and coveralls above his scales despite the cold mountainous weather. Derek and Armiger however, both paused just long enough for the gargoyle to cast a quick warming spell.

“Anything new here?” The dragon quickly asked, turning his eyes uphill to the steep path that still awaited them.

If Derek was willing to carry his boss, they might be able to just glide back down to the farm when they reached the top.

“Sort of.” Derek looked up from his notebook as he finished copying a few lines of runes. “I’m starting to get the gist of this place’s history.”

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark. Shoot.”

“So I have this theory…

The ‘new’ magic from after the Event doesn’t match the original. That rules out the Event actually being a resurgence of magic. It’s completely different from what powered this place in the past.

Which means humans did have magic. Just not the specific kind that now popped up. This might be why it was so deadly to humans in the first place.

Second thing is, and this might come as a shock, the site isn’t built over the convergence point. The site is the convergence point.”

“Come again?”

“That’s what I was wondering about.” Derek explained. “I looked at this from the beginning of the path to here. The carvings are exactly as old as the site, and their progress in time is matched by the magic. So either these guys had the absolute luck of building their sacred site just as the convergence point formed or, the convergence point was formed because they built it.”

“I’m no expert in magic but I’m pretty sure that conflicts with at least half a dozen major principles on Equus.” Louis crossed his arms, tail lashing behind him.

“Exactly! On Equus, it wouldn’t make any sense. But here? The magic is similar to ours, not identical. And that’s not the only thing. I got some observations about that ‘magic disappeared at some point’ theory Sidereal told me about.”

“Explain.”

“Easy.” Derek turned to point at the carvings. “Let’s say the convergence point is like a river and we look past the current flow –which is overcharged-, and instead focus on the riverbed. At the bottom, it was really deep, like a river with strong flow. But up here…”

“It gets weaker.” Mikhail guessed.

“It does!” Derek enthusiastically pointed a finger at the dragon. “We’re nearing the top now, and we’ve gone from a wild river to… a quiet irrigation channel maybe. Before the Event came, the magic at this altitude was but a third of what’s at the bottom in intensity. At best. Something happened.”

Mikhail twisted his head to the side, reptilian eyes focusing on a drawing of a longboat depicting a group of raiders assaulting a burning abbey. He was tempted to touch it with his claw, but just approaching it felt like getting too close to a live wire.

“Are you sure it’s weaker? Because it doesn’t feel weaker.” He pointed out as he readjusted the shoulder strap of his rifle.

“Positive.” Derek nodded. “Remember: the entire site is saturated in magic anyway, that’s why it feels so strong now.”

“Gonna believe you then.” He shrugged. “So… we continuin’ up top or what?”

They didn’t have very long to go anyway. Soon enough the path leveled out, greeting them with the sight of a wide plateau just short of the mountaintops. The snow-capped summits still towered above them like quiet giants, a small glacier looming between two of them and feeding a small lake with its melt water. The source of the brook they had been following.

Short grass and lichen covered the entire frosted surface of the plateau, with a few purple mountain flowers peeking through here and there, stems bending under the billowing winds that raised Derek’s cloak.

But as picturesque as the landscape may have been, it mattered little when compared to what awaited them at the end of the ‘sacred path’. A barrow, an old Norse burial mound lay near the shore of the mountain lake.

Short cairns lined either side of the path as they made their way closer to its entrance. It appeared to be at the crossroads of two trekking paths, because there was also a direction pole there, to which some trekkers had attached a scarf.

A trophy of sorts probably, left there to hang in the billowing winds, the wooly strands a proud testimony that some alpinists had reached a milestone in their journey. With a bit of luck whoever had left it there wouldn’t reappear all alone near a mountain summit and had at least made it to a refuge before the Event struck.

Otherwise… well, let it be said that there is reappearing in a favorable position like a ship at anchor, and then you have reappearing alpinists.

The burial mound’s entrance was blocked. A single, smooth stone prevented intruders from reaching the inner chamber. Much like all cliffs along the path, carvings had been added to the stone. A proud sigil of Thor’s Hammer stood in the center, with numerous runes and lines forming a circle around it. But it was unlike the other carvings. The carved stones they had seen up until then were vivid and throbbing with energy, this stone was… faint, weak.

“Something’s different…” Mikhail whispered in Ukrainian.

Slowly, he walked over to the stone and laid a hand against it. Cold to the touch, with the slightest hint of a frost cover on it when he brushed his claws over the Hammer of Thor engraved on it. The thrumming energy was still there, but faint.

He frowned. There was something to it. He shifted his claw closer to the center of the engraving. A little bit stronger.

Curious as to what may happen, the purple dragon placed his palm directly against the center of the engraving, right on the Hammer.

A cold chill ran down his arm like a bolt of lightning, and then the world became blue.







“Open fire!” Schmitt immediately yelled at the sight of the gigantic monster climbing up the side of the convention center.

Her claws reached for the rifle strapped across her chest, and she went through the motions out of pure muscle memory. Shoulder, rack the cocking handle, and flick the safety off.

Not a second later, the crosshairs on her scope lined up with one of the hydra’s heads. Her claw depressed the trigger, at just about the same time as her teammates around her.

A whittling volley of 5.56 fire met the approaching threat, hitting it all over and scoring a few scrapes and cuts. Not to much effect however… 5.56 was decent against humans and similarly-sized threats.

The hydra was as far removed from such proportions as a creature could get. One of its heads was easily as big as a fully-grown Earth Pony, and its body wasn’t any smaller. It barely flinched when Pavlos joined them and opened up with his 7.62-fed MG3, even the blistering rate of fire of the German machinegun proved insufficient to repel the monster.

“Can’t the Piranhas shoot  that bloody thing?!” Vadim yelled over the gunfire just as he was jamming a fresh mag in his modified FNC.

“Wrong side of the building, and we’re too high.” Pavlos answered.

“The fuck you mean, we’re too high?”

“They can’t elevate the guns high enough. No good.”

“Explosives?” Carlos joined in, the cockatoo firing from the hip at the hydra. “I mean, we got a grenade launcher right?”

Vadim quickly turned his head towards the only other griffon in the group, Valentyn. Rhine’s Second Engineer just finished dumping another mag down at the approaching monster before he noticed all the other sailors looking pointedly at him.

Or rather, at the M203 he had attached underneath his C7.

“Don’t look at me like that, I only got buckshot and teargas for that thing.” He quickly said. “Ain’t got the training to be fooling around with explosives.”

The building shook with the noise of breaking glass as the hydra climbed a floor higher. Schmitt steadied herself on a nearby coffee table before looking towards the edge in concern, glass shards raining down around her.

“Is anybody going to question the fact that this thing basically ignored the gas cloud below? Where did it come from anyway?!” Carlos yelled. “I’m pretty damn sure we’d have noticed the bloody thing in the lobby.”

“Hydras are immune to poison.” Sidereal quickly said, the mare still not fully recovered from the sight of the bodies around the lookout floor. For Faust’s sake, she could feel the carpet squelch from the blood it was soaked with!

“It wasn’t here.” Pulp scowled. “I’m pretty damn sure I just saw somepony teleport it in.”

“Four Horses?”

“Not sure, but definitely equine, could be them.”

The building shook again, bringing the discussion to a grinding halt and reminding them all of the looming threat.

“Schäiss!” Schmitt stumbled with a swear. “Keep the talk for later, if we can’t fight this thing then we gotta run.”

“So we’re just gonna leave?” Carlos quickly inquired to his superior.

“No point staying, that was a fucking trap.”

Pity they couldn’t just glide down, but the airtight chemsuits prevented that. That just left them with the option of… running down the stairs and hope the hydra didn’t notice they were going for it.

They could teleport however. Some of them at least. Sidereal had her limits, and she couldn’t teleport more than one of them at a time back to the Piranhas. Not fast enough at least, if they relied on her alone the hydra would have reached them long before they could teleport away.

Pulp was brought back first, and then Vadim, and then… she was forced to cut it short when the hydra reached the floor just below them. One last trip and the rest of them would have to settle for trying to run past a behemoth of a monster that was seemingly impervious to gunfire.

A minute later, Sidereal was offering them an awkward smile through the visor of her hazmat suit as she disappeared along with Valentyn. Schmitt turned to the remaining sailors after watching the mare teleport away in a flash of light.

Only four of them, all with a healthy air supply left for getting back to the APC’s. That should do it, right?

The orange dragon carefully listened for any sign of movement from the hydra as she twisted the valve on her SCBA and closed her suit.

Ammo check on her rifle? Still good..

Air supply? 200bar in the tank.

The others? Pavlos looked confident enough with the MG3 in the bosun’s hands. It looked comically big compared to the gargoyle’s frame. That left Carlos and Yancy, the two parrots looking quite uneasy through their visors.

“Ready?” She called out, one claw already reaching for the door handle.

On the other side was the staircase that would lead them back down into the gas cloud.

What followed was even more intense than the fight against the giant timberwolf in Lyngby. They all ran from staircase to staircase inside the convention center, going full speed through hazy hallways and past broken windows.

The hydra caught on quickly. They weren’t even one floor down when it intercepted them, one giant head ramming through a wall and snapping at Yancy. The Filipino macaw thankfully managed to roll underneath the attack, but the chase was now on.

They scattered like mice running away from a housecat. Pavlos and Schmitt went down one staircase, whilst Carlos and Yancy ran for the one on the other side of the building. The hydra may have four heads but it couldn’t be in two places at once.

The two Filipino parrots found themselves racing through the hallways and bashing doors open as they went. There was no sneaking away from the hydra, not as long as they were wearing SCBA’s that hissed loudly every time they breathed through their masks.

They would have to make it purely on speed. Speedy parrot or not, that was easier said than done in a chemsuit.

“Tae, I really didn’t want to fight monsters in that kind of environment.” Yancy loudly complained in Tagalog as the two of them quickly passed through a conference room.

“’cause you call that fighting?” Carlos stopped at an intersection to look for the nearest staircase. “Looks more like fleein’ to me. Take the next right.”

“Yeah, until we get it to the Piranhas; then that fucking thing will regret picking a fight with us.” The other parrot confidently said.

They had a few encounters with the hydra along the way, nearly each time they got close to a window or a staircase it would lunge at them with a head or two –the others gripping the building’s facade and holding it steady-. They were lucky the two of them had turned into something reasonably fast because they somehow managed to dodge its attacks.

Until they hit the third floor that is. Overconfidence is an insidious killer, and they had dared assume the monster had a pattern to its attacks.

The third floor was also where they first caught sight of the vast lobby and the staircases that descended on either side of the room, both linked together by glass terraces that must have brought a modern feel to the place in the past.

Maybe it was because the haze was thicker at that level, or because they were just getting tired, but they mistook a tinted window for an actual wall.

The hydra didn’t. The two parrots fully expected its next attack to come from a nearby broken window opposite the tinted window inside the staircase. They had their backs turned to it when one head rammed through, with gnashing fangs and malice-filled eyes.

The impact sent them both flying down the stairs. They fell two floors down on a nearby terrace, the landing so hard Carlos was pretty sure he heard bones crack when he impacted the ground. He pulled himself up on one elbow. The other one wasn’t responding.

He blinked. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t feel anything on one side of his face and… he couldn’t see anything on that side.

“Ano?” He croaked, bringing up a hand to his blind side.

His blood ran cold.

He could feel a huge tear in his suit, the gash extending to his gas mask. Bloodstained glass shards were all around him, with Yancy lying face down a few meters away. The exposed side of his face started stinging. He quickly pressed down on the mask with a talon to protect the other half.

Worse even, was the soft hissing that was coming from where his air tank connected to his SCBA. A leak. The dial on his manometer was dropping by the second. It started whistling.

50 bar.

And through the murky haze that made up the gas cloud, through the white cloud of pain that was fogging up his vision, Carlos could see the toxic green orbs of the approaching hydra’s eyes.







Either Mikhail was unknowingly tripping like he never had, or magic really could do weird stuff. The moment the dragon laid his claws on the carved stone door, he activated something.

What it was exactly, he had no idea, for now at least.

“Eh Derek you got any idea what’s goin’ onnnn…” He trailed off as he turned around, not finding the gargoyle behind him.

Louis wasn’t here either. The two of them were just… gone. All around the world had changed, as if he was looking at it through a blue lens.

He still was next to the burial mound, but now it was as if something had dropped a fog dome over the area. He couldn’t see much further than fifty meters in all directions before his sight was obscured by a blue fog wall.

“I probably shouldn’t have touched that…” The purple dragon growled out in Ukrainian before looking for anything that may be out of place.

Nothing really. The place just looked… younger maybe? The cairns were a bit taller, the path and burial mound better maintained, but that was it.

Wait, no. There was a thin snow cover all around where just moments before the grass had been covered in frost.

The sound of crunching snow quickly made him turn around. Something was coming.

Someone actually.

A long file of ethereal silhouettes emerged out of the fog, all of them slowly walking towards the burial mound in a procession. The bluish shadows were all human, clad in clothing that must have dated back to the Viking age.

They were lead by what a chieftain, if his embroidered cloak and engraved belt were anything to go by. He walked right through Mikhail as if the dragon never even existed before coming to a stop a few steps short of the burial mound, one hand on his hip and the other stroking his braided beard.

Behind him was a catholic priest with an incenser, along with two robe-clad altar boys carrying a small tub.

Mikhail watched as a small crowd of ethereal shadows gathered round to witness the ceremony. The priest started opening and closing his mouth while gesturing at the burial mound with his incenser in a silent sermon.

After a few minutes of that display, the altar boys came back, the tub now filled with water from the nearby lake. The chieftain came forward, shedding his cloak and passing it to a nearby woman –his wife most likely-.

The priest baptized the chieftain. In front of the ancient burial mound. The moment his head emerged out of the water, Mikhail took note of how the vision dimmed, but it kept going.

A smith emerged out of the crowd carrying a ceremonial hammer and a bundle covered in cloth. He passed it to the newly-baptized chieftain just as the priest started reciting another silent sermon to the crowd.

He unfurled the cloth to reveal a small brass cross.

The vision stopped the moment the chieftain hammered it into the lintel of the burial mound.

Mikhail blinked.

The shadows were gone; the blue lens off his eyes, and the world was normal once more. Wind howled against his ears as he realized he was back near the door, claw pressed against it as if the vision never happened.

Gingerly, the dragon lifted his head and brushed a patch of moss off of the lintel piece. There it was, the cross was gone but the discoloration on the stone made it very clear it had been there.

“Whelp, that’s not something you see everyday.” He muttered.

“Mikhail?”

The Ukrainian jerked his head away from the lintel. Derek was right behind him, the gargoyle mage throwing him a concerned look.

“Everything alright?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I just had a vision?” The dragon quirked an eyeridge at the shorter gargoyle.

“Yes. You were in trance for the best part of five minutes. What did you see?”

“A ceremony. Not the burial of whoever is in there mind, but his descendants switching religion. The vision stopped the moment they concluded the ceremony. That makes sense to you?”

“Well uh…” Derek rubbed the underside of his muzzle. “Wouldn’t be the first time religion and magic are tied.”

“Gentlemen?” Louis interrupted, the cat putting a paw on Derek’s shoulder. “I’m sure this is all fascinating, but I feel I have something you might find needs be addressed first.”

“What?”

The Abyssinian calmly pointed at an approaching flock of birds.

No, rocs actually.

“Just a few monsters, nothing too troublesome. I say we remove the pests then go back to the farm to chat about this, no?”

Mikhail’s response was just to cock his rifle, a predatory grin already creasing the edges of the dragon’s maw.







He had been exposed to the gas, that much he could feel. The stinging pain in the side of his face was rising steadily as Carlos watched the hydra’s heads loom over him. He was pretty sure he caught the crackle of chatter on his walkie-talkie, but either the thing was damaged or he just couldn’t make anything out from the buzzing in his ears.

“Kainin mo tae ko…” He muttered as he gathered what strength he had left in his uninjured arm to lift the gun he was still clutching in his talons.

He was more aware of the vibrations his weapon made when he pulled the trigger than the seemingly distant popping of gunfire, as if he was watching it all through a muted TV. The hydra faltered, more because he actually managed to hit it in the eye with a stray shot than because the rounds actually did any damage.

Then it roared at him with all its heads.

The sheer noise freed him from the painful haze he’d been wrapped in for the last few seconds, reality suddenly taking on a sharp contrast as if someone had just dropped a bucket of water on his head.

‘I’m about to die.’ The thought ran through his mind.

Thankfully, this was not to be. A crashing noise below him drew his and the hydra’s attention. One of the Piranhas had rammed its way inside the lobby, its .50cal instantly swiveling in the hydra’s direction.

“Run Carlos!” Schmitt’s voice echoed through his radio, the audio finally making sense.

The Piranha opened fire. That had more effect on the monster than anything they had tried prior. Carlos didn’t linger to see whether that was enough to kill it however. Instead, he pushed himself up and sprinted towards Yancy’s crumpled form.

With the writhing form of the hydra just above him as it was being shot at with a .50cal, he wrapped his talons around his downed compatriot’s suit and started pulling him towards the stairs. The hydra was being pushed back, but the .50cal just might not be enough to actually take it down.

Not that it mattered to him. What did right then, was getting the downed parrot to the APC’s despite his nonfunctional arm and his dwindling air supply. He practically dragged him by the arm to the nearest staircase where the two of them more or less hurtled down the stairs.

The two parrots must have made for quite the spectacle when Carlos finally reached the APC’s. Him with his gun and arm hanging limply, his good arm tiredly dragging the limp form of a barely-alive Yancy. There was a huge tear in his chemsuit and gasmask, painfully exposing some of his feathers and one eye to the gas cloud.

Thankfully for him, the mouthpiece of his gasmask was still mostly intact, contrarily to Yancy’s who was now letting out sick wheezes. There were blood clots dripping from his beak whenever the blue and gold macaw exhaled.

A certain griffon pulled them inside as soon as he reached the rear ramp, and Carlos soon found himself strapped down in a seat with his gasmask hooked to the Piranha’s air supply. Vadim was upon him immediately after the ramp closed and the Piranha motored away from the building.

Idly, Carlos wondered who was behind the wheel right then. After all, he and Yancy were supposed to drive…

“What happened?” Vadim barked, the Medical Officer looking over the barely conscious form of Yancy lying at their feet.

Vadim quickly got to work on Yancy first. The macaw really wasn’t looking too good, and Vadim wouldn’t be able to do much until they were out of the city and had decontaminated the vehicles.

The fall had damaged his suit far more than it had damaged Carlos’, not only exposing his entire face to the gas, but his respiratory tract as well. The skin around the macaw’s eyes and under his feathers was a vivid red; and his eyes were bleeding with the pupils having turned a cloudy white.

For now, all Vadim could really do was grab a replacement gas mask and intubate him. For all the good it might do… they had no idea how bad the damage was to his lungs, and his low oxygen saturation didn’t bode too well.

“Will he make it?” Carlos wheezed out, shifting his weight this way and that so his broken arm would stop hurting.

“I… I’m not sure.” Vadim shook his head. “He breathed in a lot of gas… his lungs could be burned for all I know.”

“Health potion?”

“I can try, but it’s no guarantee.” He threw a glance at the oximeter he had just tied to Yancy’s finger, watching the readout slowly but surely fall. “They’re made for first-aid… that here, this could be pretty advanced. Plus I don’t exactly know what was in the gas cloud; there could be toxins in there for all I know.”

Carlos wasn’t doing too good either, but at least it didn’t seem life threatening. He could still breathe mostly fine, though he might have inhaled some gas as well. His throat ached. What concerned him most was the wound on the side of his face. He couldn’t see anything on that side and he was starting to get worried by the pain spikes he was experiencing, along with the numbness around the entire area.

As for his arm, he was pretty sure he could go without a splint for a little while.

The two APC’s showed no trouble in escaping the city, the hydra didn’t even follow, probably skulking away to lick the wounds they had inflicted it. Still, in Vadim’s mind every second they spent inside the gas cloud was a second too long. Yancy’s oxygen levels slowly but surely shrank down on the oximeter, yet he couldn’t do anything for him inside the contaminated atmosphere.

A few minutes later, they emerged out of the cloud with their engines roaring, pulling up in a gas station along the highway as soon as they found one. Yancy was immediately laid out on the asphalt whilst Schmitt walked off, barking a report into a satellite phone.

“What do you mean that was an ambush?” Dilip’s voice rang out.

“Exactly what’s that supposed to mean.” She growled. “The survivors were dead, recently too.”

“Then why did they pop up on Sidereal’s radar?”

“Decoy foci. Some kinda gem. Some-pony dropped a monster on us soon as we reached the top floor, probably Four Horses. Got two casualties.”

“Is it serious?”

Schmitt’s eyes flicked to where Vadim was tending to Yancy. The blue and gold macaw’s feathers were peeling off and sticking to his chemsuit when the griffon pulled it off. The grey falcon griffon’s gaze crossed hers and he gave her a meaningful look.

  Don’t get your hopes high.

“One is life-threatening. Lung damage, we’ll see what we can do with the health potions.”

“Tell Sidereal to teleport back with the wounded if she can. I’ll be contacting Delacroix.”

“Got it.” She nodded despite the Diamond Dog being unable to see her.

“And… Schmitt? Nobody could have foreseen this.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” She replied bitterly. “See ya’ Dilip.”

She had them decontaminate the Piranhas while Vadim was still busy trying to stabilize their casualty. Carlos was there by his side, the injured Filipino holding his compatriot’s claw with his uninjured limb.

To Vadim’s credit, there wasn’t much that could be done. He only had a couple health potions to spare; one went down his throat, the other he injected directly in his left lung, just so he could have some hope. For what it was worth: by the time he had Sidereal teleport back to Copenhagen, his oxygen saturation had dropped even more and his grip on Carlos’ claw was as feeble as that of a dying elder.

Carlos stared down at the space Yancy had occupied a few seconds prior. There were only some yellow and blue feathers there, some blood, and Yancy’s discarded equipment. He mutely looked down at his palm, where the other parrot had left him a rosary. He rolled the wooden beads in his talons for a few seconds.

“Carlos?” Vadim nudged his shoulder.

“Will he be okay?”

“I can’t make promises like that and you know it.” The griffon shook his head softly. “He’s in Camille’s talons now; she should know her stuff far better than I do.”

“Yeah…” Carlos’s sole good eye was fixated on the rosary. “She should...”

“Let’s get you patched up pal. I don’t like the look of that eye.”

Carlos didn’t answer. He just stayed immobile as Vadim pulled his medical satchel closer and went to work on his injuries.







Things were going far better up North.

The trio of ‘adventurers’ had fallen back to the edge of the mountain lake to receive the rocs’ assault. Mikhail could see about a dozen of them in the attacking flock, all beating their slate-covered wings in unison as they approached.

“Plan?” He asked out loud, quickly checking that he had a round chambered.

His C7 had a grenade launcher as well, but the Ukrainian veteran doubted frag grenades would be adequate against birds, regardless of how big they were.

“As usual with rocs. Bait them into diving, then pick them off once they’re grounded.” Derek rolled his shoulders, a hint of confidence seeping in the gargoyle’s tone.

“I see… thirteen of them, I think. You sure that’s favorable odds?”

“Aye.” The gargoyle nodded. “You two do the shooting, I’ll be the bait. One thing though.”

“Spit it out.”

“Stay in the circle.” He said over his shoulder before unfastening his cloak.

The drab brown fabric fell down on the cold damp dirt of the lake’s shores, fully revealing his leathery wings which he cracked, one after another. Mikhail and Louis watched him take off, only to come to a hover a meter or two above the ground.

No small feat if you recalled the billowing winds that swept the mountains.

Derek reached for a pouch on his rig before pulling out two gems tucked between his fingers.

“Show time…” The young mage muttered in his native tongue before pointing one gem at the ground.

In a practiced motion, he focused the magic in his forearm while slowly drawing magic from the gem in the center of his rig. He ‘drew’ an intricate pattern in the air before delicately redirecting the spell towards one of the gems he was holding.

Spell one. He released his grip on the magic and one purple bolt shot out of the amethyst before impacting the ground with a sizzle. An iridescent circle the same color as the spell appeared on the ground, some twelve meters in diameter.

Time for spell two then. This time the spell was fired from a garnet, and the moment he released his grip on the magic, his entire body took on a red aura.

Immediately he noticed the rocs alter their course ever so slightly. Good. That meant the spell took hold on their minds. He carefully glanced back at his companions. Provided they stayed in that warding circle, the simple Want It-Need It shouldn’t take hold on them.

Granted his version was made specifically for simple-minded critters, but it never hurt to be careful, particularly with mind magic like that.

He checked back towards the rocs. Still a few seconds to go.

Swap gemstones. Grab a quartz. Quick air-resistance spell for speed. Put back quartz. Pull out the peridot. Just a small kinetic ward for good measure and then…

Derek quickly folded one wing to roll away from the first attack. Right, no time for fancy spell lattices. Like the teachers always said back at the academy: lots of spells is fine, but always try to make do with as few spells as you can.

He had wings. Might as well use them.

The first roc crashed down below him and he fired a quick grounding spell at it before it could take off again. There was a loud ‘bang!’, and the bird dropped dead, courtesy of Louis’ breechblock rifle. The long, paper-cartridge fed weapon was made to hunt creatures as big as manticores, and the cat didn’t have any trouble landing a shot on the first bird.

Because of course he had taken something more than just a flintlock pistol for the trip. The gun was something a noble hunter would use: engraved barrel, rifled using brand new machinery and with a lens to assist aiming. Louis hardly needed the lens, he was a prescient Abyssinian, he always knew exactly where to aim without even needing to look.

Derek didn’t bother shooting his grounding spells at rocs in flight. He was never much of a good shot and adding a homing effect to the spells would take too long. Instead, he used their lack of wits against them. Just stay below the birds, slow down enough to bait a dive and let gravity do the rest.

He could always shoot the grounding spell once they were nice enough to crash. Much easier.

The skirmish was over in a matter of minutes with much ducking and weaving on Derek’s part. Much to Louis’ disappointment, the Abyssinian only claimed the life of two rocs, the rest of the kills going to Derek and Mikhail. Not much of a surprise really: the dragon’s Canadian M16 variant was much better at following up shots than the single-shot rifle the noble used.

As for Derek…

They were on the last three birds of the flock when he judged the skies were clear enough. Two sapphires found their way in his hands before he started flying higher, the birds eagerly following. His forearms became wreathed in magic as he focused his power once more. With the convergence point nearby, he might as well use the ambient power for all its worth…

He let the power flow through his gems, one blindingly bright icy blast firing down at the three birds that were still following him. With a loud screech, they became completely encased in ice and started falling.

Now for the finishing move.

Derek wove a wide circle in the air with his arms before cupping both hands together. One bright yellow orb of magic lanced out of his open palms before flying down to strike the frozen birds just as they crashed on the ground.

On the mountain plateau, there was nothing left of those birds but a crater and a few ashes. That was why he was Louis’ bodyguard. Raw battlemage firepower.

“You’re making me envious with that thing.” Louis remarked once the fight was over, quickly holstering his own gun as he was kneeling by a dead roc and pointing at Mikhail’s.

“What can I say, we humans are good at making guns. This American stuff isn’t really my cup of tea, but I can make do.” Mikhail patted the C7 with a perfectly draconic grin.

He’d still rather be using an AK-style platform, just for the sake of comfort. Having the cocking handle in the center just felt… weird. Plus he was a left-handed shot, having the handle on the right like on most AK’s (and in extenso Amandine’s FNC’s, since they had similar internals) just felt plain better.

“I know some countries have repeaters back on Equus, but nothing like what you have here.” Louis commented before pulling out a knife.

“You goin’ to take a trophy?”

“Correct.”

The point of his knife hovered above the bird. He paused.

“You don’t know how to take a trophy.”

“That is also correct.” Louis nodded.

Derek landed just behind him after just having retrieved his discarded cloak.

“Allow me boss, I can cast a preservation spell. We’ll keep it that way until we get back.”

“Ah yes. Let’s do that.” Louis stood up with a nod. “I do remember a few contacts talking about that taxidermist in the Royal District on Queen’s Avenue.”

More like he had been invited to visit a rival’s collection. He definitely could use one himself, and probably with better stories to accompany the creatures than just ‘went looking for it on a hunt, shot it, the end’.

A minute of making a hammerspace pouch for the trophy and a new addition to his collection later, Derek was casting a lightweight spell on Louis. They walked over to the edge of the mountain, looking down at the fjord, way down where Sirocco awaited their return.

“You sure you don’t want to walk boss?”

“Let’s not waste time and take to the skies.” The feline smiled.

Mikhail himself was rather tempted to just walk. He had really just begun training his flight abilities and that… He looked down and down and down at the farmstead in the distance. How far was that by flight? Five kilometers? Six?

Still just gliding, but that was quite the leap (litteraly!) from just jumping off a few containers with his wings extended a few days earlier.

And he had taken the time to adapt his gear for his wings since the ponies’ arrival. Two zippers had been added to the back of his white coveralls, along with extra fabric for comfort. He had also removed the back plate on his plate carrier, to go with narrowing the ‘back’ section. Screw getting shot in the back, he was a dragon, made of steel might as well be an understatement for the reptiles.

Beside him, he watched Derek wrap his arms under Louis’ armpits.

“You ready?”

He nodded.

They jumped.

The feeling was exhilarating. Wind howled against the dragon’s leathery wings. He could feel himself naturally level out in a semi-horizontal position in flight, his wings easily supporting his weight without requiring him to even flap them.

For a second, he let himself close his eyes just to feel the wind brush against his scales. He could hear the skin of his wings flap in the wind, not unlike a kite’s fabric.

“Mikhail?” Derek politely interrupted.

“Yeah?” He didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Tree.”

His eyes shot open. With a long stream of curses learned both as a sailor and during his stint with Ukraine’s Naval Infantry, he wrenched his wings, barely managing to swerve around a particularly tall pine. They were already back at forest level.

“Word of advice: you fly better with your eyes open.” Derek chuckled.

Mikhail didn’t respond. The rosy tint of a blush easy to notice even through the purple scales on his muzzle.

A minute later, they reached Gunnar’s farm.







“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU Radio. Hope you’re having a nice day, got some interesting stuff for you lot.” Sandra began cheerfully.

She was comfortably nestled in her desk chair with a few pillows tucked between her and the armrests, her mic hanging just above her muzzle. Quite the comfy spot, particularly with the fresh kettle she had set down next to her consoles.

“Haven’t got an answer from any of you yet, but it’s just been a few days since I started broadcasting now. Gotta be patient you know? Anyway, got a few important points to tell you.

You’re not alone, folks. Hold on a sec’, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Well duh, I’m listening to your Danish ass blabbering on the radio, of course I’m not alone’. It’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s not just us survivors on this planet. What I meant by ‘not alone’ is ‘not alone in the galaxy’.

No your radio isn’t broken, that’s exactly what I meant. We have aliens on Earth. Those monsters you see all over the place? They’re aliens, and bad guys brought them. Thing is, the aliens, they look like us. No I don’t mean they’re humans. They’re the same kind of aliens we turned into. Ponies, parrots, gargoyles.

But we got two types of aliens apparently. Good ones. Bad ones. The good ones are alright, they just want to help, teach you flying, magic, that kind of stuff. But the bad ones? Folks, careful there ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’re out to kill you. On the bright side, there shouldn’t be that many of them.

Still, guns are definitely something you should look into –if you haven’t already-. Just don’t go shooting everything around you. That would be bad now, wouldn’t it?

‘But DJ, how do we make the difference?’ I bet that’s what you’re wondering now. Should be easy. The bad guys, they’re bandits, pirates, terrorists. Hel, if intel is to be trusted these guys are lead by honest-to-god demons. Compare that to the other aliens who basically just want to do humanitarian aid and, well…

Put this into perspective: you wouldn’t mistake a UN soldier for a Somalian pirate? Much less if the pirate is a cultist to boot.

Just stay safe. Don’t head out in the open carelessly. Take a look from a safe distance, just so you can figure out whether they’re a good guy or bad guy.

Guess that’ll be it for today. Up next is Frank Sinatra with ‘My way’.”
> Chapter 44: Farewells
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The return of the expedition from Gothenburg… caused quite a fuss, obviously. While accusations were being thrown around left and right between Schmitt, Valentyn, Sidereal and the Captains; Vadim had flown over to Rhine’s clinic as soon as the APC’s got back to Copenhagen.

Turns out, Carlos had inhaled enough toxic gas for his throat to start swelling up. The Filipino was now bedridden, sedated and intubated. He was still a bit catatonic from all the stuff that went on in Sweden, though thankfully Danny had quickly shown up to comfort him. The female golden parakeet was now by his bedside, holding his uninjured claw and whispering comforting words in Tagalog.

Amandine’s electrician however, wasn’t his biggest worry at the time. He wasn’t at risk of dying.

Yancy was.

“How bad?” Vadim asked, the griffon walking over to where the injured parrot had been laid down.

“Real bad.” Camille scowled. “Chemical burns all over the inside of his lungs. His oxygen saturation just keeps decreasing, and the burns outside don’t help.”

“Anything we can do?”

“’fraid not.” The French hippogriff shook her head sadly. “I can inject some of our health potions directly inside his chest cavity, but there's just too much chemicals in the lungs. Almost enough to cause an edema, as if the chemical burns weren't enough. Anything the potions heal, is immediately undone. Scans even show the chemicals in the lungs have started digging through the pleura and are now affecting other organs. It’s grim Vadim.”

“Give him more potions? Maybe we can push through you know... keep healing him until the chems are expended.”

“We only have the first-aid variant. If we give him too much of the stuff it’s just going to sap what little strength he has left. Plus, we don't have that much potions to begin with.”

The Ukrainian griffon peered over the edge of the bed to look at the blue and gold macaw under the sheets. He was unconscious now; the lack of oxygen had made him faint rather quickly. A glance at his vitals showed they had steadily plummeted over the last couple hours.

“You think he’s in pain?”

“He is.” She nodded sombrely. “Was rather. Doubt he can feel much of anything now. Now… Vad’, at this point I’m certain the lack of oxygen’s caused brain damage.”

They were looking at a dying parrot, and there wasn’t anything they could do to save him. Not without healthcare-grade health potions, the damage to his lungs and chest cavity was just too great.

To make things worse, he had several fractures from his fall, extensive chemical burns in any area of skin that had been exposed to the gas, and also dozens of glass shards imbedded all over. That hydra hadn’t even needed to use its fangs to deliver a killing blow. Gravity and the gas had been enough.

Nothing they could do for him at this point...

Half an hour later, Yancy’s heart finally ceased beating. They didn’t try to reanimate him. Camille and Vadim were sullen as they draped a sheet over the body. 

That day, Yancy Harrison, Ordinary Seaman aged 26 from Manilla, passed away. The first one to die in the fleet since the Event.







The news of his death echoed like a ripple through the crews. Up to this day, they were aware they could get hurt. But to die? That was new. A grim, sobering novelty that rattled them all to the core.

Despite all the blame that was thrown around after their return, nobody actually got punished for it. There were survivors at some point in Gothenburg; Sidereal just couldn’t have expected the bait-and-switch that was pulled on them, likely by the Four Horses.

Could Vadim or Camille be held accountable? Not really. The lung damage would have been too extensive even with a fully-staffed burn unit. They may have been able to fix him had they had some healthcare-grade potions in store, but they had just planted the seeds for the first batch of components. Even with Asha now tending the hydroponics, it would take some time for the plants to reach maturity.

Schmitt and Valentyn? Not really responsible either, they were Engineers, not professional CBRN-trained soldiers. They had no reason to expect the ambush, and little training on how to properly react. What Dilip and Raimund did instead, was gathering to discuss the implications of the ambush.

“They’re onto us.” Raimund stated, the pink mare leaning back in her seat with a scowl on her muzzle.

They had moved on to her office, with both Dilip and Sidereal sitting in front of her desk.

“Doubt it.” Sidereal shook her head. “It was a magical decoy.”

“So?”

“The decoy was clearly made to lure in someone using mage sight. No survivor, regardless of skill, could possibly learn that kind of spell on their own in such a short time.”

“So they were aiming for the relief teams.” Dilip concluded.

“Correct.” She nodded. “I don’t know how other countries did it, but in Equestria there was an advertisement campaign calling for volunteers, ponies that knew how to use mage sight.”

“If it’s a public campaign then that explains how they’d know about this.” Raimund said. “Then the Four Horses are actively targeting your teams.”

“And I don’t think a regular relief team would have escaped as well as we did.”

“Someone died Doctor.” Raimund ground out.

“I know!” The red mare raised her voice in protest. “I’m just saying: had it been a fully Equestrian team, I don’t think any expeditionist would have gotten away.”

“Fine.” Raimund sniffed. “I take it you’ll have to send your superiors a report?”

Sidereal nodded. If her team had been targeted, then the entire relief effort was at risk. The sooner she sent her message, the better.





They also had to arrange… funerary services for Yancy. The rest of the Filipinos in the fleet demanded he get a proper lamay, a wake. And a burial too, of course. The matter was both complicated and sensitive, something Raimund would much rather not be doing. In all of her career, this was the first time a sailor actually died under her service.

As unpleasant as it was, she had to do her job. Yancy didn’t deserve to die, and she had to do everything in her power so that none of her sailors joined him in the afterlife. She gathered After-Action-Reports from all Sailors and Officers involved in the expedition to Gothenburg, then summed it all up in one semi-official report with all data available.

The next day, she narrowed down the location of the Philippines’ embassy in Copenhagen and had one of her Officers drive her there to drop off the file, along with a Death Certificate. The building wasn’t even that far from the terminal, just a ten minutes drive away in one of their Defenders.

The embassy was just a small building with green masonry and prominent windows situated inside an office district with wide streets and several other embassies. A tattered flag flew on a pole next to a monument in front of the embassy. A pretty decent building, even considering the local standards and the fact it had been abandoned for a while.

Honestly, the green masonry paired rather well with the overgrown vegetation all around.

It was only after she dropped off the Death Certificate on the ambassador’s desk (for what it was worth, there would be a recording of Yancy’s death in official hands, if anybody/pony ever returned) that a stray thought crossed the mare’s mind.

Extraterritoriality. 

Up until then they’d all been arguing over where exactly they should bury their fallen shipmate. Now, Raimund was aware not all embassies benefitted from having extraterritoriality but… true or not this was about as close they could get to burying him in home soil short of sailing to Manilla. Close enough.

Glancing out the window she could take a look at the back garden. A small patch of native ground, granted, but big enough to fit a few tombs.

Guess that settled it then…







While preparations were ongoing for the burial, there were also a couple things that alleviated the dark mood that blanketed the entire fleet.

Asha for one, found herself rather enjoying her new ‘department’.

The hydroponics containers had been installed transversely at the very bottom of Rhine’s container bay, its insides now 	accessible via lift or stairs using the three passageways they had made for that specific purpose: amidships, port and starboard, each passageway’s structure supported by the same cell guides they used to keep the containers in place.

A neon-lit interior greeted her as the lift stopped at the bottom level, half a dozen meters below the waterline. Floor gratings above and below her showed hints of the dimly-lit utility tunnels and tank tops, easily removable in case they needed to access something for a quick fix, be it the vacuum pumps in the bilges or the numerous connections that ran overhead, connecting the containerized compartments to Rhine’s electric and water grids.

That being said, useful as they were for mechanical issues, gratings really weren’t comfortable against the impala centaur’s bare hooves. They just might need to design some kind of safety shoe that could fit hooved species, especially for cloven hooves. Thankfully Diethelm had already set to do just that with Cheese's help and some salvaged horseshoes.

She trotted over to where her hydroponics had been plugged to the grid. Half a dozen containers in total, each with complete atmospheric control and ventilation.

She breathed in. Yeah, this far down ventilation was primordial lest she and her plants choke on carbon monoxide and other nasty fumes.

Warm, humid air hit her full-blast when she opened the door. In front of her, tall racks with aluminum trays lined either side of the containers, protected behind thin plastic screens. A small LCD display next to the entrance allowed her to adjust the atmospheric and lighting settings however she needed at the press of a button. The dim lighting, the aluminum trays and racks, and the bright white PVC tubes that ran all over the place; all those elements combined to give the grow rooms an ultramodern feel.

She had already set the LED grow lights to low intensity, just bright enough for her to see. That would allow the first batch of seeds to sprout before she needed to turn up the lighting. Already, the Congolese centaur could spy a few stems peeking out of the Rockwool blocks the system used to support the plants.

The growth system was a delicate thing, and she had had to read up on it extensively before she understood how it worked. Each of the numerous trays used to hold the plants was connected to a 'feed tank' in which a computer prepared a solution by mixing CO2 bubbles and liquid nutrients in the water. That same solution in the tank was then pumped through a manifold to each and every plant by a drip system which slowly fed them all the nutrients they needed.

Any overflow would then trickle though the Rockwool, back down to the bottom of the trays, where it would be collected and sent back to the initial feed tank for recycling and re-injection on the next feed cycle.

Asha had already found ways to organize the whole system, including ways to monitor the growth of the alien plants the Equestrians had given them. She stopped by a rack near the end of the container. That was her ‘evaluation rack’. She had planted a few tomatoes and beans there, to serve as a reference point so she could evaluate exactly how much impact her centaur magic had on the plants’ growth.

There were other plants growing as well. A few vegetables for the galley (so they could have something fresh for a change), some basic ‘Earth’ plants like mint (mostly for tea) and coriander, and even a few mushrooms in a darker part of the container. A couple of those 'common' plants were even ingredients for potions that just happened to be found on Earth as well as on Equus.

Then came the Equestrian plants. The magic stuff for their potions. Delicate, sensitive plants that needed particular care and for which Pulp Orange had gone to great lengths to explain her how to take care of them: Heart’s Desire, Magenta Bloom, Zap Orchid and even some Somnambular Bloom from Saddle Arabia for anything sleep-related or fast-acting sedatives.

Asha had also planted a few seeds of a plant that was a bit more… potent, to put it mildly. Poison Joke as Pulp had called it, a sort of blue orchid that required particular care when manipulated. She had put them in a few out-of-the-way trays so nobody would run into them by accident, adding a few plastic sheets to separate them from the rest along with a note saying: ‘Poisonous plant, highly toxic, DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PPE’.

The thing was, Poison Joke is useful despite the obvious hazards. Highly so. Its high magic capacity and transformative abilities made it very useful in healthcare-grade health potions, among other things.

The centauress eventually reached the end of the hydroponics, past all the holding racks and trays and pumps. There, she had spared a bit of room behind a couple Plexiglas windows to fashion herself an ‘office’ of sorts.

Well, it was hardly a proper office. More like a separated desk so she could do her paperwork without leaving the hydroponics and manage her stores. If she went any deeper she would wind up in the ‘storage’ part of the hydroponics, where she had left all the seed boxes and parts she needed to operate the place. As for her desk, it was really just that: a desk.

As a centaur, she didn’t need a chair. A desk with adjustable height was that much better for her. It came with a desktop computer and a few waterproofed folders she used to plan out her work, and to keep a record of sensor data. She could also program the day/night cycle and feeding times for her plants from there.

Which is about what she started working on right then. She set her impala half down on its belly in front of the desk and booted up her computer.

In passing, she paused for a second to stare at her ruby red hand. Now, she knew she shouldn’t really complain as far as transformation went –she definitely was better off than Seb-, but it was still unsettling to see red whenever she looked at herself, instead of the usual charcoal black skin she had grown up with.

Which was nothing when put next to the fact her ass was technically a meter or two behind her now. She turned back to stroke the fur on her flank. She was oddly dark for an impala, with near-black fur on her back and a lighter shade of dark brown on her belly and on the stubby tail that covered her genitals (which she really needed to spare time to make clothes for, even if it was just a dress sheet). These dark tones made for a sharp contrast with the ruby red skin and white frizzy hair on her humanoid half.

The transformation had moved her boobs from her chest to between her hind legs, for some reason. That’s right folks: female centaurs may be flat-chested (not even a nipple for that matter), but they do have teats like ponies. Combined with the fact that she was red, that she only had four fingers per hand and that her ears were more akin to that of ponies (large and mobile, on the sides of her head)… Well, her humanoid half looked human, but it definitely wasn’t.

Griffons and hippogriffs may be weird chimeras, but she was pretty sure centaurs were at the top when it came to bizarre ergonomics.

Asha spent the better part of an hour reviewing all trays, looking for seeds that had failed to sprout (there were none) and reading through some books Pulp Orange had left her. Truth to be told, she found the atmosphere around her desk rather comfy. It was easy to get lost reading her manuals in the humid atmosphere, with the whirring of the pumps and the ventilation in the background indicating the ship was still running.

“So that’s how it looks from the inside.” A new voice eventually burst through the white noise.

Sebastien’s voice actually. The male-turned-mare was now mostly recovered from her injuries, as evidenced by her presence down here. The short unicorn emerged through the plastic sheets 
Asha used to keep the humid air somewhat contained, throwing interested looks around as she ventured inside.

“Ah… Seb.” She momentarily tore her eyes away from her manuals. “How are you doing?” She awkwardly said.

“Better, thanks.” The red mare with a spiky blue mane nodded. “Give it a few days and I should be back to full health.”

“So…?” Asha quirked her head.

“Just had a question for you. The burial, you’re attending?”

Asha’s ears sagged. Yancy’s death… She had left a few words in the book at the wake.

“I am. Why?”

“Carla and I, we’re working together to get some ‘proper’ clothes. Something we can wear to the burial that’s not our usual coveralls.”

Like the child-size set of resized coveralls the mare was wearing. The usual white sets may be good enough for regular work, but the oil stains barred them from any formal use.

“So we’re working on our dress blues. You want in? I know you centaurs have a hard time with clothes but maybe we can help. For the humanoid half at least, and maybe a white or navy dress sheet for your other half, if you want.”

Asha thought about it for a second before nodding shyly at the shorter unicorn.

“That’d be great. How can I help?”

“So here’s the thing: Carla can sew but he’s got his duties, and I still can’t leave the ship ‘cause you know…” She brushed a hoof over her still-sutured flank. “… Injuries. Still on light duty. I heard Nikolaos and Amandine’s DJ were going out on town for clothes. Could you maybe go with them? Not really for the clothes themselves, but we need a lot of thread and navy material, like cotton. Or anything that wouldn’t be out of place on dress blues. Think you can do that?”

She could.







The next day marked the rather uneventful return of Sirocco. There weren’t many effusions or even sailors around to witness the return of the airship; few were in the mood for that.

They went to Narvik, did their job, and then they got back. No fuss about that. The few problems that arose, were when Alejandro caught wind of what had happened in his absence.

Of course, they also spared some time to review Derek’s observations on the convergence point, though that was mostly something that Dilip and Sidereal bothered with. Raimund really wasn’t in the mood for that. Sidereal proved particularly interested in the differences between human and Equestrian magic, namely the fact convergence points seemingly were tied to human activity. The fact their previous hypothesis of magic disappearing appeared correct was also a good thing, in her eyes at least.

They also decided to allow some less ‘useful’ expeditions to be scheduled in downtown Copenhagen, if only to raise spirits in the fleet. One such expedition would be the aptly-named ‘clothing’ expedition.

A few days before Yancy’s burial, Sandra decide to take several sailors out on town to a mall she used to frequent, so they could finally get some proper clothing for the burial and maybe even some casual attire that wouldn’t just be coveralls. Considering that at this point the most original articles of clothing she had seen on Amandine were Dilip’s cargo shorts and Bart’s military sweater, they were all in dire need of an upgrade to their wardrobes.

Sandra also took the opportunity to invite two very specific individuals that required her attention. Those two being Lekan and Nikolaos, respectively the two sailors that had turned into a female Abyssinian and a minotaur cow.

The ‘expedition’ eventually turned up to the mall with two full unimogs. This wasn’t a particularly long drive: the Waterfront Mall was a mere five-minute drive away from the harbor. Its massive windows and bright storefronts stood in sharp contrast against the beige hues of the older buildings around it.

A flock of seagulls noisily scattered when the two trucks finally came to a halt, air brakes hissing before the sailors in the back unlatched the tailgates, freeing a small troupe of sailors clad in white or orange coveralls, nearly all of them armed.

“Alright folks, let’s be careful. Group One, you lot stay outside and secure a perimeter just in case a monster turns up. Group Two, you’re free to go looting to your heart’s content, but please leave some for Group One when we switch role in… about 90 minutes, okay? And remember: we’re here for clothes primarily, no need to come back with a truckload of PS4’s.” Josselin barked. The French unicorn had been tasked with leading the expedition. “Tune your radios to VHF 10, and word of advice…” He scrunched his muzzle. “… avoid the supermarkets. Food’s still rotting in there and it’s full of mice. You don’t wanna smell that.”

There was a short chorus of ‘aye’s!’ before all sailors scattered to the four winds, some to guard the place, others to go do some post-apocalyptic shopping.

Next to the lead unimog, a purple batpony flared her wings before gently landing on the asphalt, a pair of aviators on her muzzle and some headphones protecting her sensitive ears.

“Ah…” She breathed in the sights. “Nothing like a freebie at your favorite mall to get your spirits up amiright?” Sandra smiled.

“So you do know the place.” Nikolaos joined her side, the female minotaur’s weight making a dull 'thud' when she jumped off the 'mog and hit the ground.

The cow made for an impressive tower of muscles as she looked down at the much shorter batpony. It was like looking at a giant, one whose impressive stature would have put most pre-Event male bodybuilders to shame when it came to muscles; and female models when it came to curves and breast volume.

Comparatively, the last member of the trio's form was much more petite. Lekan still had some curves, but she was more on the flat side (and obviously shorter). Height-wise, the feline was at about the halfway mark between Sandra and Nikolaos.

“That I do!” Sandra nodded eagerly. “Came here nearly once a week before it all went to shit.”

She waved her wing, motioning for her two companions to follow her into the shopping gallery. They hesitantly trailed after the tiny pony, a bit wary of the shit-eating grin the mare was sporting (batpony fangs not helping).

Idly, Nikolaos noticed Asha slip past their group and make a beeline for a nearby sewing shop. At least the female centaur (centauress? you're never quite sure with that...) had her priorities straight.

The shopping gallery was pretty standard as far as they usually went: a two-floor layout with glass balconies overlooking the lower gallery and escalators built at regular intervals. They turned on just as the group got close, all thanks to a sailor that had managed to locate the power breakers. Still, the faded colors of the storefronts, the grime on the roof windows, the dust and dead flower beds... this wasn’t a mall in its prime. This was an abandoned mall.

Ripe for looting, much like the rest of town. The only difference being that here, it was more rats and swarms of flies bothering them instead of the usual wild dogs and seagulls.

“So…” Lekan spoke up as she let Sandra lead her through the gallery. “…why did you want to go with us specifically?”

“Seconded.” Nikolaos added. “That’s something I’d want to know as well.”

“You know the burial?” Sandra said over her shoulder. “Everyone needs proper clothing.”

“And?” Nikolaos quirked an eyebrow.

“You two have a problem in common. I think I can help with that.” The batpony’s wings fluttered as she jumped over a bench that was now nearly as tall as she was.

She cast a look around.

Ah, there was her target shop. The mannequins in the storefront were exactly as she remembered them: modern, yet conservative enough to fit most settings. They headed inside.

“I don’t like where this is going…” Lekan faltered, the tip of her tail curling in hesitation.

“Like it or not, if you want to look half-decent you’ll need this.” Sandra said, pointing her hoof at a mannequin wearing a bra.

The bra wasn’t even anything frilly or such: just a plain monochrome model. Still, that was enough for Nikolaos to cross her arms and throw the batpony a nasty glare. Idly, Sandra noted how the minotaur instinctively lowered her head as if she was about to charge.

“So that’s what it was about then? You just wanted to play glorified Barbie with us and mock us in passing for what we’ve become.” She huffed. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you through the roof right now ‘cause that’s about what you deserve, right Lek’?”

The genderbent Liberian didn’t say anything.

“You know you need it right?” Sandra smirked. “I can see it.”

“Fuck off.” Nikolaos scowled, her crossed arms tightening around her chest protectively.

“So what have you been using up until now?” There was a gleam behind her aviators. “Chest bindings?”

The minotaur’s nostrils expanded. Ah, right on the mark. She might as well be talking to a girl that just hit puberty.

“You know it’s not healthy right?” She cocked her head.

The situation seemed pretty clear to Sandra: the minotaur was the one rebuking her offer at the moment. Probably an attempt to protect her former masculinity. As for Lekan… the Abyssinian appeared open to suggestions. Most likely she’d defer to whoever won the altercation.

“Screw your bullshit, I’m leaving.” Nikolaos let out a loud bovine snort before making for the exit, tail lashing from side to side in irritation.

“Infections…” Sandra began.

The cow stopped, one hand on the door. Her ear flicked ever so slightly. She was listening.

“Rashes, swelling, deformities. It’s a known effect you know, plenty of girls tried it before, none got too much good out of it. You could be a lot more comfortable with proper support. Bet you’re short on breath right now, right?”

Nikolaos’s hand dropped to her side.

“You know, worse persons would have told you you’re lucky with your transformation.”

“They’d be wrong.” Nikolaos ground out.

“Damn right they would. I bet you’re hating your body right now?”

The only answer to that was yet another bovine snort. That was all too true. Despite the perks in size and strength, she downright despised the feminine aspects of her post-Event body.

“Listen, whether you like it or not is not what I want to lecture you about. It’s more about health and comfort. Jostling, chafing, you can avoid that with an actual bra and-“

“Fine!” Nikolaos relented, slowly turning around. “But it better not be something frilly!” She huffed.

“It won’t, I promise.” Sandra smiled before motioning towards where she knew sport bras were stocked.

“I swear this better not get out? If Ted gets word of this I’ll never heard the end of this.”

“Ted?” The batpony quirked her head.

“Short for Theodoros, her brother.” Lekan piped in. 

“And a proper arsehole.” The minotaur added.

“Am I missing something there? I swear I am, ‘cause I’m certain someone told me there were only two minotaurs in the entire fleet.”

“That’s because he’s a sphinx… somehow.” Nikolaos shrugged. “Don’t ask me the logic behind that. Maybe it's because we're dizygotic twins...”

On that note she moved on to where she could see racks of bras further down the aisle, hooves loudly stomping against the laminate flooring.

“Is it really that bad?” Sandra whispered to Lekan.

“Not really, just two siblings being immature.” The cat replied.

The Liberian would have liked to leave it at that but the look Sandra sported on her muzzle clearly asked for more.

“Alright, the two of them, they’re both barge pilots. I’m on Ted’s team. And they… they have this weird rivalry going on.” The savannah cat clicked her tongue before moving on to take a look at some sport bras.

Contrarily to Nikolaos, she didn’t have so much of a problem with the jostling (thank God for Abyssinians being on the flat side of the spectrum) as she had with the chafing. Still, taking the proper stuff instead of elastic bandages like she was currently wearing might improve her situation.

“So yeah, that was already tense with the rivalry. But now it’s worse. I don’t know which of the two started it. Ted says it’s her because she was on edge from the transformation; Niko blames him for making a shitty joke, go figure. They haven’t talked in weeks.”

“That’s just idiotic. The two of them are lucky enough to come back with family and then they pull that shit?” She sniffed before helping the Abyssinian. “Here, let’s take your measurements first, that should help.”

Sandra could barely suppress a smile as she guided the two genderbent sailors through getting their first bras. Much to Niko and Lekan’s relief, she didn’t pressure them too much as far as that subject was concerned, though that didn’t make it any easier for the two.

To say Niko was embarrassed when the batpony asked her to take off the top of her coveralls and her chest bindings would have been an understatement. The rosy skin at the tip of the cow’s muzzle reddened visibly when Sandra started flicking around her bare chest with a measuring tape. And unlike Lekan, she couldn’t just do with discrete bras to hold her muscular bosom.

Fortunately, she did manage to find sport bras her size, albeit very few of them. For the rest, she would have to settle for simple monochrome stuff. She could live with that, at least they relieved the aches in her back the moment she put one on.

“Better?” Sandra smiled the moment the two of them came out of the changing rooms.

Nikolaos squinted her eyes, but nodded nevertheless. Credit where it’s due, it did work. Lekan didn’t seem quite as bothered as she was, the Abyssinian seemingly settling for putting on her A-cup bra, shoving a few more in a bag, and waiting for her to finish.

The minotaur cow was quick to leave once she had what they were here for, mentioning something about needing to get proper clothes and shirts to modify for the burial. Some sailors had already found a suit tailor on the other end of the mall, so she might as well grab one in passing, she could retrofit it later.

Lekan didn’t follow though.

“You’re not going with her?” Sandra asked offhandedly as she moved on to the child section of the shop.

Probably easier to adapt to her frame, closer to pony-size than adult clothes.

“I… kinda could use your help.”

Sandra momentarily paused from picking out a pair of cotton pants to throw the Abyssinian a curious glance. Lekan rubbed her neck awkwardly for a second before looking directly at the batpony with her slitted hazel eyes.

“You know, cat or not I still rather like swimming.” She muttered. “I thought uh… I could really use something appropriate for that.”

Sandra nodded softly, she may have an idea about that.

A quarter of an hour later, once she had a wardrobe she thought she could reliably retrofit, she guided the Liberian to a sport shop where they got her a one-piece swimsuit she could use adequately. Still nothing too bold, and even then Lekan was quick to bury it at the bottom of her backpack... but Sandra allowed a smile to grace her features once the feline’s tail disappeared around a corner.

Nikolaos was no good, but with a bit of a push she could make a shopping friend out of Lekan.







Two days later, Yancy was finally buried. His friends and compatriots were a bit disappointed he wouldn’t get a proper mass, but unfortunately they didn’t have a catholic priest on hand. Instead, the attendants went to the embassy and erected a small podium they decorated in Yancy's honor with bright blue and yellow ribbons to match the color of his feathers, next to the tomb.

Under a dark, overcast sky and heavy atmosphere, the sailors spent an hour or two trading tales about their former friend and colleague before finally, after a parting prayer, they lowered his coffin in a hole dug one day earlier. Dilip observed the scene from next to the convoy of trucks that had brought the attendants, a somber look on the Diamond Dog’s muzzle.

“Not attending?” Roberto asked, stopping next to him with a cigarette in his mouth.

“I’m not catholic, plus I went to the wake anyway. I’m just waiting for Raimund.” The Captain shook his head sadly. “You?”

“Me? I barely knew him; I just volunteered to drive the trucks. Once they're done it's back to Rhine for a farewell toast.” The Abyssinian said, pointing to the white UN unimog leading the procession, the ribbons decorating it marking the truck as the hearse.

They lapsed into silence for a moment, watching from afar how Raimund took the time to make a small speech they couldn’t really hear. God knew Yancy’s death was an eye-opener to all. Death was a very real risk, particularly with monsters involved.

“Roberto?” Dilip asked, voice low.

“Captain?”

“Opinion on the leadership?”

“Morale’s bad, obviously.” The Italian feline fiddled with his whiskers. “But I don’t think they’re angry. Maybe a bit… pissed off at Schmitt since she led the expedition in the first place, but nothing against you, or even Vadim.”

“Not even Vadim?” The pariah dog quirked an eyebrow at that. That was rather surprising.

“He may be training under Delacroix, but he’s no real Doctor. Can’t expect him to work miracles. But Captain?” The cat’s ear flicked, highlighting his crooked ear from his scar.

“Shoot.” Dilip closed his eyes.

“Results like that on an expedition… they’ll remember it.  Anything similar in the future and, well… let’s be frank: you’ll have a hard time finding volunteers.”

“Won’t help with our humanitarian plans.”

Roberto looked back towards Yancy’s tomb. The packed dirt was now covered in ribbons. The skies rumbled above, and he felt a fat drop of rain land on his head.

“That it won’t, Captain.”







The burial marked a… milestone of sorts in the events that went on in Copenhagen. From that point on, there was little to be done. The expeditions were over, the ships, modified, even Rhine now had her fleet of auxiliaries.

What remained was training with the aliens, and even that could only take so long. The flyers were eventually all airborne (including the parrots); they had either scanned or copied all of the documents Sirocco carried about species from Equus; traded information on all sorts of things ranging from agronomy (with Pulp teaching Asha how to take care of the plants in the hydroponics) to personal hygiene (something the Chief Stewards on both ships made sure to hang notes about all over the place).

Even in the field of magic, they had advanced by leaps and bounds. The gargoyles had been taught the basics and were now experimenting in earnest with their newfound abilities, using their magic whenever they could. The unicorns and sphinxes had progressed as well, all of them now understanding the gist of what they needed to do to figure out more spells. Some of the more gifted unicorns had even managed to discover their Cutie-Mark based spells as well.

Obviously, none of them had gotten skilled to the point where they could have used complicated spells like mage sight. That required far more training than could be achieved in such a short time, even with the combined guidance of Sidereal, Cheese and Derek.

Finally, on the 12th of July, Sidereal declared they were ready. The time had come to move on. Other survivors awaited, likely just as much in need of help as the sailors had first been when they met the ponies.

And this is how, on the morning of their departure, Alejandro once more found himself waking up in Elaena’s cabin, one last time. The hen was fast asleep in his arms, her raspy breath gently ruffling his chest feathers. Smoothly, he let one claw run over her hip and caress the silky down just above her tail. He breathed in; the sweet scent of her perfume was mixed with that of sweat after one long night of sex.

His hips were still aching from the prolonged effort.

Eyes closed, Alejandro let his talons run their course along her curvaceous form, just to burn the memory of his lover deep in his mind. The curve of her hips dipping into a narrow waist before going up to an angular, purely avian ribcage he had grown rather fond of, with its thick fluffy feathers.

“Coping a feel, are you?” Elaena asked in a whisper, eyes still closed.

“What can I say; you’re worth committing to memory.” He replied just as quietly, gently squeezing her ass with a grin.

Sirocco’s Captain nipped at his neck feathers with her beak. Her pink eyes met his amber-colored irises. She winked.

“I could say the same about you…” She commented, one talon tracing a circle on his pecs. “Last night…” She whistled. “You’re a performer, Mendoza.”

“I aim to please.” He rubbed his beak against the side of her head. “And to add to it… I better make the last time worth remembering, right?”

“Last time…” She repeated, ears sagging. Her talon stopped moving and she pressed closer to him. “I’ll miss you.”

“Same, but we knew where this was going from the start.” He told her. “Eh…” With a talon he lifted her beak so he could look her in the eye. “For what it’s worth I never experienced anything quite like it.”

“Neither have I…” She whispered, eyes trailing towards the nightstand where they had dropped a few Polaroid pictures they had taken of themselves.

He and her on Sirocco’s weather deck, arms interlocked.

A picture they had asked Radiant to take at Gunnar’s farm with Alej’ carrying her bridal-style.

A drunken ‘selfie’ as Alejandro had called it, where the Spaniard was half-naked in bed with her posing in her corset, a few bottles of liquor between them.

Actually, she should probably avoid showing the last one to others. Her sister first and foremost.

Unfortunately they had duties waiting for them. Reluctantly, they put their clothes back on and moved to join the others on the docks where a crowd had gathered to bid the aliens goodbye. Dilip barely raised an eyebrow when he saw his First Officer exit out of Sirocco’s rear ramp.

“I must say, I’m glad we had your assistance Doctor Venture.” Dilip set his focus back on Sidereal as he knelt down to shake her hoof.

“And I’m happy we met, Captain. I think we learned nearly as much from your sailors as you learned from us. It’s such a pity we had to move on like that, but other survivors need help as well.”

“Stay safe out there.” Raimund told her. “With the Four Horses…”

“I know. We’ll be careful with the mage sight. No more ambushes.” Sidereal nodded.

Around them, others were also saying goodbye to the aliens they had got to know over the last few weeks. Dilip just had to look around to see it.

Alejandro and Elaena exchanging some parting words near Sirocco’s ramp, the two parrots in a seemingly unbreakable hug.

Pulp and Cheese chatting with Rhine's Cadets, with the Earth Pony giving Asha a small notebook with tips on how to take care of her plants. Angelo was there too, the minotaur wrapping the Earth Pony in a rib-shattering hug much to Cheese’s amusement.

“Where’s Radiant anyway?” The Greek Engineer asked.

He could see Gust talking with Derek and the vets, but the other Pegasus was nowhere to be seen.

“Engine room I think, heating up the boiler.” Pulp shrugged after Angelo dropped him. “Steam engines you know? Needs a Celestia-be-damned long time to get going.”

“Pity.” Angelo sniffed. “Would have liked to have a few words with him. Meh…” He shrugged. “…nothing worth crying about. Give him my goodbyes, would you?”

“I will.” Pulp nodded.

While the entire crowd was busy exchanging some last words and parting hugs, Louis stood at the top of Sirocco’s ramp, a thoughtful look on the cat’s muzzle. In his paw, he held a single piece of parchment, a message received last night he hadn’t told Sidereal about.

The reason being… it had been strictly addressed to non-Equestrian folks like him, and they were not to tell the ponies about it. With good reason.

Still… he glanced at his pocket watch. In a minute or two that wouldn’t matter. Might as well tell the Captains now, just so they could look presentable.

“Excuse me?” The noble coughed politely as he walked over to where Dilip and Raimund were standing.

“Something the matter?” The Diamond Dog cocked his head.

“Not so much of a matter, as a royal visit.” The cat flashed the parchment. “The King and Queen of Abyssinia have expressed their desires towards making a visit. Now.”

“Why are you only telling us now?!” Sidereal abruptly exclaimed, the red mare’s eyes going wide at the prospect of the royals’ imminent arrival.

“Secrecy.” Louis admitted. “They explicitly ordered me not to tell you until just before their arrival.”

“Why?!” Sidereal cried out.

“I think I know.” Dilip smiled, a twinkle appearing in his eyes. “Remember when you said you weren’t told everything about the Event?”

“Of course, my superiors told me they had an operative out there to choose who’d know… oh.” It dawned on her then, and her ears flattened against her head. “Abyssinia’s doing that too?”

“Apparently we are.” Louis confirmed. “If it helps, I just got the message yesterday.”

The two Captains only had a minute to quickly arrange the crowd in neat rows and make themselves presentable (though the Indian could do little about the fact he’d be meeting royals while wearing cargo shorts) before the first sign of their arrival.

Louis calmly laid down the parchment in front of Sirocco’s ramp. There was a summoning circle on the back, though that version appeared different from the usual. Smaller, with simpler sigils. Soon as the Abyssinian dropped it, it lit up with a bright white glow as the parchment caught fire. A wide summoning circle appeared midair after a minute, this one not burning itself into the ground.

Two silhouettes slowly coalesced into existence, both of them feline in appearance. The King materialized first, a full head taller than his wife.

He sported a jet-black coat of fur, brushed and cleaned until it shone softly like a well-polished onyx stone. On his frame was his regalia: a wide gold chest plate with an embedded ruby, to which a pair of bright red pauldrons were attached, themselves used to hold an imperial purple cloak with a flared neck that went down to his ankles.

Of course his regalia wasn’t just the chest plate: the King also wore some red brassards with gold trim, a large crown decorated with a huge ruby, and a wide belt that held his velvety purple loincloth. All expensive materials that demonstrated ludicrous amounts of wealth while still putting his black fur on display: belly, legs and arms, all were bare and in full view.

The King looked at them through green, benevolent eyes as he appeared with his elbow interlocked with the Queen’s, her looks nearly identical to his except for her yellow eyes, smaller frame, and the elegant purple dress she was wearing under her regalia.

As soon as they materialized, Louis dropped to one knee, bowing deeply at the sight of his monarchs. Dilip imitated him a second later, with Raimund just bowing her head, the German having no idea how quadrupeds were supposed to go about it.

“Rise Sir Armiger, this is merely an astral projection.” The King’s voice echoed, a gentle yet powerful sound.

“Your Majesty, it’s an honor.” The Abyssinian slowly stood up, paws behind his back in proper form. “If I may ask… to what do we owe your presence today?”

“Presence would be an exaggeration, Sir Armiger. Security concerns have forced us to adjust plans. What should have been an actual visit became a mere simple projection.” The King said.

“In spite of this, we are delighted to finally see those survivors for ourselves. We have much to tell, yet little time to do so.” The Queen added, her eyes surveying the crowd and the docks around them with an appreciative look.

“Your Majesties, while I certainly appreciate the honor, I fail to understand how a group of merchant sailors like us deserves the attention of royals like you.” Dilip inquired.

The royal felines in question cast a side glance towards Sidereal before focusing back on the Indian in front of them.

“There are many players influencing what’s currently happening to your planet, Captain. On Equus, we have long formed a microcosm of immortals to keep the peace. Us, King Aspen, Queen Novo and more, all there to defend the planet. You have no such thing, yet threats that caused us all trouble in the past are now encroaching upon your realm.” The King said.

He paused to look at the skies above for a moment.

“Me and my wife…” His grip on the smaller feline by his side tightened. “… I know we aren’t the most powerful of immortals the microcosm can offer. That being said, we Abyssinians were always good at perceiving things others missed.”

“You can thank our prescience and empathy for that.” The Queen explained with a smile.

“Indeed.” The King nodded before his eyes lit up with magical light. “And that is exactly what we wish to leave you: intelligence. Your group has the advantage of worldwide mobility, something I doubt many survivors can boast about. Anything we tell you, you will be able to share with survivors you come across. Beware however: as accurate as our prescience can be, it tends to be... nebulous, at times. So here it is…

Only the Equestrian Crown fully knows what happened, but they have an actor on Earth, directly chosen by Princess Luna herself to pass down the answers. In the near future, seek out Alexandria and its Archive; that is where you will find what happened to your planet. That is where their Chosen will reside.

Yet the Archive isn’t the only thing Equestria left on this planet. I know not when nor where, but their agents will leave a… a Fragment of Harmony, a shard, on your planet. In time, this will help you create your own microcosm and defend the planet.

As for the Demons… Charybdis and Scylla may be siblings, but do not mistake them for allies. Much like siblings, their rivalry is petty and they will not tread on each other’s territory. That is something you must exploit to your advantage. Also…” The King paused, casting a brief look towards Elaena and Sidereal. “You were not their target. They do not care for survivors. For now. What they are doing at the moment, is cementing their presence, anchoring themselves. You have time, years maybe before they move to conquer the planet, but do not waste it.”

“But the attack-“ Schmitt tried to interject.

“That hydra was not aimed at you specifically, young drake.” The King raised a paw in a placating gesture. “The Demons know we from Equus are intervening. The ambush is but a sign they will try to bait and attack relief teams in the future, but it is not something directly aimed at survivors.”

“Thank you your Majesty.” Dilip opined, committing the Archive of Alexandria to memory.

Guess they'd be going to Egypt eventually. But a Fragment of Harmony? What did he mean by that? Wasn’t it just the chief ideology/religion among ponies? Or was it more than just that?

“That being said…” The Queen raised a paw to add something. “Before we cut this short, there is one more thing you need to know: Equus and Earth are drifting apart. There will come a point where relief teams will have to be called back and travel between both planets will no longer be possible. After that, assisting new returnees will be entirely up to survivors.”

Raimund blinked. That she didn’t expect. She just thought that they’d leave at some point when they had told enough survivors, not that they’d actually be unable to travel to Earth.

That might explain why the Demons had been so eager to come here.

With their message told, the two monarchs wished them good luck in their future voyages before departing, their silhouettes disappearing the moment they cancelled the astral projection. That was the cue for the Equestrians and Sirocco’s crew to leave as well. They assembled next to the ramp, giving the sailors one last wave before climbing aboard.

Alejandro watched Sirocco rise up in the sky before the airship sped away, towards Germany and Central Europe. The hyacinth macaw felt a pang in his chest, he’d miss Sirocco’s Captain. Once the airship disappeared over the horizon, he reached inside his pocket, grabbing a thin paper folder Elaena had told him to open once she was gone.

There were photos of them together. He looked at them one after another with a fond smile on his beak. That smile however, disappeared once he caught sight of the last thing in the folder.

In his talons was holding a used condom package. The same brand he had used with Sirocco’s Captain.

And there was a very distinct hole in the plastic packaging.

“You sneaky bitch…” He whispered, shaking his head ruefully.







The sailors left Copenhagen the next morning. They had spent most of the night preparing the charts, double-checking all their gear and the lashings that kept their cargo secure. At last, when dawn came, Raimund gave the order to recall the teams that kept the perimeter secure.

The fleet was leaving.

After well over a month spent in Denmark, they were finally leaving. Amandine and Rhine Forest blasted their horns in chorus as the mooring lines were lifted back on board by teams of sphinxes and unicorns. Slowly, with a rumble of their engines, the two seagoing behemoths pulled away from their berths and turned around in the fairway.

“Be advised: all radar antennas are now active. Flyers must remain grounded until further notice or prior approval on VHF 16. Out.” Dilip called over the radio as they passed the sea fort where they had killed Sonata, its lighthouse now nothing but a pile of rubble.

“Well, they can fly.” Alej’ commented. “It’s just a really bad idea.”

“Yeah, I doubt anyone feels like getting sterilized by radar waves.” Vadim quipped from his position in the navigator’s seat. “Right on track by the way, give us an hour and we’ll switch to transit detail.”

And then it would only be a matter of sailing north back to the Skagerrak before they could alter course west towards their actual destination.

America.

Finally they’d make their delivery to the HPI, all the way in Savannah.







Meanwhile in the engine room, Angelo was busily striding towards the desalination plant, intent on inspecting a few sensors that had been oscillating weirdly that day. Without looking, he opened a nearby closet to grab a multimeter when his fingers met something warm and fuzzy.

The minotaur’s head snapped towards the closet so fast he heard his neck crack over the noise of the engine room.

Hidden in the closet and smiling sheepishly, was Radiant. The Equestrian Pegasus gave him a meek wave with his grey-furred hoof.

“The fuck are you doing here you idiot?!”
> Chapter 45: Pillars of Broceliande
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Radiant, you’re officially an idiot.” Angelo shook his head.

They had quickly moved out of the engine room, bringing the stowaway Pegasus to the Captain’s office. Radiant was now sitting in a seat in front Dilip’s desk, muzzle and wings held low in shame.

“How long were you in there?” Dilip asked, half-growling.

“Not sure…” Radiant rubbed the back of his head. “I went there just as the others were preparing to leave then I fell asleep. Made sure there would be some time before they noticed I wasn’t on board.”

This was bad. This was very bad. Amandine was already way past Gothenburg and, at her speed, Sirocco could have already flown hundreds of miles into the hinterland by that point. If Elaena had kept even half as close to her voyage planning, then the parrot might already be in Austria. Contacting them by radio was a moot point too: Sirocco’s limited batteries couldn’t keep the radio on 24/7, let alone the fact nobody (or –pony) on the airship was trained to use radio tech.

And naturally, the Pegasus had no clue what had been said about travel between Equus and Earth, as evidenced by his reaction when Angelo repeated what the Abyssinian King had told them.

“So let me get this straight, you stowed away on our ship, yet you didn’t account for the fact you may never see your compatriots again?” Dilip asked.

Right then, he was really starting to consider slapping the shit out of the Pegasus.

“I thought Equestria would keep sending ships!” Radiant cried out. “That eventually we’d cross paths with one of them once more!”

“Turns out we won’t. You stranded yourself on an alien planet…” The Diamond Dog spoke. “What I’d want to know is what in the name of everything that’s ever been considered holy on this planet were you thinking that made it, even remotely, seem like a good idea?!” The Captain raised his voice, standing up in his chair as he shouted the last words.

Radiant shrank in his seat at the display. Yeah, that was a pretty dumb idea.

“I uh…” He stuttered. “I just didn’t want to leave yet you know? Amandine… she’s just so fascinating, I… I didn’t want to return to bland Equestrian ships okay?”

Dilip craddled his head in his paws, releasing a long, drawn out sigh before pointing towards the door.

“Out. Both of you. I need to think about this. Angelo, you go get Schmitt and Alejandro, we’ll decide the stowaway’s fate.”

He watched the two of them leave without a word of protest, Radiant’s hooves dragging against the floor with his wingtips nearly touching the ground as the bigger Minotaur ushered him out.

As soon as the door closed, he sagged in his chair.

The Equestrians were supposed to leave! What the Hell was he supposed to do if the same alien that wasn’t supposed to know about the HPI stuck around while they carried on with their delivery? Should he tell the Pegasus? Did it even matter anymore, that he was an alien, since either way he wouldn’t be seeing his compatriots ever again?

Dilip let out a long stream of curse words in Marathi slip off his tongue. Right when he was expecting things to become more straightforward, the bloody Pegasus had to barge in and royally fuck up his plans.

Well at least it couldn’t get any worse.







Meanwhile down south, in France (Brittany specifically), events slightly more important than a mere stowaway were unfolding.

The sailors had been correct in guessing that there were several convergence points in Brittany. In fact, the entire region’s Celtic history made it rife with ancient magic. One such area was Broceliande, the same ancient forest they had assumed to be a convergence point.

In the past, this area of Brittany had been far more covered in woods than it now was, having extended over nearly the entire peninsula before human activity brought it down in size. For millennia, the place had been involved in ancient rites and Celtic lore, even before it came to find a place among Arthurian legends. Such legends had been passed down from Druid to Druid, then from Breton to Breton over the course of centuries.

Thing is, what modern humans assumed to be the stuff of myths and legends thanks to their magic-starved world… was actually true. The place was in fact, an actual enchanted forest, one that would have even put the Everfree to shame. And right then, after the Event…

The entire forest was engorged with magic, absorbing the newfound like a gigantic sponge. For too long it had slumbered, a shell of its former power, but now, it would thrive once more.   

Amidst all that, a small group of Equestrians popped into existence in the middle of a clearing.

It may have been night, but there was no darkness to bother the ponies that appeared: the forest was alit like a rainbow just from the sheer magic that coursed through the place. The moss glowed in the moonlight, the trees supported thousands of firefly-sized specks of yellowish light, and even the ferns were releasing small clouds of silvery mist that shined at ankle-height.

At canopy height, dozens of wispy veils similar in color to auroras floated in the air, moving from tree to tree like intelligent clouds.

“Now I understand why you felt this was the best place Meadow’.” The lead pony, a unicorn with a long grey beard and wizard hat muttered.

His horn was practically vibrating from the sheer energy. The feeling was exhilarating, as if he could just about pull off any spell he wished right then.

“Yes.” An old Earth Pony mare nodded behind him. Unlike the unicorn whose age only really showed by his grey beard and mane, she was much more worn down by time. Her muzzle was marred by wrinkles, her pale blue coat a few shades duller than when she had been in her prime. “This is the place.”

Saying that, she rolled her shoulders to adjust the package she was supporting on her back. There were others in her group that could have burdened its weight, but that specific package was hers to shoulder.

Two other ponies accompanied them. One was a mate yellow Pegasus wearing what appeared to be the armor of a Roman legionnaire, complete with the red plume on the helmet; while the other…

If Vikings had turned into ponies and mated with a draft horse, he would have been the result. Despite appearing nearly as stricken by age as all other ponies in the group, his frame still sported enough muscle to put a minotaur to shame, and to add to that he was over twice as tall as the ponies around him. He had an icy blue coat of fur, accompanied by a braided ginger mane and tail, the former held back by a tin circlet around his forehead. To go with that, he wore thick leather armor around his barrel and hooves.

“You sure you don’t want help with the package Meadow’?” The large stallion asked, voice rumbling with a thick Scottish accent.

“Shush now, this mare isn’t done for yet Rock.” Meadowbrook shook her head before looking around. “You know… for a place that was supposed to lack magic this forest sure is lively.”

It reminded her of the Everfree, if somepony gave the forest magical steroids. There were mostly oaks around, tall centuries-old oaks that had grown gnarly over the years, looming over them with their branches reaching for the clearing like amorphous arms. They were swaying as if buffeted by a breeze, yet there was no wind, just the sound of wood groaning and leaves rustling.

“The Event must have overcharged the place… let’s be careful, I can sense this place has a lot of history.” Star Swirl said before lighting up his horn. “Meadow’, does the seed…?”

“Yes, it’s telling me where we need to go.” The old mare nodded, immediately taking the lead of their group.

Rockhoof was pretty sure he heard her joints pop from the sudden motion, yet the old mare insisted on carrying the seed. He cast Flash Magnus an exasperated look after yet another offer, the Pegasus only offering a confused shrug with his wings.

  Hey, you’re her special someone. The buck do you want ME to do about it? The gesture said.

They hurried after their two companions before they could get too far. In a forest like that, Faust knew these two could get in trouble quickly, Star Swirl in particular…

Ultimately, nothing came out of the tree line to confront them as the four ponies made their way through the enchanted forest. They had a few close calls, once when they accidentally crossed path with a large herd of boards, and another time…

While on their way to where the seed was guiding Meadowbrook, Star Swirl stopped suddenly at a crossroads in the path they were following. His head snapped to the right, eyes trailing down the winding path between the trees where he felt…

Kinship? In a sense? Like his soul had just found its match.

“Star?” Rockhoof waved a hoof in front of his eyes, but the unicorn was already too far gone.

With renewed vigor, Star Swirl found himself galloping down the path, following the call of his very soul. Tree trunks flew past before he came to an abrupt halt in another clearing.

There was a small, moss covered sign next to the path. It read: ‘La Tombe de Merlin’ in Prench. And in the center of the clearing…

A single tall stone stood in the middle of a grass circle, with small rocks carefully laid in a circle all around. Each of them was covered in small runes and sigils that made the whole clearing thrum with energy and lifted the edges of Star Swirl’s cloak. The stallion found himself slowly trotting ever closer to the stone before stopping just a few steps short of it. He lifted his eyes up.

Midair above the stone, a pale-white bipedal silhouette stood... A human, wearing a long translucent cloak and a wizard’s hat exactly like the one Star Swirl had on his head.

The stallion fell down on his haunches, mouth agape as the silhouette leaned on an ethereal staff and gave him a wide smile.

“You... you’re me!” He cried out.

On the edge of the clearing, Flash Magnus halted Rockhoof with a wing and a shake of his head.

“Leave him, it’s personal stuff, he’ll catch up later.” The Pegasus whispered before motioning for him to get back to the main trail.

They still had to escort Meadowbrook and the seed.







“We’re not going through the Channel?”  Ivan did a double take when she took a look at the charts.

“Nope on that, we’re going north of the British Isles. Through Scotland.” Geert answered.

“But...” The osprey griffon paused before she jotted down their position on the chart. “... isn’t it shorter the other way around?”

“Correct, but it’s not a matter of length or convenience.” The scarlet macaw explained just as she was checking for contacts on the radar. “We already got in radar range of the Channel when we left Antwerp, scanned the southern platforms in the North Sea and part of the British shores in the process so...”

“...Now we’re taking the north route to scan the Northern Platforms.”

“And the Scottish shores.” Geert added.

A lot of these platforms were already appearing on their radar screen since the tall structures really weren’t any good at absorbing radar waves. While the denser clusters of platforms in the North Sea were generally found between the Netherlands and England (an area they had already passed through), these were the natural gas fields.

On the other side of the spectrum, the more sparse area they were going through, in the Northern section of the sea, that was where the oil platform would generally be found. There were less of them at a glance, though the Dutch Officer knew damn well underneath the surface was a maze of manifolds, subsea templates and pipelines all connecting the platforms to networks and wells sometimes as far away as 30 nautical miles.

And this was how Rhine Forest and Amandine found themselves sailing west between Norway and Scotland, with the barge carrier repeatedly calling out on all frequencies for survivors to contact them.

“Makes me think you know...” Ivan mused once the griffon got back behind the helm  (for what it was worth, the autopilot could keep a straight course without her input anyway).

“Wat?” Geert quirked her head, one talon lazily brushing through her crest.

“The Channel... it’s kinda dangerous now you know? Any second you could have a ship pop up in front of you. Probably for the best we go ‘round Scotland... far less reappearing traffic we could run into that side of Britain.”

“Not sure... I mean, we got fewer freighters on that route, but there is still traffic.” Geert shrugged.

“What then?”

“Offshore ships for the platforms, plus lots of navy ships and the ferries going to Kirkwall and the Orkney Islands. That’s not Channel-grade maritime highway, but it’s not risk free either. Nothing is.”

“You sure about that?”

Well, they had nothing to locate where ships were when they disappeared, but there were stations that recorded that. The LRIT system for one was a tracking system made compulsory by most flag-states. Maybe if they were more competent in software, they could find a national database and restart it to hack into the register where the position logs were stored... that way at least they could have known where the cargo vessels were.

Unfortunately Aleksei was the best they had when it came do coding, and she was no pro. Plus, the LRIT database didn’t contain all ships. Small sailboats, fishing vessels, tramp freighters below a certain tonnage, military ships, those wouldn’t be found there.

And good luck with restarting and hacking into a military-grade database to steal the locations of their warships.

Before long, the two of them moved on to more pleasant discussions to enlighten the dullness of their watch (because you know, barring the platforms, they were sailing in a straight line for hours). Ivan had managed to loot a couple dozen DVD collections back in Copenhagen, something she quickly grew fond of, though not nearly as much as flying. That was something the griffon had become addicted to.

Geert wasn’t as fond of taking to the air herself. Gliding was fine, but sustained flight was a taxing thing for parrots. Sure, she could activate her wings and fly up to a rooftop, but her species wasn’t meant to reach the clouds.

She paused as they passed a couple platforms, a frown marring the scarlet macaw’s features. She quickly grabbed her cane and hoisted herself up, briskly hobbling towards the chart table.

“Something the matter?”

“I’d say...” Geert exhaled loudly through her nostrils before jabbing her cane towards the platforms outside. “Look at the platforms, how many of them do you see?”

“Two? Is that...” She halted mid-sentence and rushed over to the chart table.

On the map, there were symbols for five platforms, all in a cluster.

“What the fuck?!” The Ukrainian griffon loudly exclaimed in her native tongue.

Meanwhile, Geert was already going through several drawers’ worth of nautical publications. Notices to mariners? Maybe they had forgotten to update the charts but... Nope, there were five platforms, even two days before the Event.

They eventually got an ‘answer’ of sorts in one of the pilot books they kept on the bridge. The books were a publication usually used to get local data on certain areas, as well as tips of regulations and localized hazards.

Like platforms.

The parrot flipped to the page for their specific area, hoping to find some notes on construction works that may have been underway, which would explain how the platforms could have disappeared.

She found something else instead: a picture of the platforms.

And then it dawned on her.

“Ivan? Remember that thing about vehicles disappearing?”

“Da...And?”

“Look at the type of platforms that disappeared.”

In the industry, there were many types of platforms, but they could essentially be divided into two kinds: the fixed platforms, on stilts; and the floating platforms, those that stayed in place using anchors.

The latter were the ones that had disappeared.

“But... why?” Ivan wondered.

“Maybe the Event counted them as vehicles.” Geert shrugged. “I mean, we were anchored and the wave took us like a vehicle.”

“But they’re platforms!”

The Officer ignored that last comment and crossed her arms. All the platforms they had seen off the Netherlands were built in the shallower parts of the North Sea, where fixed platforms were still possible. Up north, the waters were deeper so it varied on a case by case basis –as she could see out of her windows-.

But the disappearance implied...

Nowadays most fields used turret connections to link platforms to the wells (and FPSO ships in smaller fields), meaning that even without the platform, the fields were technically secure. They wouldn’t leak.

But the turret system wasn’t universal. So what of the fields that didn’t have a turret but still had a floating platform? Did they suffer the same fate as the platforms she could see there? In which case there would be a runaway black tide because of the unconnected well spilling its content and...

Or did the platform need to be both of the floating type and to have a turret system to be considered a vehicle? How the hell could she figure that out? Satellite pictures?

“Well actually yes...” She whispered under her breath before swiftly grabbing the interphone to contact engineering.

If any of the non-turreted platforms had been whisked away by the Event, then there should be some form of slick somewhere to point to that conclusion. She just needed someone to connect to the satellites and look at recorded data of the day directly after the Event.

Find an oil slick? There you go, theory proven. Simple.

Somebody picked up on the line.

“Angelo? No I don’t care- what do you mean new hire?! Whatever, can you look at some old sat pictures for me? It’s about platforms...”







Eko had never been too fond of labs. He was more of a business meetings/backroom dealings type of guy; the crisp white environment of labs with the sharp smell of chemical just irked his nostrils.

Yet he found himself walking down the hallway in the R&D department for one particular reason. That reason being a scientist that apparently thought himself above the chain of command.

The HPI agent slipped past a small crowd of scientists, silently tightening his suit around his frame to ward off the cold blast of the A/C they had on full-force down there. The buzzing of the ventilation was so strong it drowned out the constant droning of the shield generators at times.

Honestly he had nothing against using the A/C; he just wished he was wearing the standard-issue black coveralls the scientists had instead of his business suit, much better against the cold.

His quarry was at the end of the hallway, inside the somewhat inactive ‘biology’ section of the labs. Eko swiped his keycard in front of the door, which slid aside with a hiss to reveal yet another lab.

Vats of nondescript liquids lined one side of the wall, with small cages holding rodents on the opposite side, leaving the center of the room free to be fitted with many workstations and research equipment he didn’t care much for. To his eyes, the crisp white environment and multitude of computer displays was just an attempt by the scientists at mimicking science-fiction.

No, what he was here for was beyond the main room, where he knew there were a couple doors leading to twisting hallways where the actual advanced equipment was.

And to the office of the wannabe mad scientist he had to work with. Its door slid aside, revealing a cramped office filled with servers, computers and filing cabinets, with the numerous screens inside being the only source of dim bluish light.

Amidst all that chaos sat a gangly white man with short blonde hair. His round glasses shone, reflecting the light of the screens as he swiveled around in his chair, hands stuffed in the pockets of his lab coat.

He only greeted his superior with a nod and a cheeky grin.

“Well?” Eko crossed his arms.

“Well what?”

“Don’t fool around Lexington, you know what I’m here for.”

“Enlighten me!” The scientist clicked his tongue, tilting his head up at the exec.

“You’re bypassing the whole damn chain of command!” The Indonesian pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You cannot send direct messages to these sailors without prior approval from me, the R&D board and the Upper Echelon!”

“Man, when you put it like this it’s even more of a bother than it actually is.” Lexington chuckled.

“Shut your damn trap! Your ass is on the line!” Eko yelled.

“Is it though?” He smirked, readjusting his glasses with one finger. “No… yours is. You and I both know they need me; otherwise we’d never have got those vehicular shields working. You though? You’re a lackey, an intermediary…” He paused. “You’re expendable.”

“Nobody is!” The HPI agent slammed a fist against his desk. “Our whole damn survival relies on everybody respecting the hierarchy. If your sorry ass can’t get that through your head then maybe you’d do better without your precious biology department?!”

“Let’s not get violent over such matters now.” Lexington raised a hand to placate him. “The hierarchy doesn’t need to know about trivial experiments I ask of Doctor Delacroix, nor do they need to know of what you did to the contract.”

“Requesting biological samples isn’t trivial- wait, what did you say last?” Eko paused.

“That’s right. I know what you did to the first draft of the contract. I don’t think the guys in the Upper Echelon need to know you lowered the prices on spare parts to get the sailors to sign, right?” He smirked. “That would put a stop to your flamboyant rise through the ranks, wouldn’t it?”

“You dirty f-“

“Shush now, those are bad words, they’re only good for those precious sailors of yours. We’re above that.” Lexington looked him the eye.

Eko faltered.

“Now, Agent Eko, it is not in my interest to hinder your progress. As a matter of fact I think your idea with the sailors is brilliant.” He smiled. “So it would be such a shame if it were brought to a screeching halt because you tattled on my…” He rolled his tongue in his mouth. “Unlicensed experiments. You want to pick up rank, don’t you?”

Eko clenched his fists, but he gave a curt nod.

“Obviously you do.” Lexington rolled his eyes. “So let’s reach this consensus: you be good and don’t look further than my official experiments, and that tiny little dirt I have in my cabinet doesn’t leave my office. Got it?”

The suit-wearing agent glared at the blonde before standing up. He straightened up his pants before turning back towards the door.

“Just make sure I’m in Cc for the official stuff.”

“Duly noted.” Lexington smirked.

With a hiss of pneumatics, the door opened and closed, leaving him once more in the dim light of his computers. On one screen, there was a folder open, leading to a couple projects of his:

  Human-thaumic compatibility (gene therapy) (samples needed).

  Alien biology (samples needed).

  Biological remote-control (see: Eng. Dept. for bio-androids)

  Artificial wombs and gene scrambling (completed)

And there were two last hidden files in the folder; two projects Lexington knew were only accessible under very specific criteria so nobody would peek in his affairs.

Escape Pod Protocol.

  Uplift Project.







Back in Brittany, Meadowbrook had carried on down the path. Flash Magnus and Rockhoof warily trotted behind her as she went deeper into the enchanted forest. For how long, they didn’t know, but it felt like hours.

Not that the area wasn’t picturesque, but the Earth Pony was pretty sure a glowing magic forest wasn’t the safest of places, even for an old sorceress like Meadow. If anything, the winding path alone was starting to take its toll on the old mare.

“Are we even going the right way?” Flash asked.

The Pegasus was casually flying at walking pace through the oaks, though he didn’t dare go above the canopy. Those wispy veils looked dangerous.

“We are. The seed is guiding me.” Meadow nodded confidently.  

Together the three of them kept going, sometimes stopping at crossings in the path to let Meadow figure out which way the seed was guiding them, sometimes to let herds of wild animals run past.

The animals themselves felt… weird. Like the rest of the forest. One time a massive hunchback boar stopped in front of them. Rockhoof almost reached for his signature combat shovel before the cart-sized creature let out a loud snort and trotted away, sow and piglets in tow. It was only when they saw its flank that they noticed the glowing vine patterns in its black fur.

Another time they had stopped in a glade for a brief pause when Flash took note of a white stag standing atop a rock, silently judging them. The noble creature dipped its head at them, as if the ponies had passed its test, before it vanished behind a row of trees, its white fur leaving a contrail as it went.

“This place is creeping me out…” Flash whispered.

All too often Star Swirl had told him and Rockhoof magic wasn’t to be messed with. If it glows, it’s probably dangerous.

And there were a lot of glowing things in the whole darn forest.

Rockhoof just smirked at him through his beard.

“Trust your feelings friend.”

“My ‘feelings’ are going awry like a teen filly on her first season.” Meadow threw him a glare. “What? It’s true! Total overload!” He protested.

“Tact buddy.” Rock rolled his eyes.

“I’m military, we don’t do tact. You’d think the Royal Guard would have wussed out after all the time we were gone. They haven’t. Not in the crass department at least, whole bunch of stallions polishing their spears, once it gets going there is no rock bottom I tell ya’.”

“Didn’t need to know that. Did. Not.” Meadowbrook ground out.

“I think you need a mare buddy.” Rockhoof chuckled.

“Yeah, good luck with that. I ain’t getting any younger and nowadays what mares want really doesn’t fit my character.”

“You know you could make an effort, right?” Meadow piped in.

“Don’t wanna. I mean…”

“You’re still caught up about the time leap?” Rock guessed.

“What pony wouldn’t?” He sighed. “I mean… after what I lost, I just don’t feel like doing it all over again. I’m too old now, and I could just track my ancestors all over Equestria –if not further-. Finding myself a mare… that just feels like betraying her memory.”

“We understand Flash.” Meadow gave him a sympathetic smile before she stopped to look ahead of their path. “We’re near, I can sense it.”

So they carried on down the path. Star Swirl caught up with them minutes later, the unicorn looking thoroughly spooked and with an odd sheen in his eyes. Flash wanted to ask him what it was all about, but a look from Rockhoof quickly prevented that.

As far as he knew their intellectual friend, he was still in the ‘processing data’ phase, and probably would be for a few moments going by the look he sported on his muzzle.

They eventually reached the place the seed was leading Meadow to. It was a clearing, big enough for them to actually see the starlit sky above the canopy. Hardy grass and weeds covered the ground that sloped downwards in the center.

And in that same center, was a golden tree.

The lone tree, short and shaped like a deer’s antlers, was covered from top to bottom in gold, which made a sharp contrast against the half-dozen charred trunks that surrounded it, as if lightning had struck in the middle of the clearing. The whole tree shone in the moonlight with an eerie glow, which was made all the more surreal by enchanted forest around it.

“That’s the place?” Rockhoof asked.

Meadowbrook just nodded softly before calmly making her way closer to the tree. It was actually much taller from up close, its bark smooth gold plating that reflected light. The mare could feel the echoes coming from the seed she carried on her back.

This was it.

With a heave, the package came off her back, its canvas already spilling out as if the seed itself was showing its impatience.

Back on the edge of the clearing, the three other ponies in the group could see activity. Animals were coming to witness the event, all gathered in one collective herd led by the white stag. Shadows too, ethereal silhouettes of humans long dead that could be seen out of the corner of one eye. Some were more distinct, including two ladies that for some reason made Rockhoof think of both breezies and alicorns. They were observing Meadowbrook, out of range with their faces hidden by wispy veils.

“Star? You seeing this?” Flash hesitated.

The two ladies in particular were radiating power.

“Don’t fret Flash. They’re friends… sort of…” The old unicorn replied, not turning his gaze away from the golden tree.

“’Sort of’?” Flash Magnus quirked an eyebrow, but Star didn’t elaborate.

Instead, he kept his eyes riveted to the tree. Meadow was now sitting on her haunches in front of it, the seed cradled in both hooves.

Come to think of it, ‘seed’ might be a bit inaccurate. Well, it was called a Seed of Harmony, but it was more of a foal-sized crystal shard, its blue edges shimmering at each motion of the pony that held it. It was mostly transparent, allowing observers to look at the white six-pointed star at its core.

It was also the most precious artifact Meadowbrook ever touched. The seed was a sibling of that found in the Everfree, the same one which birthed the Tree of Harmony, a priceless thing that had stayed hidden underneath Canterlot for a long time.

And now the Crown had finally decided to put it to use.

They didn’t know the whole implications of planting it. Maybe it would share a connection with its sibling on Equus, maybe not. What they were sure of was that this was the kind of thing Earth would need in its near future, once it grew and selected its heroes to face the demons.

Yes, Earth needed a microcosm of immortals to combat the demons, but it would take time. In the meantime, this would have to do.

Meadowbrook pressed the seed of Harmony against the golden tree, and there was a flash. In the blink of an eye, the two merged into one and the golden tree grew veins of crystal that coursed over its shiny bark.

On top of the tree, a new six-pointed star pulsated like a beating heart.

But the tree was still small, a relatively tiny thing compared to the ancient oaks of the adjacent forest.

“Whelp, we’ve done it. Time to go back.” Flash whistled, swooping in next to Meadow.

The mare turned towards him with an awkward smile, soon joined by Rockhoof who threw a hoof over her shoulder.

“Well, you see Flash…”

The Pegasus backed away, slowly starting to shake his head.

“No! You can’t do that Rock! Think about it!”

“I think both our friends already made up their mind before we even came.” Star Swirl simply said, slowly trotting over to Flash.

“So you figured it Star? Ever the smart colt you.” Meadow smiled.

“Please dear, it was written all over both your faces.” Star snorted.

“Come on now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” Flash tried.

“I’m so sorry Flash.” Rockhoof shook his head. “But we thought about this. We don’t belong in Equestria these days…”

“But we’re a team!”

“Not since Mistmane and Somnanbula passed away, no.” The giant stallion answered. “You and Star, you have your place, Equestria needs you. But us two? We’re out of our time anyway. This tree will need care and protection.”

There was a clatter of metal. Flash had shed his helmet, he was now sitting on his haunches, wings limp and hints of tears in his eyes.

“Damn you Rock… Damn you.” He sniffed. “And you’re not going to stop them Star?”

“No. It’s as they said, they’re better off here. Plus…” He trailed off, the silhouette of the human wizard appearing behind him. “… I sort of had a revelation. Rock, Meadow, I know I won’t be here myself, but I’ll still be watching over you. Trust me.” He winked.

“Something we should know?” Rock quirked his head.

Star gained a twinkle in his eyes, much like the ghost behind him.

“Let’s say I discovered there is more to myself than I ever knew. The rest is… soul magic, mirrored dimensions, complicated stuff.”

Subtly, he gave a wink towards one of the fairy ladies that had been observing the clearing in the distance, a gesture matched by the ghost wizard.

“I… uh…” Flash tried but stopped. Resigned, the stallion wiped a stray tear from his eye with his wing before standing up resolutely. “I’ll miss you. Both of you.”

“Come on now, we’re not your soldiers, get over here!” Rockhoof said as he wrapped the much smaller Pegasus in a bear hug. “I’m glad we got to be friends Flash, remember that.”

“I will, bud.” Flash returned the hug. “I’ll make sure they build a statue of you or something. And you Meadow…”

“I don’t need monuments, just remember me, friend?” The old mare joined their hug.

From a distance, Star Swirl observed his old friends, the remains of the old gang, the Pillars, give their farewells.

He may have shed a tear or two.

In the distance, the two fays gave him curt nods before turning away to disappear deeper in the woods. The animals scattered as well, with the wide stag addressing the tree one long look before galloping away at the first hints of pink in the sky.

Dawn was near.

And in that moment, Star knew the tree would be safe. His muzzle creased with a soft smile.

Minutes later, two ponies teleported back to Equestria, leaving behind two old world-weary friends. Meadowbrook looked at the summoning circle before a parchment fell out of her mane. She looked at it quizzically before unfurling it.

In it were two sigils she knew Star used frequently in his spell scrolls, along with a note.

‘I think they speak Prench around here, thought you might have some use for a translation spell to teach you. Enjoy your retirement!

SS

PS: I heard magic could do wonders to fertility, so you never know with Rock’ and your potions…’

Meadow closed the parchment with a blush.







Down in Amandine’s engine control room, a minotaur was seen going down the stairs with a couple files in hand. There was a Pegasus waiting for him, seated by the control consoles, along with a tired-looking Aleksei. The hippogriff was there looking at satellite pictures during her watch.

“So?” Radiant inquired with bated breath.

Angelo didn’t immediately answer, instead coming to take a seat by Radiant and dropping the files on the control console. He let out a deep sigh before turning towards the Pegasus.

“Alright then. First off: you can stay.”

He stopped the Equestrian Pegasus before he could get too cheerful.

“But, they’re pissed. The Captain’s pissed, the Chief Officer is pissed, even Schmitt is pissed. You’re on thin ice buddy.”

Angelo watched Radiant deflate for a couple seconds before waving the files in front of his face.

“I managed to convince them. We got an agreement. This here, that’s your contract. Problem is, you are not like us.”

“How so?”

“You’re lucky we talked a lot because I can vouch for you actually being competent otherwise you’d be washing floors and cleaning rust by now. You may be competent, but you’re familiar with airships and Equestrian tech, not any of the stuff we use.”

“But I can learn.”

“Precisely.” Angelo pointed out. “But you don’t have valid certifications on this planet either, doesn’t help with convincing them up top you know.”

“So what am I?”

Angelo drummed his fingers against the console for a few seconds in thought before turning back to Radiant. Behind him, he could see by the look of her ears that Aleksei was eavesdropping.

“For now, let’s call it an amalgam between an Engine fitter and a Cadet. You’re Rating-level for now, but they’re willing to make you our Fourth Engineer if you prove yourself and, most of all, if you behave.” He picked up Radiant’s files, flipping to a specific page. “I got a list of duties you gotta do, plus you’re on punitive duty with the catering department for the next five weeks. Here’s a list of your watches, a learn list, and your instructor will be…”

“You?”

“No, I’m too busy. Aleksei will teach you.”

The hippogriff nearly spat out her coffee and jerked her head towards them, wings fluffed up in anger.

“What the fuck Angie?! Why me? He’s your friend!” She yelled.

“You’re Third Engineer, I’m Second, enjoy the short end of the stick.”

“Douchebag.”

“I’ll take it.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t change anything: Engine Cadet Radiant Course is now officially your pupil.”

Radiant considered himself lucky when Angelo told him to report to Farkas for punitive duties, because the atmosphere down there was getting pretty tense.







A couple floors above, Sandra was hard at work in her cabin. In the background, she could hear a rerun of a previous broadcast she had just completed –mostly just a lengthy explanation on the four types of ponies, along with some tips on how to secure a fresh water supply-.

She had yet to receive an answer to her broadcasts.

At regular intervals, the rerun shut off to be replaced by Rhine’s calls on the radio. The barge carrier was scanning and calling on nearly all maritime frequencies, to no avail. No answer came that day. Of all the platforms that remained, and of all the radio stations ashore, not a single one was manned.

It didn’t matter overly much to the batpony at the moment. She was in the process of sorting through the radio log Aleksei had recently managed to convert and frankly…

It was an outright mess.

The file had –somehow- blended all frequencies together in a single file, meaning she had a lot of work ahead of herself. She had notes all around her with lists showing frequencies in use. One by one, she had to isolate them, snip them from the main file and paste them on new audio recordings.

So there she was, reading off a list of frequencies and, one by one, isolating radio channels to see what had happened and what it was exactly that Vadim had heard back then. She could see some hints of it, like pieces of a puzzle.

An odd spike on the edge of a radio channel there, a bit of static there. Piece by piece, she slowly managed to isolate a few bursts of static on the radio log. None of them were exactly on known channels so it was a bit like seeing something without looking directly at it, mere snippets.

Sandra let out a frustrated neigh. This really wasn’t going to be easy. Her webbed wings ran over her keyboard, improvised hands she was steadily getting better at using.

Now she had to check the frequency bands channel per channel just to spot those snippets. About as tedious as it could get, and even then she was pretty sure her notes on encryption would have to come into use at some point.

Her work was interrupted by a knock on her door.

“It’s open!” The mare called out, not even turning away from her computer.

A grey stallion’s head poked through the door, and Sandra did a double take.

“Hold on a sec’, aren’t you one of them ponies?”

Radiant’s ears flattened at the remark, and he gave a sheepish look to the mare behind the radio station.

“Was. I uh… stowed away.”

“Shit they weren’t kidding about the stowaway. Why?”

“I thought it was a good idea at the time.” Radiant said in a sad tone. “Anyway, we don’t really wear clothes where I’m from…”

Sandra visibly blushed.

“… And apparently I need proper protection. Nala told me you had some templates for pony-sized coveralls?”

“Nala? You mean Farkas?”

“Yeah, the sphinx.” He nodded.

Sandra blinked. She didn’t know the lioness had actually started using her nickname like that. That was new… She shook her head.

“Right so… yeah, I got some.” She hopped of her chair before digging into a drawer with both hooves and wings. “Nala gave you the materials to work with yet?”

“She has.” Radiant nodded. “Full size coveralls, I just need to adjust them and put zipper holes for my wings. Then apparently I need to contact Diethelm on Rhine for work-horseshoes…”

The batpony finally pulled a few notes from under a folder, which she quickly passed to the noticeably naked pony by the door.

“Here, templates and tips. You need to cut down limb sizes and sew a few threads over the back to shorten it, the leftover material you can use as lining around the withers and flank, but keep some for the tail. It’s not comfortable when it’s bunched up, so just add an extra hole and sleeve for it, got it?”

“Yes, but why the lining?”

“Reduces wear and tear at the base of your limbs, plus it absorbs sweat. Trust me, down in Engineering you’ll need it.” She clicked her tongue. “And try not to waste material, nomex isn’t easy to come by.”

And on that note she led the Pegasus out of her cabin. Not that she wanted to be rude, but she was rather busy at the moment. Judging by a glance at the clock, she only had a few hours to spare on the radio log project before she had to start making her next radio broadcast.

After that, she needed to meet with Roberto. The secretary –that was mostly working on intel as of recently- needed her help in figuring out whether there was anything useful they might find in Savannah.







“I swear it doesn’t look that bad.” Danny said in Tagalog.

The female parrot was sitting on the bed inside Carlos’ cabin, one arm wrapped around the bulkier male’s shoulder. As for Carlos, he was staring deeply at his reflection in a hand mirror, the cockatoo’s sulphur crest almost flat against his skull.

And he had his reasons to feel down. Staring back at him, his reflection clearly showed scar tissue all around his now milky eye. Exposure to noxious gases would do that to you. He had lost his eye. Half of his vision, lost, replaced by inky darkness and poor depth perception. To make matters worse, the skin around his now blind eye was scarred as well, barren of feathers and gravelly to the touch with a sickly red hue.

He rubbed a talon in a circle around the scar. The skin was still tender. Of course there was more to his wounds than that, like the cast that currently encased his left arm… but a face wound was that much easier to notice.

The hen by his side squeezed his shoulder to comfort him.

“Remember what Vadim said, maybe they can fix it once we get our own healthcare-grade potions.” She said.

Carlos’ talon halted in its motion and he turned his gaze towards her, his black eye meeting her copper-brown irises.

Honestly he was rather surprised by their relationship being a thing in the first place. Originally it had just been a thing where she wanted to ‘try things out’ just after the transformation, sex for the sake of curiosity. He wouldn’t complain, the curvaceous nature of her new form and her… ahem, vigor, that made for a pleasant experience, let alone the fact he was pretty sure magic played a role in enhancing the act. Plus, down feathers? Real comfy in the spooning phase.

Then, one day, it somehow grew to be more than that. Turns out they came from the same neighborhood in Manila, though with their age difference Danny was already far out at sea by the time Carlos finished school.

Funny, how a mechanic and a genderbent middle-aged welder could get together like that. Yet here they were, both relying on each other to get through the overall craziness of the post-Event world.

The cockatoo let out a long sigh before leaning deeper in her embrace.

“I know it’s possible I’ll get my eye back, but that’s not it.” He said, dropping the mirror on the mattress. His voice was raucous, throat still aching from the gas even after so long. “It’s just… I just know that it could have been me instead of Yancy you know? If the fall was just a tiny bit worse, that I landed just a little bit more on my side, it could have been me that died… or both of us even…”

“Carlos, it doesn’t matter now. You made, he didn’t. You take what you get.”

“But I tried to save him! What good was it for, dragging him through toxic gas with a broken arm and a leaking tank if he just died after that?!”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have done better!”

“No.”

“Come again?”

  Danny grabbed him by the beak and forced him to look her in the eyes, a frown on the golden parakeet’s features.

“His fate was sealed the moment he hit the ground. The best rescue teams couldn’t have saved him, what makes you think you could have? You’re a hero for trying, but there is only so much a single person can do.”

  Carlos’s shoulders sagged for a moment before he let out a small smile.

“Guess you’re right… still…”

  Two clamped wrapped around his beak before he could continue.

“Shush, no more self-pity, that doesn’t look good on you. But you know what would?” She smiled.

“Shoot.” He snorted.

She didn’t say anything. She just dug her claws inside her coveralls, quickly pulling out a small piece of leather out of her breast pocket.

“An eyepatch? Really?” Carlos smiled.

“Just try it on.” Danny replied as she put it on his head.

The fitting was a bit finicky, what with the feathers and large mobile ears parrots sported, but it did stay on his head, hiding the scar behind a thin piece of black leather. It contrasted rather nicely against his white feathers.

“So?” Carlos inquired.

“It makes you look like a pirate.”

  That garnered a grin from the Filipino mechanic. Suddenly, he swept Danny with his good arm, pinning her to the bed and gently pressing himself against her.

“You know…” He breathed out in her ear. “Pirates have a thing for ravishing ladies like you.”

There was a twinkle in her eyes, and he could see her feathers fluff up in arousal. That had managed to break through his mood.

“Bring it on.” She taunted.

She needn’t have asked twice.







Crossing the North Sea never was particularly long. After two days of sailing through choppy waters riddled with abandoned platforms and under near constant drizzle –a change compared to the more favorable weather experienced in Denmark-, the two ships eventually reached Scotland under a grey overcast sky.

For the two ships to pass Scotland and head into the Atlantic, there was one specific passage they had to aim for: the Pentland Firth… which wasn’t really a firth actually, it was a strait.

Blame the Scots, they chose to call it that.

Now, the Firth-which-was-actually-a-strait separated Northern Scotland from the Orkney Islands,   a small inhospitable archipelago mostly known for its cattle and the –admittedly good-looking- town of Kirkwall.

As the two ships steamed closer to the strait, somewhere around noon, thick fog banks rolled in from the mainland, forcing both ships to reduce speed out of caution. There would be no seeing the black cliffs and pastures of the surrounding area, nor the white tower of Duncansby Head’s lighthouse that day. Its lamp was inactive either way.

They could see the shore, as well as Stroma Island in the middle of the strait… except only on their radar. If anything, the radar image was crisp clear, thanks to the steep cliffs of the shore reflecting nearly all of their radar waves.

Sightseeing though, was not what both Captains had in mind before the ships headed in. That was what tourists knew the Firth for. What sailors knew about it was much more worrying: currents. They were dangerous, extremely so, as they had already claimed a ship and her entire complement that same year. In places, tide races could reach strengths of up to fifteen knots, fast enough to bring most cargo vessels to a near halt at cruise speed, even behemoths like Amandine and Rhine Forest. If they were not careful, those riptides could very well pull them into one of the many skerries and tear their hulls apart.

Which was why Dilip was so intent on timing their entry into the strait to the minute. They had hour-by-hour vector charts for the currents –thanks to looting Maersk’s HQ-, and he very well intended to use that same current in his favor. If his guesses were right, and they had no reason not to be, then they could cross the entire thing with the tides in their favor.

Which would make it possible for the large Ro/Ro to reach speeds beyond the thirty knots mark.

“Przemo, start radar indexing on the passage. In want cross-track distance every three minutes.” The Indian ordered Micha.

“On it Cap’ain.” The Pole sitting in the navigator’s chair instantly replied.

They were on full detail on the bridge, with all posts manned and lookouts on both bridge wings.

“Rhine Forest to Amandine…” They heard Gerig speak up on the radio. “Head in first, we’ll be holding behind at a safety distance of five miles. Over.”

“Rhine Forest, that’s a roger. Out.” Dilip replied.

The Diamond Dog’s eyes flicked to their electronic chart display. One mile to the entry point.

“Helmsman, set speed to full ahead on both props.”

“Aye, full ahead on both. Set.” Yuri parroted the order.

Normally with Micha as navigator, Boris would have been at the helm; unfortunately the Russian griffon was still recovering. Raimund had lent them Anton to take care of him, but the hen was from engineering, she couldn’t just fill his spot.

Hence the Ukrainian hippogriff behind the helm.

Funny thing with Yuri, you’d expect a Ukrainian to turn into a griffon, not a hippogriff. He attributed it to ‘holiday adultery’ without so much as a hint of sorrow. Must have known his mom was a cheat for a while then…

A rumble ran through the entire hull as the main engine was pushed to its max capacity. The lookouts outside observed a black cloud escape the funnel before dissipating into the fog.

Going in hot.

It was over in a matter of minutes. The ship darted through the strait like an arrow through the air, her white and grey hull blazing through the water, bow cutting through the waves like a knife and sending spray up in the air.

Just before they reached their exit point, on the very last stretch of sea, loud music suddenly ripped through the air, drowning out the sound of their engine.

  Scotland the Brave.

And to the tune of the Scottish Anthem, a red blotch appeared out of the fog, quickly shaping up to be a large red hull.

The radar’s proximity alarm blared.
> Chapter 46: She Popped Out Of Nowhere!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Brace for impact!” One of the lookouts yelled, a cry that was echoed throughout the ship as Micha turned on the general alarm.

Seven short blasts of the alarm, followed by a long, drawn-out blast strong enough to shake a sailor to the core rang out, quickly followed by the hen’s voice over the PA system telling everyone to hunker down. All around, crewmembers were seen rushing underneath tables and grabbing the nearest railing.

In Boris’ cabin, the door burst open as Anton rushed inside and helped the still heavily-injured griffon get to a safe spot, the Russian’s entire body sending lances of pain to his brain in protest at the sudden movement.

A couple meters further down the passageway, Vadim was seen rushing to Andy’s cabin where the griffon hatchling was scared shitless. He quickly wrapped his talons around her small form before ducking underneath a desk, waiting.

Meanwhile on the bridge, Yuri went to work with the helm. The hippogriff yanked the engine telegraph as far back as she could just as the Captain and Micha barked their orders in unison. They wouldn’t be able to stop outright on such a short notice, but at least she could slow Amandine down a bit.

“Starboard full!” The Diamond Dog and griffon ordered at the same time, hoping that, maybe, they could pass just behind the other ship.

It was one of those offshore supply vessels, the type that did any kind of work with platforms ranging from re-tensioning their anchor chains to just ferrying parts and supplies from the mainland. They always seemed to share the same apparent layout:

A superstructure with the bridge and accommodation set on the bow section, sheltering a flat open deck behind it with a couple cranes to handle cargo operations.

The vessel Amandine was speeding towards was no different from that design, if a bit on the large side. Her hull was a bright fire engine red above the waterline, extending high up towards the bow before seamlessly blending in with the accommodation and its white plating that towered above the rest of the ship, with the bridge at its summit. Just above the bow and in full view of the bridge, the shipbuilders had also felt necessary to equip the ship with a helideck, though it wasn’t connected to a hangar.

For some reason, the ship –which, according to the name on her bow, was actually called Fugro Symphony- was blasting Scotland the Brave over her PA system, so loudly in fact they could hear the tune clearly from Amandine’s bridge.

And Amandine started turning. Slowly. Too slowly. Dilip’s eyes flicked towards Fugro’s bridge. If he squinted, he could just make out the bewildered Hedgefog staring at them from behind the helm.

Yeah, that ship just had to reappear at the worst of times, on a collision course with them.

Of course she did.

They didn’t cut it. Amandine managed to avoid hitting the other vessel in the accommodation, if only barely. Instead, her massive white and grey bow plowed into the aft section of the other vessel, her bulbous bow acting like a battering ram.

The grinding of steel against steel matched the earth-shattering impact of the two seagoing titans as they met each other to the sound of metal bending. Anything loose on board was abruptly sent flying: charts, papers, books even, all filled the air around Dilip as he held on to his seat, teeth gritted in a snarl.

Others around the pariah dog were sent sprawling on the ground with much swearing. One of their lookouts almost fell overboard before the hippogriff seemingly remembered he had wings and flew back on board.

He shook his head with a growl before looking out the bridge’s windows. Amandine’s bow must have cleaved inside the other ship’s hull, because the two ships were stuck together. The Ro/Ro’s engines were still going astern before he quickly barked out an order to set the propeller pitch to neutral.

Ahead of them and in full view of Amandine’s bridge, they could see the impact zone, both ships had their hulls perforated, jagged and bent metal plates jutting out with oil leaking out from some perforated tanks on both ships.

“I want a status report, now!” The dog unbuckled himself from his seat before moving over to the radio station. “Someone call engineering; I want a team surveying the damaged area ASAP.”

His eyes flicked to the radar screen, where he could see the little dot showing Rhine Forest’s position just a few miles behind. In this fog, they needed to tell the barge carrier about the impact otherwise Raimund would soon join the seaborne dogpile.

“Sir!” Micha spoke up.

“Przemo?” Dilip paused with one paw hovering over the VHF’s controls. 

The bald eagle griffon was still seated, clutching a sheet of paper in her talons, eyes riveted to the ECDIS computer.

“Warning on the currents: we have 90 minutes worth of tide streams pushing us out before they switch around. If we’re not out of the area by then, it will pull us back in the firth.”

And into the many skerries that could tear their hull asunder. Thankfully Amandine still seemed to have her propulsion operational. Fugro on the other paw… they did hit the offshore vessel near the stern.

All the more motivation to hurry up then.

Warning Rhine of the accident was but a trifle. Dilip quickly switched to channel 16 –the general communication channel on VHF- to tell the barge carrier to keep away from them. Raimund tried to press the matter over the radio, but Dilip set that aside for now.

“Unknown vessel, this is M/V Amandine…” The Captain began in as clear a voice as he could manage –he could feel his entire skeleton still shake from the impact-. “Interrogative: what is your status? Over.”

It took a minute before they saw the Hedgefog on the other ship’s bridge stand up and –apparently- move towards their own comms station. At this stage with the two ships stuck to each other, both bridges were a mere hundred meters apart as the vessels slowly drifted away from Scotland, carried by the currents.

“Amandine, this is M/V Fugro Symphony…” The VHF crackled after a minute. The voice sounded feminine (no bet on yet another sailor suffering from genderswap), trembling, and utterly confused. It also had the slightest hint of an Irish accent. “No damage report yet but our engine telegraph and helm do not respond. I repeat: we are Not Under Command.” She paused. “The fuck’s going on here? Over.”

Dilip put aside the last question for now. Of course a ship that had just reappeared would have that question. What mattered at the moment was that Fugro was basically dead in the water. In all likelihood it was Amandine’s bulbous bow that had knocked out her propulsion.

“Rhine this is Amandine.” Dilip immediately carried on. “Interrogative: can you get your tugs in the water? We require emergency tug assistance. Over.”

Raimund was quick to answer with a series of rapid-fire questions. The mare would need about half an hour to get one tug down in the water. Hopefully the lone tug should suffice to get Fugro to a safe spot away from the strong currents.

Hopefully…







Down below, Schmitt was finding herself hard pressed to manage whatever the fuck was going on. She had rushed forward as soon as Dilip sent his orders to the engine control room. The orange-scaled dragon had led a small team of engine ratings –along with their newest hire in the form of Radiant- to the likeliest section to be damaged whilst Angelo and Aleksei ran the system check-ups from inside engine control.

There was smoke around the workshop. Thin, but acrid smoke that had the other sailors around her coughing. Not her though, perks of being a dragon.

“Go get Artyom!” She ordered Thanasis. “And get the firefighting gear!”

She watched the sphinx sprint away, back to the accommodation. Almost by reflex, Schmitt reached for the nearest alarm switch. A second later, the whole ship reverberated with the continuous ringing of the fire alarm.

A minute later, she and Artyom headed deeper inside the workshop, fire extinguishers held in their claws. The smoke wasn’t too bad, yet. As soon as she ordered the ventilation system to be shut down -no need to propagate fires through the vents-, smoke visibly started to build up, thankfully still above head level.

Together, the two dragons swept the area, looking for the source of the fire, before they eventually reached a hatch that was belching smoke.

The same hatch that led to the bow thruster’s room.

“Shit.” Schmitt scowled, already having an inkling of an idea as to what she may find there.

And she was right. The impact had damaged a fuse box near the generator, enough so that it had caught fire and set the entire room ablaze, electric motor included. She stood halfway down the catwalk into the room, eyes locked onto the motor, the one thing that allowed Amandine to so easily maneuver into port.

Guess that wouldn’t be so easy now.

All the rubber used in both insulation and vibration dampeners was now ablaze, releasing thick clouds of black acrid smoke that swirled around the room before escaping through the open hatch and into the workshop.

“Cut the power in the compartment.” The female dragon told Artyom.

Mentally, she was going down their firefighting flowchart. There was nothing they could do to fight this with fire extinguishers at this point. Hell, not even fire hoses would have been enough right then. Still, they weren’t out of ideas yet.

They isolated the bow thruster’s compartment: cut power, secure all hatches and shut off ventilation in the room. And then… choke the fire until it gives out. Using the ‘silver bullets’.

See, the thing with Amandine is that her engine spaces –bow thruster room included- were fitted with fixed firefighting installations. Two of them even: a CO2 system -they even had the means to refill their bottles now-, and a water-mist sprinkler system that fed from the sea chest.

The problem was settled within seconds once they isolated the fire. Going down their flowchart, they first tried solving the fire with water and, when it turned out it wasn’t enough, pulled the pin on the CO2 system and proceeded to drown the entire compartment in carbon dioxide. That worked better, though the Chief Engineer insisted Thanasis stay behind with a thermal scanner to ensure the fire didn’t flare up again.

With the sphinx busy doing that, that left the rest of the firefighting team free to start venting all the smoke that had built up in the car decks and workshops.

Amandine got off lucky. At a glance it seemed that, with the exception of the bow thruster, all damage had been kept forward of the collision bulkhead. Several of her tanks had been punctured in the impact, mostly ballast and freshwater tanks, but their main lube oil reserve in the bulbous bow had also been torn open. She was leaking oil into the sea, leaving a thin, iridescent slick on the surface that shone like a waterborne rainbow under the sunlight.

Unfortunately, pollution control was pretty low on their list of priorities, much less for the fifty tons or so of lube they had on board. By most standards, that was relatively minor. They did record it in the logbook, but they didn’t bother dispatching an auxiliary from Rhine to deal with it. Not with the tide streams threatening to pull them back in.

Of course there was also some minor damage further aft: damaged electrical components, a couple broken appliances, and probably a hundred minor things to non-critical systems. That, however, would have to take a backseat for the moment.

Immediate concerns went to securing any cargo that had been knocked loose by the impact. Under a second, Schmitt’s mind shifted from taking care of the fire to dispatching sailors to secure any crates, containers and vehicles that may have broken out of their lashings and shifted after the collision. Considering how open Amandine’s car decks were, they had to reattach everything as soon as possible, otherwise the rolling of the vessel would quickly cause vehicles to slide around and shift their center of gravity.

Hence, nothing they wished for at the moment. Such a situation could quickly spiral out of control on a Ro/Ro and cause capsizing, as it had many times in the past on other vessels. M/V Tricolor wasn’t considered an example for nothing.

“Status?” She quickly asked Scarface.

“Improving, slowly.” The gargoyle explained. “Angelo’s done with the systems scan, so we got some minotaur muscle helping along. Pair that with telekinesis…” He ignited the foci in his forearms for emphasis. “… and we’re good. Takes quite a bit of effort to put a 30-ton container back in its place, but we’re risk-free.”

“Good.” The orange dragon nodded. “The vehicles?”

“We got a Def that’s going to need some bodywork and replacement windows, maybe one of the ‘mogs too, but that’s about it, except for scratches.”

“Keep them stowed for now; we’ll repair them once we’re in port.” She told him before turning her eyes upwards, towards the bridge. 

Dilip was not going to be happy about this.

“In port ma’am? In America?!” Scarface asked warily.

“Of course not.” The orange dragon scoffed. “We’re not in any shape to cross the ocean anymore, and something tells me our ‘patrons’ are not going to be happy about this.”







“Alej’! Stability report!” The Captain loudly asked.

The two ships were no longer stuck together after they pulled Amandine’s bow out of Fugro’s stern. Neither of the two ships was looking too good at the moment, both sitting low in the water near their afflicted areas.

“No heeling angle so far.” The parrot replied as he was hunched over the ballast system’s controls. “But we’ve got some negative trim; the bow’s sitting kinda low.”

Without Dilip even needing to give the order, he got to work on patching that situation as best as he could. Amandine had never been meant to sail trimmed by the head, such a predicament had a bad habit of making the propellers jump out of the water when they pitched. Needless to say, that put some unwanted torque on the shaft and could damage the motors driving the props.

“Moving ballast further aft to correct that trim. Just need to empty tanks through four and fill on five and six.” He said out loud as he calculated the change on their loadmaster computer. “I can make us seaworthy again, but we’re not going to be fast with that kind of damage to the bow.”

“That will have to do for now.” Dilip answered before frowning in the direction of Fugro.

They had already dispatched Vadim to provide medical assistance. The griffon had been found trying to reassure a crying Andy in the kid’s cabin, the little hatchling had refused to let go of the older griffon’s chest until they brought in Rahul to console her.

Five minutes later, their Third Officer had flown over to the stricken vessel, at about the same time Doctor Delacroix did on Rhine by the looks of it.

Once more they found perks to having been transformed by the Event. Months earlier he would never have dreamed of doing a crew transfer that fast, the only bad side to having flyers in the air was that all ships had to temporarily turn off their radars. Better safe than sorry with RF radiation.

They had pulled away some three cables or so from the bright red ship. Just far enough that they wouldn’t collide again but still close enough as to keep the ship within sight. Some blinking lights visible through the fog indicated Rhine Forest was there too, holding her position at a respectable distance from the two ships. The last thing they wanted at the moment was for another ship to join the dogpile.

“All stations, this is Rhine Forest. Be advised: we have one tugboat in the water.” The VHF crackled to life with Raimund’s voice. “Please prepare emergency towing lines now. Warning: time to reversal of the tide is now thirty minutes. Tugboat callsign will be Romeo Foxtrot Alfa. Out.”

Dilip’s eyes flicked towards where he knew the barge carrier was hiding in the fog. A set of lights, dimmer, had indeed joined the barge carrier’s. The radio crackled with the voice of the tug pilot confirming he was joining the channel, before it finally went silent.

So that was it for Fugro’s situation. Now as to what they would have to do next…

The interphone rang, which he immediately picked up. A few seconds later, the features on the dog’s muzzle soured as he put down the phone.

“Who was that?” Alej’ asked.

“Schmitt. No Atlantic crossing for us today.” He clicked his tongue. “We need to fix this damage if we want to cross the open ocean.”

Alejandro raised his head at that, the feathers in his crest raised halfway up.

“The HPI guys won’t like this.”

“They won’t, but if there is anything that deserves to be called an Act of God, this is it.” He shrugged. “I’ll call them once the situation’s stable, in the meantime… any idea where we might find a place to repair?”

“No clue.” The hyacinth macaw shook his head. “I’ll hazard a guess and say we’ll need a drydock to fix this, but I have no idea where to find one this side of the British Isles.”

“Ask Roberto?”

“Ask Roberto.” Alejandro nodded.







A griffon and a hippogriff, both wearing coveralls and carrying medical satchels, were seen landing on Fugro’s helideck. Vadim addressed Camille a nod before he started looking around.

They couldn’t see the damaged stern from there, only the accommodation, the bridge, and the helideck they were standing on. It was a wide circular structure built above Fugro’s bow section and supported by thick girders. Its green-painted anti-slip surface proudly displayed the ship’s name in bold white letters above the obligatory ‘H’. Vadim could also feel the anti-skid net beneath his talons.

“Pretty nice ship don’t you think?” Camille asked him out of the blue.

“That it is.” He nodded.

The entire bow section beneath the deck had a very streamlined design, which culminated in the accommodation which rose with a swept design that further highlighted the ultramodern appearance given by the bright white paint. Above all that, the bridge was a nearly all-glass concept with all-around visibility, in which the griffon could see a female Hedgefog looking at them. Further above were the antennas, including two massive radomes on either side of the funnel.

Judging by the design, Fugro likely didn’t have a blind spot on her radar.

A door opened in the accommodation, revealing a rather short dragon wearing oversized and torn coveralls, their damaged blue fabric revealing the jet-black scales underneath. His eyes were yellow, their pupils gleaming as he strode towards them in a gait that clearly revealed he still wasn’t familiar with his new digitigrade stance: tail dragging, wings limp, and a stumble or two that made him release wafts of smoke out of his nostrils in frustration.

As he got closer, they spotted the ranks on his shoulders. The Chief Officer.

“Greetings.” Vadim immediately began before the short dragon could open his maw. “I’m Third Officer Zinoviya from Amandine and this…” He jerked his head towards Camille. “…is Medical Officer Delacroix, from nearby Rhine Forest that’s helping with the tug. We’re here to provide medical assistance if needed, and to answer the questions you probably have.”

The dragon turned his head this way and that to look at them. He opened his maw once as if to speak, closed it, and shook his head as a puff of smoke escaped his nostrils, before he finally spoke up.

“Chief Officer Quinn, I take it you know why I suddenly sprouted scales and we went from midnight to noon without notice?” The dragon asked with an Irish accent.

“Yes, but it’s not something that can be answered simply. For short: you travelled two months forward in time because the Apocalypse happened, which by sheer bad luck put you right in our path as we were making our crossing towards America.” Vadim quickly explained. “Gotta keep the details for later though, we don’t have much time before the tides turns around and pulls us back in. What’s the situation here? Can you prepare for an emergency towing?”

“No propulsion, and no steering either. Helm’s completely unresponsive…” He turned his head towards the bridge. “I think I can get a few sailors for the towing but… we were running on a skeleton crew, not many of us on board.”

“How many?” Camille prodded him.

“Twenty. Still no idea if we have any wounded, but one of you should check out with our Chief Steward. She’s also our medic. I was getting dressed for my watch in my cabin when it happened, had a word with the bridge on the interphone before I got here. We got a couple flooded rooms down below but our Chief Engineer should be working on making things stable and containing it. I had a word with him on the phone, sounded a bit weird to my ears.”

Camille and Vadim shared a look. Voices didn’t tend to change overly much after the change, except for… well, the genderswap effect was nothing new at this point, and nobody liked it at first.

“I go help their medic, you help with the navigation?” Camille quickly suggested.

“Will do.” Vadim nodded. “Your arm?”

The French hippogriff glanced down at her splinted foreleg. She still had to hop around on three limbs when on the ground, but she was slowly starting to put some weight on it. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t even use a health potion (since they didn’t have any of the healthcare variant yet) and she still recovered far sooner than a human would have.

“I can manage.” She waved off the concern. “Not many of them, and they already have a medic. Go do the towing, otherwise we might lose the whole ship.”

Vadim nodded before he opened his wings once more and took off towards the bridge. No need to ask for directions for that. As for Camille and Quinn, the black dragon led her inside, to the med bay.

Fugro’s interior matched her sleek ultramodern exterior: crisp white walls greeted them as Quinn opened the door. The flooring was made out of yellowish-brown laminate planks, polished to a smooth finish that clicked under their steps. 

“That’s a very nice ship.” Camille commented.

Contrarily to Rhine’s utilitarian style, the hallways here were decorated to improve the atmosphere: plastic plants lined the walls at regular intervals, subtly hiding colored LED lights that followed a pattern she couldn’t recognize yet brought more color to the otherwise white walls. There were also numerous framed pictures and paintings depicting old ships and company officials here and there.

“You said you were running on a skeleton crew?”

“Yes.” Quinn replied as they reached a small lift which he opened with his key. “Normally we got enough room for over a hundred people on board, but we were transiting between operation areas. No need to pay a full complement for that.”

The two of them shuffled awkwardly shuffled inside. With a press of a button, the door shut silently and they went down.

“You’re French? I mean… your accent.” The dragon idly asked.

“Not from metropolitan France. I was born on Reunion.” She replied. “Unfortunately I had to leave. Not much to do on a small island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Now… I fear I won’t ever see my home island again.” The hippogriff sighed in a soft trill.

“It’s that bad?” Quinn pressed on.

“It’s dangerous. There are actual monsters roaming the land, and very few people remain after the Event.”

“How few?”

“Divide the world population by ten thousand and you should have a pretty good estimation of what we’ll have by the end of the year. Ship crews are the biggest groups of survivors to be found, and that’s mostly because vehicles reappear along with their crew instead of people coming back on their lonesome.”

The black dragon opened his maw as if to ask one more question, but he was stopped by the lift reaching its target deck. The door slid aside with a quiet ‘ding’ to reveal Fugro’s ‘lobby’, a wide circular room with a couple tables, seats, and even a -currently unmanned- helpdesk. Several doors lined the walls, one of which Camille immediately recognized as their goal by the green cross displayed on it.

She didn’t wait for Quinn and immediately made a beeline for the med bay. The insides were somewhere between Rhine and Amandine in terms of size, in a more modern fashion: half a dozen beds along with two quarantined cabins, a room she assumed to be an operating theatre of some kind, a small office and… was that a recompression chamber? Not impossible, offshore supply vessels frequently picked up divers, so that wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities.

Of course there was also the smell. A sharp blend of chemicals and disinfectant hit her nostrils the moment she stepped inside. Nothing she wasn’t already accustomed with though.

She couldn’t see any patient in the sick bay, though there were voices coming from the Doctor’s office. Loud voices.

“What do you mean ‘I can’t do anything for you’?!” One angry voice practically squawked.

“Calm down Floyd!” A feminine voice replied, its Irish accent palpable. It was calmer, if only a bit, the discussion was pretty heated. “Of course I can fix your arm… leg… whatever.”

“And the rest?!”

“I’m a Doctor not a witch!”

Camille threw Quinn a side glance before she knocked on the door. Hard. The discussion stopped instantly.

“Who’s there?” The Doctor asked.

“It’s me Lilian.” Quinn said. “I got a visitor.”

The door was abruptly pulled open and, tall as she was for a hippogriff, Camille found herself craning her neck up to stare at a female dragon. Certainly taller than Quinn, but not nearly as much as Artyom or Schmitt.

These two were already rather old when they transformed, meaning that even though dragons aged far slower than humans, they still wound up in their mid-to-late teens. The Doctor though, she fell in the early teens bracket as far dragons went, pretty much like some of the younger ratings that had turned into dragons on Rhine.

The curves of her muzzle certainly didn’t have the… predatory look seen on older dragons. Instead, she sported a more juvenile appearance, as if dragons had baby fat too. She hadn’t ‘filled up’ either. Not yet at least: contrarily to Schmitt, she didn’t have the curved hips, or even the fully-grown tail that subtly forced female dragons to lean forward and bend their lower back.

Her scales were a mate shade of pink that contrasted heavily with the torn blue coveralls she had on her shoulders. Unlike other dragons, she didn’t have any spikes or horns, instead, fins and frills the likes of which the hippogriff would have pictured on Asian dragons adorned her head and back, all of them a slightly darker shade of pink.

Lilian turned her purple eyes downwards to stare at the Camille. For a second, she was tempted to question the presence of the orange and blue hippogriff with a splint in front of her, but then she spotted the medical satchel it was wearing.

“Hello?” Lilian tilted her head in confusion.

“Hi!” Camille greeted the other Doc. “The name’s Doc Delacroix, buy you can call me Camille. I just flew in from my own ship to offer assistance. I think I’m a bit more familiar with the kind of species you and your crew turned into. Do you have any casualties on board?”

“Yeah there’s me!” A griffon piped in from the back.

He was trying to sit in one of the office’s chairs. Human style that is, which explained his unease. The kestrel/lion griffon -a thin one by his species’ standards- was uncomfortably squirming as he held a blood-soaked rag to one of his forearms.

Camille quirked her head at him.

“Morgan Floyd.” He presented himself after a few seconds. “Welder. Cut myself with those dumb talons. Can you do something about-“

“I can’t turn you back into a human, no.” She cut him off. “Even if I could –and I’ll echo your shipmate on that: I’m a Doctor, not a witch-, you definitely shouldn’t try to turn back into a human.”

“Why?!” The griffon squawked, a question that was quickly echoed by both Lillian and Quinn.

“Deadly radiation basically. Think of it like a solar storm that caused those mutations. Those new bodies can withstand it, but humans… it ain’t pretty, that much I can tell.”

She had seen some of the pictures the guys from Amandine had taken at the HPI facility in France. Floyd seemed like he was about to say something to complain but she beat him to the bush.

“If you’re just going to complain, quit it. There are cases far worse than yours. You could have lost all your digits, been turned into a kid, or even have your genitals swapped around, or all three at the same time. Don’t. Complain.” She stated.

“Genitals?” Quinn balked. “Wait… are you a dude?!”

Camille sighed. This was going to take a while.







Meanwhile Vadim had gone ahead to stabilize the situation. He had a brief meeting with the bridge personnel to tell them they need to get a team on deck stat for the towing.

The bridge team… well, at least the meeting established people in the British Isles could turn into Hedgefogs. Both their Third Officer and the Captain –an old Scot called Skinner- had turned into that particular species, with the former having the unfortunate privilege of turning into a rather petite female of the species.

Either that didn’t bother her or she filed it away for later because she didn’t lose her cool. There weren’t really any wrongdoings in both parties involved in the collision anyway, nothing they could have done would have prevented it; so even though she had been at the helm at the time of the accident, no grudges were held.

Speaking of helm…

Fugro didn’t really partake in the traditional practice of having a standing bridge with several stations. No, far from it. Instead, two seats mounted on rails occupied the center of the bridge, both of them nestled in the center of a myriad of control consoles that made the whole thing look like it had been ripped straight out of science-fiction.

No chart table. No separate radio console. Just one seat for the Captain, and another one for the OOW to manage everything related to navigation. They even had a second pair of seats facing backwards that could look at the deck, just for docking maneuvers, and to control the deck cranes from a distance.

And here Vadim thought Amandine was pretty high-tech…

Outside, a small team of whatever ratings they could find at the time had been assembled to do the emergency towing procedure. From the safety of the bridge, Vadim watched a gargoyle he assumed to be the bosun order a trio of ratings around. They were all still reeling from the change, but it was either push through or get pulled back in the Firth and risk sinking.

“Fugro Symphony, this is Amandine. Over.” Vadim heard Dilip speak up over the VHF.

“Fugro here.” Captain Skinner replied. “What’s the situation? Over.”

“We have located a safe haven for docking and repairs. Please verify if Belfast. I repeat: Belfast is a suitable location. Over.”

“Belfast?” Vadim tilted his head, looking off towards Amandine.

“I think your Captain wants to use the Harland and Wolff yards. That might do the trick.” Skinner guessed. “Green! Bring up the ECDIS and give me a quick estimation on the distance.” He ordered the female Hedgefog in the seat next to him.

“Three hundred and eighty miles to Belfast. At towing speed that’s… two days, give or take.” She replied after a minute.

Skinner fired off a quick confirmation on the VHF before Rhine’s tug finally came into range and it was time to start the towing process.

Once more they found perks to being nonhuman, as the presence of sphinxes and unicorns on the tug allowed them to quickly get the thick towing line from one ship to the other. In a matter of minutes, the sailors on deck tied the end of the tow line – with a bit of chain to avoid chafing damage- to a windlass, added a few ropes to secure the entire thing, and then the tugboat was finally free to start pulling.

Slowly that is. The tugs were still fairly small, and even though Fugro was smaller than Rhine or Amandine, she was no small ship at a gross tonnage of 11.500.







They waited until they were at a safe distance from the Pentland Firth before gathering the crew for some long overdue explanations. Sailors emerged from all over the ship, some covered in soot and oil from the engine room, others still in shock from the transformation, but Skinner gathered them all in a meeting room near the lobby.

By that point they were pretty familiar with the species people could turn into.  Parrots, ponies, dragons… nothing new really, though this was the first time Camille got to see a reindeer in the flesh.

A bit underwhelming really, reindeer were basically a winterized version of unicorns with thicker fur and antlers instead of a horn. At least in the looks department. She had yet to see one take to the air like they were supposed to.

There were other… interesting cases as well.

The first female Diamond Dog for one, which showed that females among the canines were indeed bigger than the males. It was one of their engine ratings, a Punjabi that was now stuck with the, ahem, voluptuous appearance of a statuesque border collie. She was right next to another Diamond Dog, this one a male German shepherd that had been rejuvenated a bit too much by the transformation to the point where he looked about pre-teen aged. A puppy.

Then there were two female Abyssinians, one an adult, one a kid that looked like she really wasn’t having a good time.

Finally, the last notable transformation in that merry band of sailors was a female minotaur with shaggy ginger fur not unlike Highland cattle. Much like Nikolaos at first on Rhine, she looked thoroughly pissed off by her predicament, clad in clothing that barely fit her enlarged and womanized frame. Quinn quickly presented her as Glenn, their Assistant Cook.

Camille quickly joined Vadim in front of the assembled audience, and together they spouted the usual explanation on the Event, what had happened and how bad the situation was. To say that elicited a clamor of outrage would have been the understatement of the day, but there was nothing they could do besides giving them the introductory briefing on how to live out the fur-pocalypse.

Obviously nobody would be pleased at the prospect of not getting to see their loved ones ever again.

Soon enough though, the briefing was over and the sailors dispersed once again. To tend to the ship, get acquainted with their new forms, to make some proper clothes (nearly all of them wore ripped or torn coveralls)… They would need training, but that could wait until they hit Belfast.

“Normally we should switch out tugs in a couple hours to let them refuel.” Quinn crossed his arms once everybody was gone except for him, Vadim and Camille.

“Yeah, they’re tugs, range is pretty limited.” Vadim shrugged with his wings. “Keep a few ratings on hand to switch the tow line but…”

“Smooth sailing until Ireland.” Quinn completed.

Vadim nodded.

“We’ll be seeing you.” The Ukrainian griffon said before leaving the room.

The muscles in his wings were already twitching at the prospect of taking to the air, back to Amandine.







Like it or not, but griffons were meant for the air. There was this feeling of fulfillment each time he opened his wings to let their magic lift him up.

Fugro’s helideck shrank as the winds carried him towards Amandine. Off in the distance, he could see Camille’s own form before she disappeared in the fog, heading straight back to Rhine. At least the Doctor was completely unhindered by her broken arm when she was in the air.

Vadim himself couldn’t help letting out a happy squawk as he beat his wings. After weeks spent stuck on the ground or just gliding, the sheer freedom of flight felt like a lead blanket had been lifted off his back.

Micha and Andy were waiting for him on the main deck when he landed, his steel-toed boots hitting the ground with a resounding ‘thump’. As soon as he hit the deck, the kid griffon was on him, pouncing to wrap him in a tight hug.

“Hey there Kotka.” He said in Polish, gently stroking Andy’s feathers with his talons. “Missed me, have you?”

“The impact scared her shitless you know. Rahul took care of her while we were busy.” Micha told him, joining the two and wrapping a wing over Vadim’s back.

“So did I miss anything?”

“Plenty of work for all.” She clicked her beak. “The entire engineering department is running around trying to fix the small damage, and we get to steer the ship towards Belfast. Not too surprising, but we’re going at a slow pace so Fugro keeps up.”

“The passage planning?”

“Done already. Geert and Alej’ did it. We just need to do the sailing from now on. By the way, how were things on Fugro?” She inquired.

“It’s a pretty nice ship, I’ll give them that. Very modern, but then again that’s the case for any purpose-built offshore vessel-“

“No I meant, crew-wise.” Micha interrupted.

“Oh, the usual.” He shrugged. “Plenty of genderswaps, a couple kidified crewmembers. First female Diamond Dog I saw though, which is nice I guess? And, they don’t have hippogriffs.” 

“Really? I thought usually Filipinos turned either into a parrot or a hippogriff.”

“They don’t have any on board. A couple Portuguese and Serbians, Indians too, but the rest is mostly Brit or Irish.”

“Offshore protectionism?”

“Offshore protectionism.” Vadim nodded before lifting Andy onto his back. “Now I don’t want to sound needy, but I missed lunch with all this shit. Is Rahul cooking anything? ‘cause I’m starving.”

“He is.” She confirmed, already starting to walk back towards the accommodation.

Vadim let her walk in front, happy with just looking at the way the hen’s rump swayed when she moved her paws, the generous curves barely masked by her coveralls. He felt his own member stir at the thought of what was hidden beneath Micha’s leonine tail before shaking his head vigorously.

Later. Right now he had Andy on his back.

“Jadło!” The hatchling squawked.

“Damn right kiddo, food.” Vadim nodded, a small smile creasing his beak.

A few weeks ago he’d have been weirded out at the idea of finding a mythical creature irresistible, particularly considering his former girlfriend was still vivid in his memory at the time. But now? Blame the griffons’ pair bonding mechanism, but he was damn near addicted to Micha, from the sound of her voice, to her smell, to her looks.

As they say: the mind is a slave of the body. In fact he didn’t have any attraction for humans anymore. He had checked: not a single reaction at the sight of even the best looking women anymore. Weirder even was that with the pair bonding, he wasn’t even particularly interested in creatures that were technically compatible. He only had eyes for Micha who in turn –he had asked- could only feel attraction for him.

Be it pheromones or magic, chances were griffons were unable to commit adultery.

Regardless, he should count himself lucky as far as survivors went. A safe and comfortable shelter in the form of Amandine, the ability to fly, a mate and family. 

Nothing worth complaining about.







The route to Belfast was rather simple to chart.

The western parts of Scotland were sheltered from the Atlantic by a long archipelago called the Hebrides. All these islands were some dozen miles or so away from the mainland which left a rather safe channel (compared to the North Atlantic) in the middle for ships to pass through on the way south, between the Outer Hebrides and the Inner Hebrides. That strait was called the Minch.

The three ships thus headed that way to avoid rough seas and minimize their exposure to the open ocean. Fugro led the way, pulled at a slow pace by a lone tug courtesy of Rhine Forest.

The Minch turned out to be smooth sailing. The fog finally cleared up, leaving them with an overcast sky and good visibility that let them see all the grass-covered islands of the archipelago, some of the green color marred by blotches of white. Herds of cattle left abandoned, now grazing merrily on the islands next to the hardy stone houses that used to shelter their owners. The Hebrides were that kind of area left behind by industrial development, the one where cattle outnumbered people and most inhabitants were old folks that still only spoke Gaelic.

Dolphins started flicking around their ships in the strait, their mood far better than that of the engineering departments on both Amandine and Fugro. Schmitt was pacing around in her office, the smell of smoke and burned rubber still strong on her scales that were now dulled by a thin layer of soot thanks to the smoke. Her tail was subconsciously lashing behind her in frustration.

She turned on her heels to face Radiant and Angelo.

“Alright… from the start: what’s in need of a fix, from high to low priority.” She asked.

“Hull damage and the bow thruster come first.” Radiant read out, a clipboard held in his wing’s primaries. “The structure ahead of the collision bulkhead will need to be inspected if we want to know the full extent of the warping damage.”

“And?”

“The transducer on the echosounder is out too. Must have been hit by the impact, it’s in the right area.” Angelo added. “Nothing I can do for that while underway, so we’ll need to dispatch our sounding dinghy to get into port.”

“Does the bridge know?”

“I had a word with Alejandro.” Angelo nodded.

“Good.” The female dragon crossed her arms, tail going still for a second. “What about the quick fixes?”

“Even though he’s still on light duty Carlos volunteered to help. We got plenty of damaged electrical components all over, mostly sensors and a couple fuse boxes in the lower deck, forward section.”

“Can he manage? You know, with his arm…”

“Danny’s with him, working as an extra pair of hands.”

“Keep it that way then. How’s the piping?”

“In the green for now. No alarms to indicate any leak.”

“For now.” Schmitt furrowed her brows. “Dispatch John, I want a plumbing check from spans one to thirty. Anything else?”

“Couple vehicles damaged, nothing we can’t fix. Scarface said you told him to wait ‘til Belfast.”

And boy did the Bulgarian bitch and moan at the prospect of fixing some of the vehicles he had just modified and repaired. Bitching and moaning being something a lot of the engineering guys were doing at the moment.

The crossing to America should have been simple, without much work to be done. They would just have worked on building the full-size version of the oil cleaning machine –because the prototype turned out to be successful- and kept the systems running with the usual maintenance.

But now they were free to look forward to several weeks of repair work and dry-docking. Fan-fucking-tastic.







“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU radio. Lots to talk about today, so get yourself a seat and a drink, because today’s rather important.” Sandra spoke up in her mic, idly glancing at her notes. “I have a surprise for you later in this emission, but let’s start off with the usual advice you’re probably expecting.

Today will be about the vehicle clause. ‘But DJ, what’s the vehicle clause?’ some of you might be asking. Well, here’s one for those who reappeared as pedestrians: if a vehicle is manned, it will be whisked along with its pilot, and it will reappear at the same time.

The hazard in this, is that if said vehicle is in motion, like, a car on the highway, it will reappear in motion. So be careful when crossing the road, because nowadays cars will actually appear out of nowhere, and if the driver suddenly loses his or her hands, there will be no avoiding you. And don’t get me started on planes, the flyboys… they’re proper fucked.

That goes for any vehicle too: ships, planes, trains, in fact even the more ambiguous stuff can be taken along. Here we’ve spotted a couple offshore platforms that disappeared, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me camping cars and caravans were included as well. Or even a space station. Makes me wonder how the ISS is doing…

Now I realize they can be a boon, but you lot should really be careful with reappearing vehicles ‘cause this can turn to shit real quick. You could go from gaining a dozen survivors for your colony to becoming the next maritime catastrophe.

If you can, try to track down where vehicles were at the time of the Event. Trains ought to be easy. Ships... not so much, but at least you should be able to get a list of what ships were in port at the nearest harbormaster’s office if you can access it. 

Roads now… any consultant in risk management would tell you to avoid the main roads and highways. The less used they are, the less risks you expose yourself to.

Of course, less risk doesn’t necessarily mean risk free; believe me that’s something we learned the hard way over here…” She trailed off somberly.

“So that’s it for the vehicle rule… as far as we know. If you have any specific advice, feel free to mail me at the usual satcom address and we can share what info we got on the topic. Remember: I work alongside plenty of sailors and engineers, so any technical knowledge they have, they will gladly share with you all.

On that note do tune in next week for our podcast on diesel generators and how to use them. Not all of us have the luxury of using solar and wind power, so we need to make do with some good old fermented dinosaur juice.”

Sandra paused to check her notes. Right, time to bring up the good news now.

“Now I’m glad to tell you, I have our first invitee on the line. That didn’t take long to happen, so please dear listeners, welcome Miss Naomi on this show.” The purple batpony said, quickly using one wing to flick a switch on her station.

There was a small crackle, before a light lit up indicating her guest was on the line. Satellite comms really were a miracle at times…

“Hello Naomi, how are you doing today?” She quickly asked.

“Oh this thing is on now?” A feminine voice replied with the smallest hint of static in the connection. “Hi San- sorry, I meant Hi DJ!”

“So Naomi, care to present yourself to the audience? I’m sure many isolated survivors would love to hear about someone new.”

“Of course. So yeah, I’m called Naomi, and I am… was a veterinarian before it all went to shit. Now I’ve been turned into a sphinx, which I suppose is rather cool with the wings and magic.”

“And the long life.”

“Right, I tend to forget that. For those not in the know, sphinxes are like dragons when it comes to growing up and aging: apparently we can live for more than a thousand years if we’re careful, and just like the fire lizards, we grow up all the time.”

“So what size are you now?”

“Still smaller than a lion, I compared.”

“You… compared? I’m sorry I don’t get it.” Sandra’s confusion was visible in her tone. “You measured yourself?”

“I meant I compared to an actual lion. I guess I didn’t say that outright, but I’m not in Europe or America. I was volunteering at the Serengeti National Park when the Event struck.”

“In Africa?! Damn girl, you sure do like adventuring.”

“Tanzania to be exact. I don’t really mind the heat, I was born in Texas.” Naomi chuckled. “But yeah, lions don’t seem to mind sphinxes. In fact I’m pretty sure these guys believe I’m actually a lion like them. You ever watched the Lion King? That’s basically my new crib.”

“You’re living with lions?! That’s insane!” Sandra cried out.

There was a growling in the background, accompanied by the sound of two large objects moving about.

“Back off Kimba! I’m not hunting today!” Naomi yelled. “Sorry DJ, just a horny male that can’t catch a hint.”

“Can’t you… I don’t know, live the regular way? I’m pretty sure you could manage by sticking to civilization.”

“I could, but I think I’m on to something.” Naomi answered. “These lions are a lot more clever than they should be, and I’ve been taking care of them –as a human- for a while. Plus it’s not completely wild, believe it or not I modified the den to make it more civilized.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my Hilux is fucked but the engine works well enough to turn a shaft and run an alternator. I got electricity, satellite comms I pilfered from the park’s facilities –they’re an hour’s walk away anyway-, I’m even starting to pump water from an aquifer. No more need for a watering hole.”

“And the lions?”

“I will educate them.” Naomi said. “They’re great for safety, better than staying alone. Plus it only took me a week to teach them not to touch my stuff and to go relieve themselves in a designated spot. Trying to teach them to let me cut my meat to cook it now…”

“So they do learn.”

“Exactly! In fact… all animals are behaving like they’re a lot more clever than they should recently.”

There was a pause before Naomi let out a disgusted yell.

“For fuck’s sake Kimba! Go hunt with the others but don’t sit on my goddamned tail!” She growled. “Christ, I swear this guy only thinks with his dick.”

“Don’t they all?” Sandra laughed.

“Regardless of the species apparently.” Naomi sniffed. “I’ll teach the big brute one day. But yeah, to sum this all up my situation is as such: returned vet in Kenya living out of a refitted pride’s den in the middle of a reserve. I must say the novelty of living as a sphinx among lions… that wears off quickly.”

“Whelp, there it is. Good luck with teaching the lions Naomi, I hope we will be talking in the future?”

“Sure! Just gotta spare the time to find a couple solar cells and I should have a reliable power source. I should have something on animal behavior in the future. Goodbye DJ.”

There was a click on the line when the sphinx disconnected, and Sandra allowed a smile to grace her features.

“That was Miss Naomi the Texan sphinx living in Tanzania.” She rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Gee, talk about a mouthful. Well folks, that will be it for today. Up next, we’re staying in theme with Africa from Toto.”
> Chapter 47: A Mage's Secret
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Brittany, two ponies were slowly starting to get settled. They had already used the translation scroll left behind by Starswirl, which soon came handy –er, hoofy- as they realized very few texts or signs around the area were in Equestrian.

Or English rather. Most things were either written in French, or the local dialect, Breton, which neither Rockhoof nor Meadowbrook could understand.

Their first day on Earth was spent looking for shelter. A safe haven from where they could keep an eye on the Golden Tree, yet far enough outside of the forest that they wouldn’t have to fear its mysteries. The two Earth Ponies weren’t dumb: it was clear as day that Broceliande might actually be as dangerous as the Everfree, if not more.

South of the Golden Tree, on the edge of the forest, they eventually found a place both deemed suitable. Trecesson Castle, an old stout castle with thick rosy schist walls that probably dated back to the Norman era.

The large medieval structure resided in the centre of a moat, its quiet crystalline waters showing a near-perfect reflection of the castle. Rockhoof only needed a quick look at the imposing gatehouse before deciding this would be their new home. The old structure… it reminded the two ponies of a time where they actually belonged, before the Stygian… thing sealed them away to later catapult them into a future they never should have been part of.

The castle itself provided excellent protection against any would-be aggressors with its moat; it had a well in the center of its courtyard for fresh water, large stores they could fill to endure the coming winters… and the lord’s chambers that made for a nest the old couple was all too happy to put to use.

Except for the enchanted forest some ways to the North, the countryside extended in all directions as the typical French bocage:  fields and meadows separated by tall thorny hedges and levies, with many tree groves interspersed in between. Some of those fields were also connected by thin dirt roads to the castle’s outbuildings: a farmstead, equipped with both modern equipment Rockhoof was completely clueless about and all the traditional tools an Earth Pony like him should need to draw life from the land. There even was an old millstone to process grain into flour, though apparently that one had been put there for the sake of historic farming to entertain tourists.

There even was a small herbs garden next to the barn, one which Meadow appeared eager to take care of so she could start making her potions.

“I’m really starting to think we can make this work.” Rock smiled softly as he watched Meadow lead the few geese and chickens that had survived the foxes back to their coop.

“You know, I thought humans were supposed to be ahead of us in technology.” Meadow said, latching the gate behind the last chicken.

Now to try and gather the other animals… she’d have to ask Rock. The local cows weren’t sapient, unlike in Equestria, so he’d have to herd them back to the stable.

“Well they are. You saw it inside the castle: they installed electricity at some point, and they have better farming tools than us.” Rock pointed out.

While the mare was busy with the chickens, he had brought every tool he could find out of the barn for a quick inspection. Many were in dire need of maintenance, but nothing he couldn’t fix in an afternoon’s worth of elbow grease.

He may be unable to use the tractor or advanced machines, but all the forged tools and ancient stuff that had been put there for historic farming; that was something he could use. Including the ox-drawn plow once he managed to refit it to his own frame.

“Are we going to use it? The electricity that is…” Meadow said.

“Do we need to? I mean dear…” He trotted over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “You and I know how to live without that, and it’s not like there’s anypony here to judge us for being ‘too old-school’ either.”

“Roughing it out now?” She nuzzled the underside of his muzzle. “I can get behind that. You, me, the Golden Tree and the castle.”

Fixing up the farm and the castle didn’t take too long. The building was made to last, what little time it had stayed unoccupied wasn’t nearly enough to cause lasting damage. All they had to do really was to clean up the dust and cobwebs, then remove all the spoiled food from the kitchens. With their typical Earth Pony vigor helping along -even at their age- the two of them managed to at least make the castle livable by nightfall.

As for the fields, Rock would see them plowed and sowed proper as soon as he could manage.

In the waning light, Meadow got to work in the kitchens with Rock’s (minimal) help. She grabbed a large copper pot which she hung over the open fire in the chimney; before filling it up with some food they had salvaged for a quick -but filling- stew.

She had to admit, the castle’s kitchens were rather pretty. Spacious, they had white and red checkered tiles covering the floor around an island in the center, currently covered in utensils and a pitcher of wine the two of them were sharing. The open fire of the chimney was the only source of light inside, casting a reddish glow that reflected off of the many copper pots and pans hanging from the thick oaken rafters crisscrossing above them.

They were together; sitting on their haunches with Meadow comfortably nestled between Rock’s immense forehooves, his chin resting on top of her head as they watched their food cook above the simmering embers.

Dim rays of sunset streamed in from the open door and windows Meadow had opened to let in some much-needed fresh air. They could look out into the courtyard in the center of the castle if they wanted, with its gravel path surrounding a lawn with an old gnarly apple tree and the well in the center. 

“Have you checked our new chambers yet?” Meadow asked.

“I was working in the barn all day…”

“Hmm, ever the strong stallion, are you?” She leaned back in his embrace, watching the sunset through the closed portcullis of the gatehouse further down the courtyard.  “I already made our bed. Hope you like tapestries and carpets.”

“Sounds real comfy…” He rumbled.

“Oh, it’s like all castles…” She smiled coyly. “They get rather cold in winters... but we got a four-poster bed and plenty of bed sheets to fool around in.”

“Hmm…” Rock smiled, running one hoof over her back. “That’s the problem with cold winters… you huddle against the cold, then you can’t tend the crops so you get bored… And it all goes naughty from there..” He breathed over her neck. “I read that little message Starswirl left you.”

“Ah...” She blushed. “I… I do know of a potion that could help me be… ripe, if you catch my drift. But only if…”

“If I want to?” He completed her sentence. “Dearest, why wouldn’t I want that?”

“We still have to watch over the tree you know…”

From the castle, the lights of Broceliande were just starting to become visible in the fading sunlight.

“We can do both you know. Give the tree frequent checks; be on the lookout for anything that might threaten it… but that doesn’t stop us from living. This tree will mature, and it will be one of the most beautiful things to grace this land. And then…”

“…And then you will teach the next generation of heroes.”  An otherworldly voice finished his sentence.

Both ponies snapped their heads towards where the voice had just come from. In the center of the courtyard, next to the well, a white silhouette had just appeared, casting a faint white glow on the lawn around it. It was the same silhouette Star Swirl had met in the forest a few days prior: that of a human wizard, with the cloak, pointy hat, staff and the long beard that made him so similar to their unicorn friend.

“I’m sorry but… I don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet.” Meadow stood up carefully before walking out into the courtyard.

“As a matter of fact we have, Miss Meadowbrook.” There was a twinkle in the ghost’s eyes as he calmly stroked his ethereal beard.

The eyes were unnerving, like a pair of fireflies receded in his eye cavities.

“That’s about Star right?” Rockhoof quirked his head.

“Quite. Your friend and I are actually two sides of the same coin, though his fate seems to have been more fortunate than mine… if only slightly” He chuckled ruefully. “One mage’s soul, split in two halves that up until yesterday had been kept separate. I must say… meeting yourself really does wonders to a ghost’s health, particularly considering he freed me.”

“Hold on. Free? Split soul?” Meadow raised a hoof to halt him.

“Ah yes… you see, this world and yours, they’re bonded. Things that happen on one world tend to be reflected in the other in some way, and vice-versa. Hence the myths, languages and even city names. It’s… esoteric, to put it mildly.” He explained, fingers twisting a lock of hair in his beard. “In our case, the reflection is rather intricate. I recall one young colt and a teenage mage, both delving at the same time into magics they shouldn’t have. We merged souls that day, for a lack of a better word. We each accidentally dumped our soul in the inter-world divide, connecting them to a point where I, Merlin the Enchanter, and he, Star Swirl the Bearded, became one and the same person. That’s why we both always were so strong in magic see, two gifted mages combining their powers and reaching new heights.”

Star-Merlin paused to adjust his grip on his staff.

“It was confusing at first. All our emotions, our memories and experiences, our very being, they became one. Regardless… soul magic is a forbidden form of demonic power. We couldn’t tell anyone, ever, about that little mistake we did in our youth.”

“So why was Star –sorry, why were you- so shocked yesterday? If you’re one and the same… you should have known about it.” Meadow questioned.

“That might have to do with the freeing part… for which I’m afraid I can only blame myself.” Star-Merlin shook his head. “I… made a terrible mistake that warranted Morgane sealing me inside the tomb you came across yesterday. That seal, incidentally, happened at the exact same time your own band of intrepid heroes was sealed alongside Stygian. My half of the soul remained trapped, and with it my half of our knowledge and memories, as well as my powers. I can only thank this magical cataclysm for giving me enough power to loosen the bonds on my soul.”

“The tomb… doesn’t it mean you’re dead?”

“I am… unfortunately. The seal wasn’t meant to keep me alive, but Morgane knew I could eschew my corporeal bonds, so the Fay trapped my soul there as well. My remains are probably under there still. Either way, once I ‘loosened’ my bonds I managed to feel my equine half’s presence so I drew him to the tomb to finish the job and…” He held out his arms, before in a flash his silhouette turned into that of a ghostly Star Swirl. “Here I am, fully whole once more, with the full knowledge of both Star Swirl the Bearded and Merlin the Enchanter.”

“One person. Two bodies. Got it.” Rockhoof gave a curt nod, a frown on his muzzle as he tried to wrap his mind around the concept. “So if I’m talking to you I’m talking to Star as well?”

“Currently talking to Luna in Canterlot’s Royal Library.” The ghostly Star Swirl smiled. “She has no idea what I’m actually doing on Earth.”

“Uh… neat.” Meadow commented bemusedly. “Are you going to become a ghost on Equus as well, eventually?”

“What can I say?” Star-Merlin shrugged. “Death is a highly overrated concept… for mages anyway. Plus the whole alicorn jig never appealed to me once I looked into it, the spell can’t make alicorn stallions, so I think I’ll pass.”

Meadow rolled her eyes.

“And there’s the Star we all know.” She drawled. “Still… it’s nice to know we have a link with Equestria from here. I suppose we will be seeing you in the future?”

“That you will.” The ghostly unicorn mage nodded. “I’ll make sure to tell you all I know about Broceliande. This place holds a lot of secrets you may need to keep tabs on in addition to the Golden Tree. And I will have to tell you about the Fay and human magic later…” His head turned towards the portcullis. “For now, it appears you two have a visitor.”

And with that, their ghost friend disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving the two ponies rubbing their eyes at the sudden disappearance of the ethereal source of light. A minute later, they heard the crackling of gravel being walked on near the gatehouse.

“Hello? Is anyone there? I saw smoke…” A young voice asked in French.

Rockhoof spotted a shape walking on the bridge that passed over the moat. It was a deer, an Everfree Deer, of the same species as King Aspen’s folk from deep in the Everfree (hence the name).

An adult of that species would have been in about the same weight class as a regular Earth Pony –without the magically boosted strength though-. Deer were always attuned to nature –to the point where just about any deer could outrun even the Everfree Rangers-, and their natural capabilities made them as adept alchemists as Zebricans.

But this wasn’t an adult. It was a fawn, so young his horns hadn’t even grown yet. He was about as big as a filly, with thin limbs and a narrow barrel. His fur coat was ginger red on his back, with a white belly and little white spots all over his back.

Obviously the fawn wasn’t doing too well. He was limping, had mud stains up to his belly, and the small Spiderman T-shirt he wore might as well have been a rag at this point. He was also thin, too thin.

Rock and Meadow galloped to the portcullis as fast as they could. The fawn lifted his green eyes up to gape at them, trembling on his frail limbs.

“Je m’appelle Martin. J’ai faim.”

And then he collapsed.







At about the same time, somewhere off the shore between Scotland and Ireland, the fleet was moving along. Slowly however, thanks to the two damaged ships they had to account for. Nevertheless, Captain Gerig had found a way to put that enforced slowness to use.

The thing with the barge carrier was, she couldn’t deploy her auxiliaries while underway. The large vessel needed to stop if she wanted to put them to water, something that would normally impede fleet movements.

Not then though. Not exactly. The black-hulled vessel had pushed her engines a little bit harder just so she could speed ahead of the other ships and drop her auxiliaries while the fleet was catching up.

For what it was worth, they might as well train their barge pilots with the new additions to the fleet.

The patrol boats were the first to go, their engines revving up with a loud roar before each of them sped away at an impressive 50 knots (and they could go even faster) to start making rounds around the fleet. They only carried ammunition for their .50cals at the time, but Amadi clearly gave them the order to pay attention to their sonars. If only so they could learn how to make the difference between a whale’s acoustic signature and that of their own ships.

Speaking of which, they crossed path with a couple pods off in the distance, though the humongous sea mammals stayed well clear of the damaged vessels. They probably didn’t like the noise of the propellers, instead electing to observe from a distance and splash the patrol boats whenever they surfaced.

Rhine also spared the time to unload two of her trawlers, as a field-test to see whether they could supplement their food stores with fresh fish…

Turns out, being able to sail with a cargo vessel doesn’t mean you’re actually any good at fishing, and fly-fishing in the summer doesn’t prepare you for actual trawling.

“That’s all?!” Amadi cried out incredulously as the centaur watched his subordinates haul in the day’s catch.

Namely, two small crates of mackerel, because one of the trawlers had been lucky enough to stumble upon a small school while the nets were down. The other… they pulled up rocks.

At least they collected the mussels from the rocks to save face.

“I’m sorry sir.” Theodoros the sphinx apologized, his wings fluffed up in embarrassment. “I mean… tugs I can sail around in just fine but it’s a lot harder than you’d think to actually find the fish.”

Amadi pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. The centaur crossed his arms and glared at the two fish crates for a moment before finally shaking his head.

“Fine. Let’s call it a day with the fishing for now. Who was steering the other trawler?”

“Rickie sir.” The sphinx pointed to where a harlequin macaw with a Filipino flag patch on his shoulder was inspecting the underside of his trawler with his crew.

“Alright. Get someone to haul that fish to the galley. It’s not much, but at least we’ll be eating fresh tonight…”

“Centaurs can eat fish?” The sphinx asked reflexively.

“Ponies can at least, so I don’t see why I couldn’t. Anyway, once the fish is secure, I want you to prepare a report on possible improvements to our method. See what we can do to get more fish.”

“Aye sir.” Ted nodded. “And… there’s something else.”

Amadi’s gaze tracked two of their cadets –both had been helping on the trawlers- as they departed back towards the accommodation. With a gesture of his chin, he motioned for the sphinx to ask away.

“The report shouldn’t take long, but I wanted to know if I could fly over to the tug that’s towing Fugro.”

The centaur turned his head back down to look at the sphinx.

“Well, as long as you can fly over by yourself, there shouldn’t be any trouble, but it’s up to the guys on the bridge…” He jabbed a thumb towards the front of the vessel. “… to approve the flight plan.”

“Radar exposure, I know.” The sphinx nodded, his black mane swishing at the motion.

There was a tense pause.

“Your sister is currently sailing the tug.” Amadi mentioned, noting out of the corner of his eye how the sphinx flinched at the word ‘sister’.

“Family matters, sir.” Ted’s tail lay still, the feathers in his wings bristled. “I… do you have siblings?”

“Five of them.” The Liberian snorted. “Haven’t seen them in… six years? Seven? Can’t remember, but they never left Monrovia unlike me.”

“Not much of a family guy?”

“Meh.” Amadi waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Family doesn’t always work out, and frankly I never looked back once I left the country.”

“Your call. In my case… look, I’m lucky enough to still have family after the Event, and so far I’ve been kinda bad to her.”

“No shit, everyone noticed.” He chuckled, the laugh earning him a glare from the sphinx. 

“May I go, sir?”

“Shoo.” Amadi waved him off, already turning around to go inspect the gantry crane.







Inside Rhine’s accommodation, all six Cadets had gathered inside Frederik’s cabin after a day’s work. The hippogriff had managed to squeeze a table inside his already cramped cabin, just so he’d have enough room for what they usually did in their spare time.

Typically they’d have done it in the –notably roomier- rec room, but the rest of the crew had politely but firmly suggested they do it in their cabin. It being playing Dungeons and Dragons.

Frederik was keenly reminded of exactly how small his cabin was now that all six were gathered inside. Two of them being become centaurs certainly didn’t help, as the two rather large quadrupeds found themselves squeezed side by side near the door while the rest of them had to bump elbows around the table.

“You sure we couldn’t find a better place?” Seb complained, the unicorn mare having finally agreed to socialize a bit.

Carla’s prodding certainly helped with that, particularly now that she couldn’t pull her now-healed wounds as an excuse. Thus, she found herself stuck between her boy (formerly girl-)friend and Frederik, both male hippogriff much taller than she was.

“No place where we wouldn’t have been bothered.” Fred barely glanced up from his notes. “Yo Asha, can you just turn up the A/C a notch? This cabin is a oven with us all.”

“Gonna need to make a pause for refreshments with that heat.” The centaur next to Asha, Felix, commented.

“Got that covered.” Frederik replied almost immediately with a proud smile on his beak. “The mall from the other day? Snagged a minifridge.”

“Really?”

Fred’s answer was to rummage behind him with his talons before tossing Felix an ice-cold can of Mountain Dew.

“That to your liking? I got snacks in my drawers too.”

“Damn man.” Felix took a sip of his soda. “Shoulda told us you know, I barely snatched anything but clothes while we were there.”

“Hey, for all it’s worth I’m gonna make the best out of the apocalypse if I can help it.” Fred tried to shrug with his wings, only for them to be blocked by Seb and the wall on either side of him.

“That’s nice and all but can we get back to what we were supposed to do?” Asha interjected. “You know… the campaign.”

“Well…” Fred began. “See, I have the papers.” He hefted a full stack of files from beneath the rulebooks. “But I had this idea.”

“Now you want to abandon the campaign?” Seb rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable. Dude, we’ve been on it for what? Twenty sessions? I don’t wanna loose my level 10 character.”

“Yeah, but now we’re starting after the Event, plus it was a bard anyway, so…” He glanced up towards the ceiling.

“What does that even change?” Seb countered.

“Dunno, thought you’d want to reroll your character.” The yellow hippogriff said. “Things have changed.”

“I swear you jackass… if it’s about making a chick character…” The mare ignited her horn.

She may not know any potent spells yet, but she could taze him good for sure. Her threat however, was interrupted by Carla wrapping his talons around her horn, instantly dispelling the magic and sending an unpleasant tremor running down her spine.

“I’m sure that’s not what he meant.” Carla threw Fred a warning glance. “Is it?”

“Of course not.” He raised his claws up in a placating gesture. “What I meant is… maybe we could homebrew our new races into the game? And reroll our characters just the same, but with new race attributes?” 

“Really?” Felix said sarcastically. “’cause last I checked I was playing sorcerer and centaurs can’t really do magic.” He pointed out.

“Me thinks you’re stalling for something Fred.” Asha added.

The hippogriff in question raised a talon in protest and seemed as if he was about to say something before he deflated.

“Alright.” He conceded. “You got me, I hit a writing block with the campaign. Couldn’t think of what to make happen after I sent you lot to Waterdeep. Not even a bandit dungeon to stall.”

“You motherfucker, it’s been weeks!” Seb stood up in anger.

“I’m sorry, have you ever tried to be the GM?” The hippogriff crossed his arms with a huff. “It ain’t easy you know! And right now, it’s either do the homebrew and give me extra time, or we play some boring shit we’ve done already like Dragon Heist or Curse of Stradh.”

“Eh Carla, what’s he got for snacks?” Gauthier spoke up at last.

He was the last cadet of the six, a teal-furred, athletic-looking unicorn stallion with an auburn mane. Like Felix, he was French, though his accent was slightly less perceptible than that of the centaur.

Carla turned around and started rummaging through Fred’s stash, much to the other hippogriff’s protest.

“I’m seeing a couple packs of Cheetos, and Pringles. Lotsa Pringles. Pringles for days.”

“Gimme a can of sour cream flavor and it’s a deal.” The stallion nodded sagely.

“Alright, one sour cream for French-pony here.” He tossed him the can across the table.

“You could have asked you know.” Fred grumbled.

“It’s more fun if I don’t.” Carla smiled before taking out a can for herself and Seb.

“You know there’s this one thing I’ve been meaning to ask…” Gauthier started as his eyes flicked between Seb and Carla. “You changed you two.”

“Come again?” Carla tilted his head.

“I mean…” The stallion looked around the room. “I can’t be the only to have noticed, but ever since you both changed, Carla’s been more assertive. And you Seb…”

The red-furred mare addressed him a glare through her spiky blue bangs.

“Careful with what you’re about to say.” She ground out.

“I’m not about to say you’re less assertive, not as a whole at least.”

Seb was about to retort with something nasty before the centaur pressed on.

“That’s the thing really: you’re not any less assertive, but…”

“You’re agressive.” Felix butted in.

“Seconded.” Asha added as she readjusted her hooves under her impala half. “Kinda bitchy I’d say.”

“As she said.” Felix nodded at the centaur by his side. “And if I hadn’t known you before the change… frankly I would classify you as a complete bitch.”

“Well, fuck you too.” Seb sneered.

“Whatever…” Fred rolled his eyes after grabbing himself a can of Pringles of his own. Paprika flavor. “The worst thing is you both don’t even realize how you swapped roles.”

“No we haven’t!” The couple protested in unison.

“Cute.” Felix chuckled. “But have you even been paying attention to how you’re acting? I mean, Seb, you’ve been reclining against Carla for the past half-hour.”

The mare’s eyes widened and she looked down at herself. She indeed was –if only subconsciously- leaning back into her boyfriend’s forearms and the –rather cuddly- plumage on the hippogriff’s chest.

“Does that go deeper?” Asha leaned forward with a cheeky grin.

“Non’ yar business.” Seb stuttered, with only her red fur to thank for hiding her blush.

“Guys, it’s kinda personal. Can we get back to the game?” Carla suggested.

“Good idea.” Fred nodded. “Now, anyone want to suggest what stats griffons should have?”

“We will do that, thank you very much. You stick to writing that campaign.” Gauthier said, the unicorn nabbing a couple sheets from the GM’s stack in his telekinesis.

Fred rolled his eyes. Yeah, sure, antagonize the DM just as he’s planning new encounters, see how it goes.

Now where to put that tarrasque…

“Can I have a Mountain Dew too?” Asha asked.

Make that two tarrasques.







On the other side of the planet, a lone cloaked figure was watching the sun rise over Japan from the summit of Mount Fuji. Red and blacks rocks crunched under his hooves as he turned around, a thin layer of frost already starting to build up on his cloak. He flared his nostrils. The cold, rarefied air stung as it filled his lungs.

Humans had built structures on the lips of the caldera before they disappeared. Short one-floored buildings, with thick stone walls made from the local, extremely abrasive brand of volcanic rock. All the walls were sloped to minimize the effects of the strong winds that buffeted the summit. Good enough a base of operation for him, for now at least.

As he made his way back inside the ‘compound’, the cloaked unicorn stallion trotted past signs of the previous owners. An abandoned snowmobile lying halfway buried in the snow, numerous streamers with their tattered flags hissing and clacking in the constant wind, as well as countless baubles for tourists he had his subordinates toss out in the snow.

The stallion halted his step, one ear flicking towards the caldera. The entire mountain rumbled once with the grinding of stone against stone as Scylla stirred. The demon had been busy these last few weeks, burying its crystalline tentacles deep within the mountain it had chosen as the seat of its power. Already, it was starting to gather power now that it was freed from the oppressive presence of Equus’ microcosm of Immortals, as evidenced by the black crystals sprouting here and there along the mountainside, or the black clouds crackling with red lightning up in the sky.

Yet it was but a fraction of what the demon was capable of, as it had showed Mage when it first ‘recruited’ him. And he could have part of that power as well, if he cooperated, along with any riches he and his subordinates could reap from the remains of humanity.

As for Scylla, the Demon would need time to reach full power. Decades maybe.

Mage himself was already starting to benefit from the ‘alliance’. A host of black crystals now poked through his fur, with one large jagged shard having replaced his horn. Had it not been for Scylla boosting his magic, he wouldn’t have been able to install the rune arrays in the structure his subordinates aptly began to refer to as ‘the Hub’. Heating runes, ventilation to get as much air as if they were on ground level, enough shields to give Canterlot’s defenses a run for their bits, and of course the transport nodes.

Mage finally trotted inside the Hub, formerly a Shinto shrine they had emptied out, leaving only the wooden floorboards and a couple pieces of furniture of their choosing. Immediately, the strong winds, rarefied air and the biting cold abated. His horn lit up with a sickly red glow, lifting the cloak off his frame to reveal a dirty white coat of fur marred by so many dark crystals. He hung the piece of fabric on a peg near the entrance before making his way deeper inside. His only working eye passed over the forms of a couple of his subordinates present there on guard duty.

They weren’t all there of course. Most didn’t want to be assigned to the Hub due to their unease about Scylla’s direct proximity. They’d much rather be out in the world looting for their own benefit, or even tending to the monster breeding facilities.

Well, too bad then.

Mage passed the immobile form of a Kirin as he headed deeper inside. His first thrall on this planet. He was now nearly entirely encased in black crystals that were writhed in the dark flames of nirik fire. A fairly potent crystal golem he’d happily put to use when the time came for it, plus the memories he had extracted from its tortured soul (thanks to Scylla’s teachings) yielded a lot of information on the area.

What would you know; they spoke Neighponese in that so-called ‘Japan’.

The unicorn paused shortly to look into the golem’s vacant eyes. The forest he had found it in was a peculiarity as well, the numerous spirits and magic coursing through it hinting at a magic that, by all logic, should not have been there in the first place. He’d need to look into it.

But that would be for later. A cough interrupted his reflections.

Mage turned around to find himself face to face with a group of assorted creatures, some of them sporting the same black crystals that now marked his flanks and horn. Leading them were two known figures of the gang: Night and Sirius.

“Something the matter?” Mage calmly asked.

“Our plans. We want an update.” Night replied.

She was a batpony mare, with jet-black fur and mane, the latter which she wore tied up in a bun behind her ears. Mage knew that if she stayed in a dark corner, only her gleaming yellow pupils would be seen, oftentimes the last thing targets got to see. She was also rather tall (for a mare), with a wingspan to match, each edge of her wings now completely crystallized with razor sharp edges, much like the two crystalline fangs that poked out of her mouth. She was also wearing one of her trophies, a suit of armor she had stolen from a Lunar Guard and then modified to suit her needs –which of course included repainting it the same shade as her fur-.

As for Sirius, he was one of her lieutenants, a gargoyle mage with a wide muscular frame. Above a coat of fur as black as Night’s, he wore a set of leather armor and a mage’s rig (in fact, pretty much every gargoyle mage he knew wore one) with gleaming sapphires attached to its slots. The sapphires crackled with raw magic power, emitting small electric arcs that raced towards the copper-plated gauntlets the gargoyle wore.

Worked well to extract answers.

“For now the main plan is pretty simple and you should know it already: toss as many of our monsters through random teleports to hinder the locals and create an infestation.” Mage simply said.

“We know that!” The mare bristled. “I was talking about what we’ll do next!”

“Me and my branch are still looking into those humanitarian teams Equus’ governments sent here.” Mage told her.

“And?”

“I have a plan to deal with them. Remember Sonata?”

“Yeah, we lost contact with her a while back. Last I checked her sisters hadn’t seen her either.”

“She’s dead.” Mage revealed. “I tracked her down with Snowflake. What was left of her anyway.”

“Horseapples!” Night yelled. “Sonata’s far too old to die to a random threat!”

“She was killed Night.” Mage continued in a flat tone. “By a group of ‘humans’ that apparently teamed up with Equestrians. I managed to observe from a distance, but they’re probably long gone by now.”

“How?”

“Sailors. They left with their ships.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter where, I confirmed what I wanted to know.”

“Which is?”

“The sailors weren’t the problem. I have no reason to think they could have posed a threat to a siren like Sonata under normal circumstances. The Equestrians however… that must have been them who led to her death. She’s far too clever to have been tricked by humans. But that’s not what matters. The Equestrians, they’re using mage sight to locate the survivors.”

“Well, the locals produce magic. As long as they form decent-sized groups and the overall population remains low to avoid excessive background magic, then yes, mage sight seems like a good plan.” Sirius said with his arms crossed.

“It is, and I found how to exploit it.”

“Come again?”

“I can’t use mage sight myself, none of us do, but I had Snowflake spy on them. The Equestrians found a group of humans that had returned, and we beat their rescue team to the goal.”

“You laid an ambush then.” Night guessed.

“I did more.” The one-eyed stallion addressed her one of his trademark sadistic smiles. “The returnees, I captured most of the useful ones and killed off the rest. Made thralls out of them, like this Kirin here.” He pointed a hoof behind him at the crystal golem. “They’re on the other side of the caldera.”

“And the Equestrians?” Sirius pressed on.

“I left a gem decoy once I was done so they’d still come. According to Snowflake, they did, so he dropped a hydra on them.”

“Great then. But how does that constitute a plan?” Night pointed out, jabbing an armored hoof in his direction.

“Me and my branch, we’ll be keeping an eye on the Hub and dropping those ambush decoys all around to lure the Equestrians into monsters. If we get rid of them, they won’t be able to help the locals.”

“And us?”

“There’s another thing we learned. Travel between here and Equus, it’s only temporary.” The stallion said.

“What?!” Night cried out, her surprise echoed by Sirius and all her subordinates behind her. “You mean we’re going to lose Manticore Cove?”

“Yes.” Mage nodded. “We are going to lose access to it, which is where you come into play. Come.”

With a wave of his hoof, he motioned for his fellow leader to follow him inside a small adjacent room he had commandeered as his office. It was stuffed with all kinds of papers he and his goons had retrieved on their outings all over the world, mostly charts, some of them covered with bearing lines and crosses.

“We need to replace our breeding facility, except this time we don’t need to bother hiding in the wilderness since there are no authorities to challenge us on this planet. Eventually, I want multiple facilities, one on every continent if possible.”

“Why?”

“Contingencies.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, as I said, I’m already busy with the decoys and the Hub, so that leaves you, Haze and Might with the task of setting up facilities. Think you can manage?”

“Of course.” The black batpony rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Excellent then.” He tapped the tip of his hoof against a specific spot on his chart. “You get the first spot. I want a facility in Central America. We’ve already located a convergence point there, which we should be able to use to boost our rune arrays and power up our teleporters.”

Night looked down at the chart, and the adjoining picture showing several stone pyramids in a location called ‘El Tajin’ in Mexico.

“I’ll do it.” She nodded curtly, rolling the chart and tucking it under one wing before turning around to leave.

“And… Night?” Mage threw her a look over his shoulder. “Fair warning: Scylla isn’t the only Demon on the planet, we’re not enemies with the others but-“

“Not allies either, I know, it told me so.” She squinted her eyes. “I’ll avoid Charybdis’ goons if I can. No promises though.”







Back at sea with the fleet, a sphinx was seen taking off from Amandine an hour or two after the return of the trawlers. Ted let the winds carry him up for a few seconds before he angled his body downwards and veered in the direction of Fugro.

Just ahead of the offshore vessel, he spotted his target: Nikolaos’ tug. The little boat was valiantly towing the much bigger offshore vessel behind it, the strain on its engines making a thick column of smoke rise from its funnel. The Greek sphinx circled around once before descending in a slow glide towards the deck. He managed to spot his sister behind the helm, the minotaur cow addressing him a careful look but otherwise not making any motion to stop him.

There were two sailors out on deck, the usual system when they sailed with the tugs: each pilot on board was assigned two ratings as their subordinates. In his sister’s case, she was working with Mikhail and… well, Yancy used to be on her crew. Now, that vacant spot was filled by Diethelm, the German appaloosa unicorn. Both were smoking on deck, well clear of the snap back zone in case the towing line broke. They gave the sphinx a curt nod, but otherwise stayed in their corner of the deck, chatting and well sheltered from the spray of the waves.

Unlike Ted that is. The moment he touched down, the little tug dipped down in a trough and drenched him in seawater, something that irked the feline in him to no end. He glared up at the bridge, eyes landing on the smirk that graced his sister’s snout.

Of course she did that on purpose.

Ted shook himself like a wet dog before he carefully made his way up the steep stairs that led to the bridge. He automatically opened the door with his telekinesis before making his way inside.

The change in atmosphere was stark compared to the outside. A stifling heat hit him in the face the moment he stepped inside, courtesy of the heating Nikolaos was apparently running full-blast.

Might explain why Mikhail and Diethelm chose to stay outside.

His sister was sitting in the pilot’s seat, her back turned to him, minotaur bulk nearly too much for the leather seat to bear. She didn’t turn towards him, but Ted still took note of how her tail ceased moving the moment he stepped inside.

There was a tense silence.

“Look, I’m sorry alright?” Ted finally began in Greek. “I didn’t know you’d take it so badly.”

Nikolaos’ grip tightened around the engine telegraph, but she didn’t speak up.

“I… I just thought it was okay to joke about this. I mean, look at me, I’m a goddamn magic flying cat. Plenty to of joke material with that, right?” He paused. “It’s… you heard it like me, chances are even if we go back home, mom and dad wouldn’t reappear in our lifetime. You’re all I have left for family Nik’, can’t you give me a second chance?” He pleaded.

“Some family I have…” The minotaur cow snorted.

“Look, I thought the teasing was fine! I mean, we did that all the time when we were kids.” Ted cried out.

Nikolaos swiveled her seat around to face the sphinx. Now, sphinxes may be large even at a young age like in his case, but being quadrupeds most were still much shorter than mountains of muscle like minotaurs, particularly considering females of that species tended to be taller. His sister loomed over him as she casually leant forward, one elbow propped on her knees.

Instinctively, the sphinx found himself cowering, his tail wrapping around his forelegs protectively.

“It’s different dammit!” She rumbled. “You think I had a fucking choice with the change? I’m just trying to make do with what I’m given!”

“I’m sorr-“

“You made fun of me because I have to use a bra you bastard!” She jabbed a thumb towards her bosom. “You seen the size of these things?! I tried to go without, or just with wrappings. No can do, bozo. Now I just gotta live with people checking me out all the time, ain’t that funny now?”

Ted lowered his head.

“It’s not…” He whispered.

“Yeah, you bet it’s not.” She snorted. “Yet for some reason you thought it was a good idea to go for the low blow.”

“I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to tell a joke!” Ted insisted.

“Talk about a lousy joke. Still, proves you always go for the easy stuff.” Nikolaos pointed out.

Ted raised his head at that.

“No I don’t!” He protested, wings bristling in outrage.

“You totally do.” She insisted. “It’s always that, overused immature stuff, or stolen jokes.”

  There was a moment of silence between the two of them, with only the sound of the engine and the waves crashing against the bow of the tugboat.

“Well at least I got a sense of humor. You’re always so serious…”

“Someone has to be.” She shrugged. “Guess I kind of fell into that role after a while, I’m the eldest after all.”

“By thirty seconds...” A small smile crossed the sphinx’s face. “Mom always gave me the chores because she knew you’d join in anyway…”

Nikolaos’ shoulder sagged at the memory and she ran a hand across her bovine muzzle, taking a moment to look at the black and white fur on the back of her four-fingered hand. Each of her large digits ended in a black blunt nail. Finally, she let out a sigh and motioned for her brother to come closer.

“Alright you win, but that’s only because you look like a sad kitten with that new face of yours. I swear I could just pet you if I let myself.” She said, swiveling her seat the other way so she could pay attention to where the tug was going. “So how is it anyway?”

“How’s what?” The sphinx tilted his head.

“As a sphinx obviously.” She rolled her eyes, spying her brother squeeze his frame between a console and her seat so he could be by her side.

Dude really had no idea how tempting it was just to let brush her fingers through his mane. Seriously, she could never resist trying to pet a cat before…

“What are doing?”

  Shit.

“Nothing.” She replied, quickly pulling her hand away from his mane.

“You were petting me.”

“… maybe?”

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

  Nikolaos’ head snapped towards her brother so hard she almost skewered the radar screen above her with her horns. She brushed a strand of curly hair away from her eyes.

“Shit, you’re serious?”

“I mean… I guess it’s the big cat talking but it does feel kinda good… I guess?”

She obliged, scratching the back of his neck where his mane was at its thickest. The sphinx leaned in towards her, a purr escaping his throat.

“Shit bro, you’re really just a magic flying cat.” She chuckled. “So how is it anyway?”

“Weird.” Ted replied, eyes squinted in delight. “Magic and flying are neat, but at times the aversion to water is a bit of a bother, just like the lack of hands. And really, you never realize but being a quadruped with bipeds around, it’s kinda annoying, and we don’t see quite as far.”

“What, bad eyesight?”

“Nah, just because we’re closer to the ground.” He paused. “Just a bit higher… oh yeah! That’s the spot!” He purred.

“Mind if I ask a dumb question?”

“Well, we’re siblings.” Ted answered. “Ask away, I won’t tell anyone.”

“You know, if you’re like a cat… a big cat I mean, does that mean you can, you know, clean yourself anywhere?” She blushed, making a point of not looking at her brother.

It took him a minute to reply.

“You know the funny thing is…”

“You tried?”

“Aye, I did.” He nodded. “And yes, I can lick my own balls. Please don’t ask further.”

  She didn’t want to.

“And you then? How’s life?” Ted thankfully pressed past the awkward question.

“Decent. I mean… minotaurs ain’t too different from humans. Still got two legs, arms and hands, plus the ridiculous strength is rather nice.”

“So you tried to bench yet?” Ted asked.

“Peaked at 600 kilos last I tried, but there’s a trick I gotta figure out if I want to improve.”

“Which is?”

“Minotaurs process magic like Earth Ponies for strength, but we got a lot more control over it. Normally, we naturally develop our muscles via magic, which is why we don’t need to train to be so bulky. We do eat a lot though.” She flexed her biceps for emphasis. “But according to what I read, we can also train to divert magic to our muscles to boost our strength.”

“Like Ki in manga?” He eagerly asked.

“Dunno, I guess? Thing is, once I figure out how to do that I should be able to lift cars like they’re made of cardboard.”

“That’s great then.” Ted spoke. “And…” He lowered his voice. “The female thing?”

  Nikolaos addressed him a long look before relenting with a resigned – but very bovine- snort.

“It’s a change.” She began, looking down at her breasts. “Hard to ignore, but it could be worse. I’ll have to change how I look at life…” She trailed off, thinking about how even her sexual preferences had been changed. “But besides that, you won’t catch me in a dress anytime soon. For Christ’s sake, I drive tugboats, it’s not like I’m some lousy hairdresser that’s gonna start dying her hair pink.”

“Yeah, that’d surprise me as well.” Ted chuckled.

“Yet I’m forced to make concessions. Bras being exhibit A, it’s not like I have a choice.” She said. “As for… well, kids, I haven’t decided yet. It’s scary to be honest. Did you know a minotaur pregnancy lasts sixteen months? Who would even want to carry a kid for that long?” She shuddered. “I’ll admit, I wanted kids before the Event, but that puts things in perspective you know?”

“I guess it would. Still, glad you’re still my bro, sis.”

“I’m still the same person. Just… different. I’ve observed the others that swapped genders as well, to see how they were doing.”

“And?”

“It varies from denial, to overcompensating, to ‘trying things out for a change’. Can we please talk about something else?” She tried.

“Sure.” Ted shrugged.

They lapsed into silence for a minute before Ted opened his mouth again.

“Did you know mom had chosen some female names for us before she learned she’d be having boys?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she used to say I was supposed to be Eva and you, Artemis.”

“Artemis, really?” She rolled the name in her mouth.

Might be worth trying out.







It was around noon on the next day that all three ships and the auxiliaries reached the Emerald Island. Truly, Ireland deserved the poetic title: its verdant shores practically gleamed as they kept sailing south towards Belfast. Meadows and forests bordered the relatively steep shoreline, as well as numerous small villages that steadily grew in size the closer they got to Belfast. Several of them were no more however, having either partially or completely been burnt down by fires caused by the habitations being left abandoned. Only a few houses remained in those razed villages, scattered amidst entire quarters of smoldering ruins.

Ireland also apparently deserved its reputation as a rainy place, because it started pouring the moment they got in visual range of the place, and the rain hadn’t let up since, much to the displeasure of the Abyssinians and sphinxes in the fleet.

Their first hint of Belfast came with the appearance of Kilroot’s Power Station over the horizon, its humongous chimney as recognizable as any lighthouse. They passed it on their starboard side, marking their entrance inside Belfast’s Lough, a wide shallow bay at the mouth of River Lagan. Green rolling hills bordered on either side of the bay, covered in constructions now abandoned at their feet: Holywood, Whiteabbey, Carrickfergus, all these towns built on the shores of the bay now lay empty of their former inhabitants, already starting to show damage from the prevalent humidity and lack of maintenance.

But their goal was actually Belfast. With most buoys probably out of place, they dropped a sounding boat in the water to scout ahead of the fleet and locate the dredged channel that should lead them through the mudflats and inside of Belfast’s trident-shaped harbor. The dredged channel dove inside the extensive docklands with tall concrete piers on either side for anything ranging from dry-bulk to passengers and trucks, leading to a large turning basin that spread out in three directions towards all different terminals.

As extensive and intricate as the docklands were, the sailors in the fleet only had eyes for one particular target: the dry-docks. Belfast had a long history with shipbuilding before the Event, thanks in large part to the Harland and Wolff Shipyard that occupied the southern half of the docklands. The company hadn’t built any ship in more than a decade, but they had kept all their graving docks to assemble offshore facilities and repair ships.

The latter being exactly what they intended to do.

Two huge yellow gantry cranes loomed in the distance as they sailed closer to the repair yard. Samson and Goliath, the two cranes so significant they had become part of Belfast’s landscape, a testimony to the town’s shipbuilding history. They arched over a wide graving dock, large enough to fit multiple ships at the same time. All around, a multitude of smaller cranes, pump stations, workshops and warehouses occupied the place, so many abandoned buildings the sailors would soon have to scour for parts.

That however, would have to wait. For now, they settled with mooring as close to the dock as possible, immediately dispatching several teams to secure a perimeter around the vessels. Dry-docking was no simple affair, they couldn’t just rush in and improvise on the go.

No, they’d have to plan out the entire thing from start to finish, and that, that would take time.
> Chapter 48: My Little Armalite
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Belfast, the entire fleet had finally managed to moor in as close proximity to the shipyard as could be achieved. On Rhine, Raimund had been quick to dispatch one of their trawlers as soon as the barge carrier was tied up alongside the quays. Not to go fishing, but to deploy a wide net in the water so that no sea monster could possibly reach the ships and the yard.

After the incident with Sonata Dusk, they were in no mood to let a monster sneak up on them via the water to attack their sailors unchallenged. The net was an idea from Rhine’s Chief Engineer: by fitting it with a couple simple alarms, they would be alerted if any of the floats on the net was pulled under the surface by, say, a monster ramming into it.

While the trawler got busy securing the water side of the quays, Alejandro had already gone ahead and dispatched a team to secure a perimeter ashore. Amandine’s starboard side ramp (unfortunately, they wouldn’t be able to use the stern ramp in Belfast. There were quays that could have allowed it, but they were all too far away from the repair yard) opened with a loud groan of its motors before a small Defender rolled out.

“Recce team to Amandine. Mission is now underway. Over.” Aleksei called over the radio, the hippogriff tasked with exploring the docks like she did when they first moored in Copenhagen.

“Roger that. Don’t go to town yet. We only need a perimeter around the ships for now. Over.” Alejandro replied.

“Wilco. Recce team… Out.” Aleksei concluded before the radio quieted down.

Alejandro gazed out the bridge windows, the parrot quickly spotting the little 4x4 disappear behind a warehouse. Normally it shouldn’t take too long: he had made sure the ships would be moored within the limits of the repair yard, so unless the security fence was damaged it shouldn’t pose trouble. Patrolling it would be easy too, both because they could deploy flyers on patrol now, and because the yard had wide open spaces between the few warehouses and buildings. Paired with the fact they likely would commandeer the CCTV cameras from the office building, and he doubted they’d need to assign too many sailors to guard duty.

Good, that meant more sailors on repair duty.

“Alejandro?” Dilip’s voice rang out behind him.

“Hmm?” The parrot turned his head, one ear tilted up inquisitively.

“We’re going to need your expertise.”

“Yeah, dry-docking. I figured. That’s why I was hired after all.” The hyacinth macaw nodded. “Schmitt’s already busy with some docking software I gave her. Matter of figuring out the position of the support blocks we’re gonna rest the ship on while still keeping the bow clear for repairs.” He shrugged as he went through the process of shutting down the navigation instruments.

No sense keeping the ECDIS and the Radar on when in port. The only thing that would stay powered up on the bridge would be their radio station, and even then they had Sandra keeping an eye on the frequencies a couple decks below.

“About Fugro…” Dilip trailed off.

“They got the…” Alej’ clicked his beak. “The biology briefing yet? You know, flight lessons, magic and personal hygiene?”

“Gave the task to Rahul and Ivan. Think you can go with them and plan out their docking process?”

“Sure, I’ll bring the software. No promise I’ll do it in one evening though, it’s not like it’s a simple process.”

“I want them to be fixed first.”

Alejandro did a double-take at that.

“What, really? They’re not even part of the uh… fleet yet.”

“’cause you think they won’t join?” Dilip deadpanned.

“Nah, they will.” He paused. “Just surprised you’d put them up first for repairs.”

“Amandine can still move. They can’t. Simple matter of priorities Alej’.”

Alejandro threw Dilip a look for a second before mutely shaking his head and grabbing a piece of paper from a nearby printer. Turning around, he twirled a pencil in his claws.

“Well, I will go to our new returnees and help them with planning the docking, but there’s more than that we’ll need to do.” He explained, already starting a list.

First off, they’d need Roberto to dig through their intel to locate places where they might find parts. Shipbuilding steel should be little trouble, but they’d also need to find parts to fix their bow thrusters, as well as the pumps and tanks that had been damaged by the impact. And their echosounder too. Damn thing would need a new transducer.

He paused. After a second he scratched the ‘echosounder’ on the list and replaced it with ‘sonar’. Might as well upgrade the bloody thing while they were at it, just so they could spot sea monsters.

Step two: get the graving dock operational.  He hadn’t seen any wind turbines when they entered port, so he’d have to assume Belfast’s grid ran on fossil fuel. Hence… they’d have to (temporarily) restart Kilroot’s power station.

Which would give them power for the graving dock. Essentially, the dock had two integral components: the caisson, and the pumps. The former acted as a meters-thick gate to separate the dock from the harbor, the latter emptied the basin. Both needed the pumphouse to function, which they’d obviously need to restart as well.

Then they’d need to find a way to run Samson and Goliath. The two gigantic cranes would be needed to carry the steel plates and parts needed to fix both ships.

Not too much trouble on his part, he suspected they ran on electricity, which brought them back to Kilroot.

“Do we even have a crane operator in the fleet?” Dilip asked.

“Not that I know of, Captain.” Alej’ shook his head. “Gonna need to train one on the fly. Fugro’s got deck cranes, so I suggest asking them if they have any crewmembers with similar training. Saves us from training someone from scratch.”

Dilip threw a glance at the list over Alej’s shoulder before he moved off to the starboard bridge wing, paws behind his back. Below them, Belfast’s docklands extended, with wide roads made out of prefab concrete slabs, industrial plots separated by brick walls topped with barbed wire and countless warehouses that looked old enough to have been built in early 20th century. Bricks and tacky windows included, with corrugated roofs that likely still contained asbestos if he were to hazard a guess.

With the rainy weather and low luminosity, the place was… well, it was dreary.

Which matched his mood. The more Amandine’s Captain looked into it, the more it looked like they’d go from arriving weeks early in Savannah, to having to explain to the HPI why they’d have to expect their prototypes a week late. At best.

Dilip sighed. At least he didn’t have to tell Eko until he had an actual ETA.







Unlike Amandine’s Captain, Rockhoof couldn’t find a reason to complain. The castle he and Meadowbrook had commandeered as their new home had everything the couple needed, and if their Earth Pony influence was anything like in Equestria, then they’d have plenty of fresh food in short time.

With a heave, the enormous stallion unhitched himself from a plow he had refitted the day prior, wiping a bead of sweat with his forehoof. As he raised his head, he could see the freshly plowed field he had spent the afternoon on. That would be number three.

“You doing alright honey?” Meadow asked, the mare coming up to him with a water canteen.

“Couldn’t be better!” Rock smiled, eagerly guzzling down the proffered water. “You already got an idea for what we’ll plant here?”

“I was thinking potatoes…” She tapped a hoof against her muzzle.

Rockhoof made a face.

“Do we have to?”

“I’m sorry Rock…” Meadow apologized. “But I want a crop we can grow in bulk just in case more survivors turn up over winter. I know we’re good and peachy now…”

“… but a herd that gets ready in summer will have some due quiet in winter. I know. I just wish there was some other crop than ‘tatoes.” He sniffed.

“Oh… big burly stallion doesn’t like ‘tatoes?” Meadow joked.

“I don’t, but I can live with it. How many more fields do we need?”

“I think half a dozen more will do. You do the plowin’…”

“Oh I’m very good  at plowin’ missus!” Rock waggled his eyebrows.

“Keep it to the bedroom, casahoova.” Meadow rolled her eyes, throwing him a mock punch. “I’ll seed the fields, my garden is good already. Not much I had to change judging by the state I found it in.”

“You can manage with plants around here?”

“I can’t do my better potions, but medicinal stuff is fine…” Meadow shrugged before motioning for him to follow her back to the castle.

The stallion let her walk a few paces ahead, if only to see her rump sway as she walked.

“… and I think I’ll have to scavenge for plants in the forest next time I go inspect the Golden Tree. Some stuff I can grow, but mushrooms and roots I’ll have to look for.”

Rockhoof abruptly stopped in the middle of the road at her last sentence.

“Hold on, next time?!” He exclaimed. “You went there on your own?!”

“It’s nothin’” She waved her hoof dismissively. “I needed a few roots to get Martin back together. Poor fawn was on his last limbs. The tree’s fine by the way, thanks for asking.”

“Of course it’s fine! It’s been days, what’s the worst thing that can happen to a tree in such a short time?”

“A lumberjack.”

He rolled his eyes at that. If there ever was a field where she outmatched him completely, it was verbal wit. Meadow had spent way too much time with Mistmane to be caught flat-hoofed by a barbarian like him.

Shaking his head, the stallion turned his eyes down the road. The countryside around here didn’t allow for long lines of sight, what with the bocage: hedges and bushes separating the fields blocked the castle’s outbuildings from view, their thorny vegetation just as good as any barbed wire… 

Personally, he thought they gave the place a homey touch.

On the other hoof, if he bothered to raise his head, he could see the castle’s keep peek above the hedges. The dark shingles that topped the turrets soaked in the afternoon’s sunlight like sponges. In there, Rockhoof knew Meadow had brought their latest rescuee. The fawn was currently bedridden in a room below their own quarters, safe behind a couple meters’ worth of rock walls.

“What about hmm…”

“Martin?” Meadow guessed.

He nodded.

“He was in a bad shape, but give him a few days and he should be able to get up.”

The two ponies quickly arrived back at the farm, Meadowbrook sparing a moment to check out the plants in her garden, before they stopped in front of the small bridge that ran over the moat, connecting the outbuildings to the castle’s gatehouse.

“So what are we gonna do with him anyway?” Rockhoof asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… he probably has parents.”

“Had. In those circumstances, I doubt he’d have popped back into existence with them.”

The larger stallion sighed.

“Did we just become foster parents?”

“I believe we just did, dear.” Meadow threw him a smile.

“Fine then.” He huffed. “But I reserve the right to have him help out on the farm.”

“Frankly, however you raise him is up to you, but personally I’d have him help Meadow instead. Deer like him make good alchemists.” Star-Merlin mused as he popped into existence right in front of them in his equine form.

The appearance was so sudden both ponies reared up on their hind hooves with a whinny. Ghost of a local figure or not, it seemed the unicorn had kept his habit of teleporting around without notice. Much to their annoyance.

“Dammit Star!” Rock cried out. “If we didn’t like you doing that on Equus, what makes you think it’s any better here on Earth?!”

The ghost visibly shrugged, his ethereal form barely visible in broad daylight.

“I was wondering when you’d come back…” Meadowbrook said.

“I did promise to tell you about the local area… and I think now might be an appropriate time to tell you about Earth’s own brand of magic. Or the humans’ at least.” Star-Merlin said before motioning for the two of them to join him by the bridge’s railing.

The mage propped himself up on it, hooves crossed as he looked at the castle’s pinkish reflection in the moat’s waters. The image was almost perfect, only broken up by small ripples every time a fish snatched an insect on the surface.

“So… the magic here can’t be that different from ours. I mean… there is a field like on Equus.” Rock said.

“The field is a novelty.” Star-Merlin explained. “Earth never had a magic field like Equus. Not one that existed on its own at least.”

“But you called yourself ‘the Enchanter’; I’d believe that implies you had access to magic then.” Meadow joined in. “So how did you do magic without a natural field to draw from?”

“That’s because humans produce their own magic. It’s not as strong Equus’ magic, but our bodies evolved to make their own magic at about the same time we developed sapience. Ponies and magical creatures derivate their consciousness and intelligence from the magical field around them. Humans, on the other hoof, we didn’t have such a field to rise from the status of animals to intelligent creatures. So… we evolved it on our own. Funny thing is… by all accounts humans should have lost that peculiarity when they transformed with the Event.”

“I take it they didn’t.” Meadow deadpanned.

“Not at all!” The ghost’s form shimmered at the outburst. “In fact it even improved on the racial templates they were supposed to turn into. They kept the magic production, and now they’re using it to be even more powerful. As hippogriffs and parrots they don’t need magical items to unlock their alternate forms, and all other species basically get a magic boost from that. It’s… fascinating.”  He said, stroking his signature beard in wonder.

“Alright… I sort of understood that.” Meadow frowned. “But Broceliande… it’s a convergence point. If they didn’t have a field, then what created their ley lines?” 

“Not humans as individuals. On their lonesome they used to be pretty regular magic users, if maybe below a unicorn in raw power. But they shone in groups. You see, human magic has a ‘group clause’ as I would call it.” The mage told her. “Or I guess you could call it ‘faith magic’ too. Thing is, when enough of them group together with a common belief like, say, a religion, then they can passively make that thing a reality.”

“Come again?”

“Let me give you an example: at the peak of their power, humans could have come up with a religion that said there was a spirit that represented the Hearth of the Forest in the shape of a White Stag. Have enough of them believe the same thing and then… you got a magical white stag popping up in the forest.”

“The one we saw the other day?”

“The same stag. It roams more forests than just Broceliande, bloody thing can teleport wherever it feels like. Kinda funny when you got a group of knights chasing after it for a quest…” He chuckled before suddenly taking on a severe look. “That being said, I believe that specificity is what lead to humans ‘losing their magic’ in a fashion. At some point after my uh… death, they started to believe magic wasn’t real. And when enough of them started to believe it…”

“It actually disappeared.”

“Not in one day, but that effect was insidious. Power wise, humans needed less followers believing magic was false than followers believing it was real to undermine the entire thing. And with that in the equation, things snowballed. When the guys believing magic was a thing saw it lose effect, they switched side. And by switching side they made the whole thing even worse.”

“To the point where eventually they evolved to be so alienated to magic it was like a deadly allergy?” Rock tilted his head.

“Unfortunately.” Star nodded. “On the bright side, it wasn’t enough to suppress their sentience. But it did starve all mages, sorcerers, magical artifacts, convergence points and even their divinities of their power. And thus me, who had been sealed away as Merlin, slumbered for a long time.”

Rockhoof stared down at the water with a somber look on his muzzle.

“Buck… To have such power at your hooves and have it taken away because of some dumb thing like that…” He sighed. “Scary. And you mentioned divinities?”

“Indeed, I have.” Star confirmed. “I believe most of the ancient ones might resurface given enough time. If convergence points like the forest managed to use the new magic field to reactivate, then there is no reason to believe they couldn’t. Don’t worry though, that should only affect human divinities that preceded world-spanning religions, so they’ll still be limited in power and area of influence.”

“Thank Faust for small mercies.” Rock grumbled. “Kinda getting the feeling this won’t be the quiet retirement I was hoping for.”

“You’re a Pillar Rock, the only retirement we get is death.”

“You’re a ghost. On this planet at least.” The Earth Pony pointed out.

“Touché.” Star chuckled. “So no retirement then. By the way uh…” The ghost rubbed a hoof against the back of his neck.

“Star…” Meadow grumbled. “What is it this time?”

“There was like… half a dozen survivors in the region. So…”

“You pointed them all in our direction.” Rock scowled.

The ghost just gave an energetic nod, popping away before Meadow could protest at their friend robbing them of some well-deserved quiet.

Turns out, they would need to plow more fields to build up their food stores.

At least with all the rooms in the castle and the outbuildings, they wouldn’t lack boarding anytime soon.







Alej’ hadn’t been slow in going to Fugro to prep the ship for drydocking. The hyacinth macaw now found himself chatting with the offshore vessel’s Chief Engineer inside the engine control room, with both of them looking down at a longitudinal drawing of the ship. The control room wasn’t too different from Amandine’s, if a bit more roomy to accommodate for all the additional auxiliary systems the high-tech vessel was fitted with.

As for the Chief Engineer herself, well… She was a Scot going by the name of Todd McClelland, except the Event had turned her into a pearly white unicorn mare with wavy purple hair that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a high-fantasy setting. That and by pony standards, she was quite the looker, particularly with the bright blue eyes. This all clashed with her demeanor: mane kept back by an oily bandana, sweat-stained coveralls and already quite a few smudges on her pristine coat.

Hell, even Radiant (who had helped him carry his stuff there, the Pegasus now patiently sitting on his haunches in a corner, observing) had been shocked. Fugro’s Chief Engineer was apparently a dead-ringer for a high-society star in Equestria. Alej’ didn’t pry, but apparently she was a rather prissy fashion designer/philanthropist.

Not the kind you’d expect to find in an engine room.

“So how bad is the damage?” The parrot asked.

“Fore and midships are fine, not even any warping damage to the hull.” She explained, drawing a mark on the plan with a pencil.

On the bright side, she had taken to telekinesis like a fish to water.

“All damage starts at span 80. And starting at span 95 we got a couple flooded compartments.”

“Any risk of it getting any worse?”

“Not that I know of. We ballasted on the bow to compensate, so as soon as we dock the water should drain away. Anything left we can pump out. Problem is… several of the flooded compartments contained critical systems we can’t access now. Can’t inspect them for damage either. I know it’s not going to be pretty, but I’d still like to know what we can salvage and what we need to replace.”

Alej’ traced his claws over the drawing, one talon trailing over the room where the secondary switchboards would have been located. A circle in red sharpie pointed it as the location where Amandine’s bulbous bow had perforated Fugro’s hull.

“That can be solved. Hippogriffs can turn into seaponies and breathe underwater. Provided there aren’t too many chemicals and oily residues in there, we could send one to inspect the damage.”

“Or we avoid poisoning your shipmates and just wait until the ship is in the graving dock to inspect it.” Todd replied, throwing him a sharp look. “Thanks for the offer, but our chemicals locker was in the stern section. Too risky.”

“Understood.” Alej’ nodded. “What else?”

A myriad of things actually. Fugro had two cranes on her deck, and whilst the smaller of the two was fine, the larger one (which had a hefty 150tons SWL) was in need of a bearing replacement.

Fugro was also entirely running on her generators at the moment. The collision had destroyed her port engine and severely damaged the starboard engine to the point where it would need a complete overhaul.

“What’s the propulsion layout anyway?”

“Two ducted propellers for main propulsion aft, paired with two bow thrusters, two stern thrusters, and two deployable azimuth thrusters…”

“… I’m sorry but… deployable? Never heard of that.”

“They’re recessed in the hull when in transit. For maneuvers and DP, we can open a hatch midships and near the bulbous bow and extend them out for extra maneuvering capacity. They’re fine. The stern thrusters though…”

“FUBAR?”

“FUBAR” Todd nodded. “As I expect the port propulsion shaft to be.”

“Amandine needs to replace her bow thruster as well, so hopefully we should be able to find matching parts when we look for them. The engine though… that might be hard to find. What’s the brand?” The Spaniard asked whilst taking notes, adding to the ever-increasing list of parts they’d need to locate.

“Rolls Royce Bergen.”

Alejandro winced. Of course, a pristine beauty of a vessel like Fugro would run on an equally fancy engine. But now how the hell were they supposed to replace it? Had it been anything simpler like an MTU or a MAN they might have been able to locate parts in Ireland as a whole but now…

“I’m sorry but…”

“Yeah I expected that reaction.” The mare shook her head. “Closest part manufacturer I know of would be in Norway. But…”

Her horn lit up and a drawer opened on a cabinet on the other side of the room. Out flew a couple folders’ worth of drawings.

“I know there are countless machining shops here around the docklands. We just need to find the raw materials and then…”

“You want to manufacture an engine from scratch.”

“Not from scratch!” She quickly corrected him. “The engine block on those things is basically indestructible, and I’m pretty sure the crankshaft can be salvaged. We won’t even have to gut Fugro to remove the engine. Just… take out all the broken parts -and there are a lot of them-, then manufacture what we need.” Todd explained as she showed several internal drawings of Fugro’s engines.

Technically, that could be done. They had already taken measures to increase Amandine’s manufacturing capability, so as long as the parts weren’t too big, then they should be able to make them. Quality would be inferior to actual parts, but as long as it worked…

Essentially, that left the number of parts they’d actually have to locate to a few: propellers, shafts, and structural steel to fix the hulls for the big stuff. Electrical components and a fuckton of paint for the small stuff. Shouldn’t even be too much trouble, they were moored at a repair yard after all.







“So why do I need to come along again?” Marta asked.

Rhine’s nurse had finally managed to stand on her own legs now that she had been given enough time to recuperate. She still was a bit unsteady on her digitigrade feet, having had little time to get acquainted to walking that way ever since she had been transformed. Being injured most of the time didn’t help.

And as soon as she was cleared to walk, Valentyn had come to snatch her from the new lab on Rhine for a task she was supposedly needed for.

They were heading away from the quays where the ships were moored and towards a cluster of buildings. Beneath her feet, the concrete was cracked by humidity with dozens of weeds and bushes growing around puddles of rainwater that showed no sign of disappearing thanks to the near constant drizzle. On the plus side, hedgefogs had water-repellent fur, so that didn’t even bother her overly much.

“That’s because we need an hedgefog to clear out the pumphouse.” Rhine’s Second Engineer explained, the griffon jabbing a talon in the direction of one particular building closer to the town center than the rest.

It was next to a couple warehouses and didn’t look too different from the rest, if a bit shorter and sturdier. Like most industrial buildings in the area, it rested on bright red brick walls with grey cornerstones. There was a hole in the corrugated steel that made up its roof, along with several cracked windows, but the building otherwise appeared fine. It even had a small sky-blue clock tower that shot above the surrounding buildings, likely to tell the yard’s workers how long they had until the end of their shift.

“Why an hedgefog specifically?” She quirked her head, idly tucking a bang of white quills behind one of her large mobile ears.

The biggest thing she remembered about her abilities was her ‘fog form’ and the flight-over-fight attitude. Not that she’d complain about it: she was a nurse, not a soldier. The only weapon she carried at the moment was a SIG pistol because everyone insisted that she be armed when she left the safety of the ship. Still, she trusted her fog form more, even though ‘cloudwalkers’ could still touch her in that state, hence why she had attached a couple smoke grenades to her belt.

A minimal weight on her hip when compared to the medical satchel slung over her back.

“Have you looked into your electric abilities yet?”

“Not really.” She shook her head. “Mostly fog form, though the electric jig could make for a makeshift defib provided I train for it. That why you need me? A mobile battery?”

“Not exactly. One of Amandine’s cooks, the cat, he was scouting the place when he discovered a twittermite infestation in there. Noped the fuck outta here as soon as he saw the blue glow. Said getting zapped once was enough. I need you to remove the darn bugs so we can access the pumps.”

“Twittermites?”

“Haven’t read the bestiary yet, have you?”

She shook her head.

“Basically bugs that can shoot lightning. You resist electric attacks, that’s why we need you. Simple.”

“Yeah but there are like… three of my species on board.”

“Walter’s busy, and Radoslaw is already on site waiting for you as backup.” The griffon opened the pumphouse’s large wooden door for her. “Plus, that brings a medic to the team. Always a plus in my books.” The Ukrainian concluded.

What greeted her upon entering was a corridor with dusty checkered tiles and cracked ceramic lamps hanging from the ceiling. The only light inside came from the windows, which further highlighted the amount of dust in the air.

The entrance hallway opened up to rows of doors on either side, offices to the left, and workshops that led deeper into the pumping station to the right. Going by the furniture blocking off those doors, that was the section where the twittermite infestation was.

… And going by the ruckus coming from her left, that’s where the others had already gathered.

Nguyen was there, along with Micha. The feline was pointing at a plan of the building they had found and laid down on a desk.

“All the way down near the valve room. That’s where I saw the swarm.” The Vietnamese Abyssinian explained to his superior.

Others from Rhine were there as well. Two centaurs, as well as the other hedgefog who would apparently accompany her down there. Radoslaw. Apparently hedgefogs had a sexual dimorphism similar to minotaurs: females were taller while males were bulkier, as evidenced by Rado’s stature (even though he wasn’t even that strong, being more wiry than actually muscular). Additionally, they had shorter tails and longer quills, which he wore in a mohawk.

“So what’s the plan to get rid of them?” Valentyn asked as he barged inside the office.

To that, Nguyen replied by pointing at a couple CO2 fire extinguishers piled in a corner of the room.

“Frost basically. Last time Angelo’s team met some, they froze them with a fixed firefighting installation. Here it’s only sprinklers, so we need you two to get in close and blast the swarm with these.” Micha said.

“Are you sure we’re actually resistant to electricity?” Marta asked cautiously before she plucked a quill from the tassel of her tail. Quickly, she focused some power in it, the white quill flaring up with electric arc. “’cause I know I can do electric arcs, but I never really tried if I could withstand lightning bolts.”

“But I did.” Rado said. “Shot myself with a taser. It actually felt good.” The other Pole told her confidently.

She quirked an eyebrow at that, dubiously staring down her snout at the other hedgefog. Regardless of how confidently anyone said that, she still would rather err on the side of caution.

… up until she heard a sharp ‘twang’ behind her. She felt a pinprick in the back of her neck, accompanied by a not-too-unpleasant thrumming that reverberated through her fur. Marta closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Was that a taser?” She half-growled, pinching the top of her snout in exasperation.

“It may have been.” Micha chuckled. “Convinced yet?”

Marta plucked the two probes from her fur, staring distastefully at the griffon Officer holding the taser gun.

“You know, I don’t think most people would consider tazing someone to be a viable argument.”

“Was it in your case?” Micha cheekily grinned at her.

The Polish nurse just grumbled, sneakily calling the Officer a suka under her breath. Without a word, she walked over to the fire extinguishers and grabbed one before making her way back towards the workshops.

“Bottom level, you can’t miss it.” Micha chuckled, watching Radoslaw hastily move to follow the grumpy nurse. “Nguyen marked the door with spray paint.”

Marta didn’t acknowledge the remark. With the fire extinguisher tucked under one arm, she went back to the hallway and shoved aside a desk that had been used to block off the workshop side of the building. The door swung outward with a protesting groan from its hinges before she strode inside the room.

The workshop itself was just as dusty as the hallway, with a couple tools left hanging on the walls and next to machines like a couple lathes, drill presses and mills. Most of them had been left there, covered in cobwebs. The aluminum gratings that made up the floor clanked under her booted paws as she made her way through.

There was a switchboard room on one side, but what mattered was the wide double door that led to the pumps proper, next to a utility elevator that would remain out of use until someone went to Kilroot to restart the power station.

The room opened up to what actually took up most of the building: a vast empty space where the ground dropped about two floors, with a railing overlooking it all. Marta glanced down the hole to see the car-sized volute casings of a couple centrifugal pumps, each hooked to equally large electric motors driving the impellers. Above, hanging from the steel beams that held up the roof, was a gantry crane, most likely what had been used to install the pumps there. As deep as the pumps had already been installed, the floor still dipped a couple stories down before merging into a maze of pipes, walkways and utility tunnels.

“That the place?” She asked Rado in Polish.

“Tak.” The other Pole opined. “The bugs are somewhere down there.”

  The two of them slid down a ladder and into the hole. From up close, the pump casings were even bigger, their large brass surface making them look like giant snail shells with narrow walkways winding around them. Marta only spared a glance to check if the welder was still following before she moved to where the ground dipped. 

The incline stopped after a distance, greeting them with a wall through which all the pipes disappeared. The walkways also passed through, becoming proper tunnels shut off by large steel hatches, one of them bearing the spray paint mark they were looking for.

“Lights on.” She told the other pole as she put on a headlamp, its rubber band uncomfortably squeezing her large ears. “Bet it’s dark in there, and pull the pin on your fire extinguisher.”

“Yeah I know, no need to be bossy.” Rado rolled his eyes.

Or he didn’t. Hard to tell with hedgefogs. Blue eyes on blue sclera.

“Sorry but not sorry.” She grabbed the hatch’s latch. “I just got pulled from the lab and work with Camille, got shot with a taser and then sent off to fight monster bugs with a fire extinguisher. Pardon the mood, jackass.”

“Wasn’t my idea.” He countered.

“You didn’t object either.”

And on that note, she opened the hatch and pushed on into the tunnels.

From a technical viewpoint, the layout of the tunnels was straightforward: they ran in a web underneath the graving dock, linking the pumphouse to the drain wells with the valve room serving as the hub of the network, and also the place where the booster pumps were located. This meant they basically had to go in a straight line down the narrow concrete tunnel before reaching their goal. There should be vents and access shafts linking the system to the surface, though none they could have located immediately to take a shortcut.

At least if Rado’s oxygen detector was to be trusted, the venting system didn’t need power to function.

The tunnels themselves were narrow oval shaped things, with piping running alongside the walkways. Neon lights were attached to the ceiling at regular intervals, obviously dark since the current wasn’t on. Marta could also see some thinner pipes running underneath the walkway. Hydraulics maybe? They’d need that to activate the caisson.

No matter, she was here for the bugs. Walking down to the valve room only took a minute, the two hedgefogs warily scanning the darkness with their headlamps. Down there, the air was stale and humid, with complete darkness only broken up by the beams of their lamps.

It was also eerily silent, save for the repeated clanking of their boots against the floor gratings.

They reached the valve room without crossing path with the bugs.

“So… no bugs?” Rado asked, idly checking out the room and the twisting myriad of pipes and connecting pieces that spanned around the cramped space with a vaulted brick ceiling. 

Closed hatches lead to other tunnels in other directions… but last time he checked bugs couldn’t operate heavy duty doors like that. And there was a summoning circle in the middle of the room, so by all logic they should be in there.

“Keep looking, they must be in here somewhere…” Marta replied.

A couple minutes of them scouring the darkness for the bugs flew by… before all of a sudden the room lit up with a blue-white glow. Marta only had enough time to turn her head before a large swarm of the insects unleashed an arc of lightning at them…

…which was promptly absorbed into their quills, filling up the two hedgefogs with electric magic and making them feel as if they had just drunk half a dozen cups of coffee. But it didn’t hurt. At all.

The swarm of electric bugs quickly found itself huddling closer to each other as they found themselves with two fire extinguisher nozzles pointed at them.

“You done goofed.” Marta growled.







Later that day, Aleksei wound up being asked to take her recce team out once more. Into Belfast proper this time, now that the perimeter around the repair yard had been secured. This wasn’t really any trouble to the hippogriff, a nice change of pace from running around Amandine fixing stuff.

The only caveat was… Angelo told her to take her so-called ‘pupil’.

“Do we have to drive around?” Radiant complained from the back seat of the Defender she was currently driving.

“For the last time, yes!” The Latvian behind the wheel squawked. “I still have to pay attention just to keep my altitude when flying, so there is no way I can do recon from the air.”

“Plus, it keeps us out of the rain.” Scarface piped in, the gargoyle sitting in the passenger seat, a map of the city in his lap.

“What he said.” Aleksei nodded.

And she didn’t even take the usual Defender 90 she’d have preferred for a quick recce. Not with both Radiant and Thanasis in the back. They had to take the 130-variant, and she didn’t like it quite as much as the small-and-nippy 90. Way too long a chassis for that.

Through the windshield, the docklands of Belfast flew by, soon replaced by the city proper and its residential districts when they crossed a bridge over the river Lagan. In the distance, they could easily see the angular, ultramodern glass facades of the Titanic Museum, its hulking form like a dark crystal in the dull, drizzly afternoon. Few buildings had been erected directly around it, making it rise like a dark mountain above the cityscape, far taller than the few short warehouses around it. 

Further up the river, the cityscape screamed one thing to Aleksei’s mind: Victorian industry. Small and narrow worker-class housing surrounded the city center in stone-throwing range of the docklands and industrial districts. All these tiny -and somewhat decrepit- houses with their identical chimneys perfectly lined up formed a red ring of bricks around downtown Belfast, with the odd pub or church interrupting the monotony at random intervals. Most of the tiny gardens now ran rampant with weeds, lush groves that grew between hillocks of bricks and stones.

Comparatively, the downtown area showed more hints of modernity that clashed against the elegant-but-sturdy stonework of Victorian architecture: a stadium by the river banks, glass-and-steel skyscrapers that eventually fared far worse than the older buildings from abandonment. Some streets had been turned pedestrian too, the usual asphalt replaced by fancy pavement to entice shoppers.

For what it was worth: those same streets were now covered in filth and garbage, likely courtesy of roaming packs of wild dogs looking for an easy snack. The spilled trashcans now lay there, attracting swarms of insects and seagulls.

“Must have been a nice town when humans still lived there.” Radiant commented, gaping in awe at the intricately sculpted orange façade of Belfast’s Merchant Hotel, complete with pillars, statues and an elegant staircase.

“It was.” Aleksei nodded, recalling the ridiculous number of cocktails you could order from the bar at the Merchant Hotel. Not one of her best nights, but definitely entertaining. “Nice port to stop in, folks in pubs were always rather nice to sailors. At least in my experience.”

“Seconded. Guinness ain’t the best, but the barmen around here sure are good.” Scarface nodded wisely.

Unlike the Engineer, he didn’t have the funds to afford fancy bars like the Merchant Hotel. Regular pubs in Sailortown were enough fun as is.

A minute later, the hippogriff behind the wheel found herself pumping the brakes.

“What’s up?” Thanasis inquired from the back.

Aleksei pointed to a row of buildings down a street perpendicular to them. On each of their entrances, someone had sprayed signs. Some doors were crossed out, others had warning signs, and some even had a few bags and pieces of furniture lying out in the street as if someone had taken them out only to decide they didn’t need them.

“Looters?” Scarface guessed.

“I think so…” She muttered. “Those signs remind me of the Walking Dead.”

“The Walking Dead?” Radiant quirked his head.

“A TV series, ask Angelo when we get back…”

“At least that means there are survivors here.” The Pegasus smiled. “Now we just need to find them.”

“And they’re organized enough to comb the city and record it.” Thanasis pointed out.

“Not clever enough to have looted the port yet though.”

“Considering how most people have no fucking clue about the scale of the shipping industry, I’m not surprised.” Aleksei frowned. “Not gonna complain, more for us.”

If Belfast’s survivors didn’t have enough wits about them to figure out how to restart the power station or that the warehouses on the docks might yield more stuff than single houses, well… that was on them.

The recon team kept going down the streets, finding increasingly more looted buildings, as well as signs of presence here and there: stockpiles left hidden in alleyways, barricades blocking off certain streets, and even the carcass of a Manticore left rotting near a shopping hall. The monster’s hulking body was still near its summoning circle, riddled with a dozen high-caliber bullets holes, one of which had been strong enough to rip off its head. Rain had already washed off most of the blood, with only flies and maggot now swarming the carcass, much to Radiant’s disgust.

Near the body, someone had set up a sign on a pole, one the former humans had only seen in pictures before.

Sniper at work.

Aleksei looked down the street the sign was pointing to, a large avenue that led to the town hall.

She did a double-take.

Belfast’s City Hall was at the apex of Victorian architecture: a proud square-shaped building with a central courtyard and intricate decorations. Its beautiful pearly-white stonework and pillars, were surrounded by a lush fence-protected park around it with a couple memorials. It even had four small towers at each corner of the building, as well as a bigger one above the main entrance that dwarfed them all, each of the five topped by patinated copper cupolas.

There was a bit of a hick though…

The outer fence had been covered in a makeshift barricade with barbed wire and rickety watchtowers built at regular intervals to peek over the defenses. All of the lower windows had also been sealed off by planks and sandbags, which were also used to create firing positions at the base of the towers. Belfast’s City Hall was now, for all intents and purposes, a citadel.

She didn’t see any survivors manning the watchtowers, though considering the thin plume of smoke rising above the building, it was lived in. And it had power, as evidenced by the light that streamed out of the upper floors.

What Aleksei did notice, was the pristine flag hanging above the towers.

An Irish flag.
> Chapter 49: Late Delivery Penalties
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You saw what?”

“Irish flag, top of the city hall.” Aleksei told Dilip. “I’m pretty sure what that’s supposed to mean…”

“Trouble, that’s what it means.” The Diamond Dog sighed, pinching his muzzle. “Did you see anyone?”

“No Captain.” His Second Engineer shuffled in her seat. “We came back as soon as we spotted the flag. Saw nobody, interacted with nobody.”

They were in Dilip’s office, the docking plans that would normally occupy the Captain momentarily set aside to let Aleksei explain exactly what she’d seen. Raimund was there too, the pink mare sitting on her haunches on one side of the room with her forehooves crossed over her chest, listening intently.

The Captain’s eyes flicked towards the hippogriff, before focusing back on the report he was perusing. In it were a couple photos Scarface had snapped of the area, including some of the dead manticore.

“And what do you think?”

“The City Hall is basically a fortress. Going by the state of the manticore…” She tapped a talon against the picture. “It seems they have a sniper on overwatch. And they’re not hiding it with the…”

“The road sign.” Dilip nodded.

From the size of the wounds on the monster, the sniper in question was heavily armed as well. How he got his hands (or whatever fit the bill) on a large caliber rifle in Belfast… No wait; if he really was IRA, then the UK’s strict gun laws wouldn’t matter either way.

“Captain, what are we going to do about it?” Aleksei inquired.

“For now? Nothing. That’s downtown Belfast scouted at least. Tomorrow I want you to go north of the city towards Kilroot and Carrickfergus. Inspect the power station and locate the substations we need to fix to bring back power to the repair yard.”

And with that he sent her off. Schmitt needed her help to plan out how they’d go about repairing the bow section, and Roberto wanted all the Engineers to look at their intel files to figure out where they might be able to locate the proper parts. Or at least the machinery and resources to make them. He was pretty sure they’d need a hydraulic press to adjust the steel plates they found to the right shape.

Well, unless they wanted Amandine’s bow to look like a badly rendered computer model. And if they wanted to achieve Amandine’s top speed ever again, they’d have to make sure to rebuild her as streamlined as possible.

The Diamond Dog waited until he heard Aleksei walk down the stairs before he pulled another document from a drawer. Repair time estimations signed by both Schmitt and Fugro’s Chief Engineer.

Time to communicate it to their ‘patrons’ then…

“Eko’s going to be pissed.” Raimund said.

“Yeah…” Dilip sighed as he began booting up his computer to contact the HPI agent. “He is.”

The agent had already seemed rather wary when Dilip told him about the collision by satellite mail. Still, Eko had given him a timeframe for a video call to further explain how that would impact their due delivery.

A quick check of his watch -a replacement as of now, wider Diamond Dog wrists had forced him to abandon his old Breitling- later, he called up Eko’s number. The Indonesian’s face appeared on screen a minute later, Raimund trotting over to be in sight of the webcam.

As for their HPI contact, he looked… weary. Not physically so, but the look he sported on his face was about as emotionally drained as a human could get without someone dying. He was sitting behind his desk, as usual, except this time he had shed his vest which was hanging on a peg in sight of the webcam, leaving him in a white dress shirt with his suspenders visible and his tie thrown over his shoulder. He was also unshaven, the hair on his shin starting to edge into unkempt territory.

“Greetings Eko.” Dilip started with a curt nod. “How goes?”

“Tiring, but manageable.” Eko admitted before pulling out a printed copy of their previous mail in sight of the webcam.

Eko’s look turned into a glare.

“You’re playing a dangerous game Captain.”

“I thought we already were over the ‘alien’ thing.”

“That ‘alien’ thing is what’s making it even more difficult to appease my superiors. Not only did you hide them from our knowledge, now I need to explain why the delivery of critical prototypes we were supposed to receive in the first place will turn up late. Regardless of how valuable the intel you send us is, you’re not being a very cooperative ally, Prateek.” Eko said, Dilip’s name coming with an acidic tone. “Had it been any other agent taking care of your case, that would have been enough to sever your contracts. For both of you.”

“We had our reasons, and ultimately we did share the intel.” Raimund stated.

“The Upper Echelon doesn’t care for whatever reasons you can muster. What they do see, is that their supposed allies that I was vouching for waited for weeks until revealing the fact they had hosted aliens on their vessels.”

Dilip winced. He had expected that decision to bite them in the ass somewhere down the line. What he didn’t expect, was that a ship popping out of nowhere would drain what little brownie points they had left with the shady organization after their little stunt.

“Look, the delay isn’t even that bad. We were going to show up ahead of time anyway.” The Indian tried.

“How bad?”

Dilip glanced down at the repair time estimations.

“Look, normally we’d have turned up two weeks ahead of time.” Raimund jumped in to Dilip’s help.

“How. Bad.” Eko repeated.

“Four weeks total. We’ll be two weeks late to Savannah if things go as planned.”

And that was already a generous estimation, considering they were running a repair yard with less than a hundred workers and less than a dozen welders. It was a miracle they could use telekinesis and magic to speed up the process, otherwise they might have been stuck repairing for months.

On the screen, the two Captains watched their contact pinch his nose in frustration and mutter what sounded like swear words in Malay. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, before finally turning his gaze back to the Diamond Dog and unicorn on his screen.

“You both are extremely lucky no other alternatives have popped up on our radar otherwise there is no way I could convince my superiors to keep the contract going. That delay will force us to revise planned schedules in nearly all of our departments…”

“I’m terribly sorry ab-“Raimund began before being cut off by Eko.

“Excuses won’t do.” He said sharply. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised about this, but these circumstances force me to reduce the credit reward for your delivery by half.”

This time it was Raimund’s turn to frown. No way they would work for half the pay.

“Let me remind you of one thing: we already have your cargo on board and ready for delivery.” She fired back. “So, let’s reach an agreement and cut down the penalty to thirty percent.”

Hearing that, Dilip turned an alarmed look towards the small pink mare sitting next to him. What the Hell was she even thinking?!

“Thirty?” Eko scoffed. “As if you’d even have gotten away with that kind of penalty before the Event. I’ll be generous and say forty-five.”

“Forty-five isn’t even enough to make it appealing.” Raimund rolled her baby blue eyes at the offer. “Still, I’ll say thirty-five and we’re good… Plus…” She smiled. “I’m willing to make a promise on one delivery of up to two FEU worth of nuclear materials in the coming months, with fifteen percent off on the reward if we put this incident past us. That should give you something to appease your superiors.”

“It will.” Eko said, his features still hard albeit with a hint of relief creasing his brows. “I believe that we got ourselves a deal, Captain Gerig. Have a nice day.”

The screen went black. There was a tense moment of silence before Dilip slowly turned his head towards his colleague.

“What the fuck Raimund?! I thought we weren’t going to do nuclear fuel!”

“Relax, that one is on me.” She reassured him. “You keep Amandine free of radiation if you want, Rhine will carry that load.”

“Yeah, you’d better…” The Indian mumbled.







If the sailors keeping the perimeter around the repair yard secure were any better at their job, they would have spotted the glint of a sniper scope coming from a building half a mile away.

But they didn’t, which showed to the dragon behind the scope of the anti-material rifle that these guys were not military. Their ships didn’t bear British flags either, so at least that was a plus in his books. They were obviously preparing to use the graving dock, with trucks pouring out of the grey-and-white Ro/Ro to explore nearby warehouses.

The dragon in question was yet another human-turned-teenage-dragon, as most did due to the difference in aging. Still, for a dragon his age he was rather tall. His scales were an emerald green he had covered in soot to prevent them from reflecting sunlight. Unlike many dragons, he also didn’t have horns or spikes, instead having a fin-like ridge running down his back, its mate yellow color matching that of his eyes. He was wearing the same uniform he had worn with the Provisionals during the Troubles: woodland vest, black cargo pants, and his black beret, all of it already adapted to fit his new form. He even had a couple pouches to hold the huge .50cal mags for his rifle, and a tan camo net covering his back like a cloak, hiding his folded wings.

His men… drakes… ponies -or whatever fit the bill- had also reported a team of sailors spotting their HQ at the City Hall. Judging by how that team fled as soon as they spotted the city hall, they were aware of his organization’s reputation.

Good, that meant they wouldn’t cause too much trouble. The Irish dragon already had his claws full with the Loyalists north of town.

For a moment, he pondered simply walking up to their checkpoint and initiating contact.

Nah.

Let the Loyalists do it first, for all the difference it would make. This was their island, and now they finally had their chance to free it from the British invaders after eight centuries of occupation. A bunch of sailors wouldn’t stop that.

On that thought, Finnegan slung his rifle across his back and escaped, opening his wings and starting to jump from rooftop to rooftop, back to the City Hall. Better get his guys ready for what was to come.







Down in the guts of Amandine, a hatch clanked open in a dark space before a grey Pegasus plopped down with a grunt. He had a headlamp attached to his forehead, scanning the darkness for something.

Behind, there was another more feminine grunt as Aleksei followed him inside the cramped compartment. The Engineer reached over Radiant’s shoulder with her talons, flicking a little switch next to them. As soon as she did that, the room lit up with the orange light of sodium lamps, revealing it fully.

It wasn’t so much of a room as it was a tunnel, barely tall enough for even quadrupeds like them to stand up. In fact, the Pegasus was pretty sure a minotaur like Angelo would never fit in there, much less centaurs like those on Rhine Forest. The tunnel seemingly ran along the entire length of the ship, comprising of a set of tiny rails next to a cluster of pipes of various diameters.

It was Amandine’s duct keel. Basically the ship’s spine, with all the piping playing the role of the spinal cord and connecting all the tanks the ship had to the engine room, be they for fuel, ballast water, or even lube. They were at the aft entrance, a small hatch below the engine room leading down to a platform at the beginning of the rails where Radiant could see a tiny cart awaiting.

“Remind me, why are we down here?” Radiant asked as he prodded the -admittedly shoddy- cart with his hoof.

Well, it’s not like they used the thing that often. Last time someone went down there, Geert was still a Cadet -and a he- and she/he had to grease the wheels of said cart. The little thing wasn’t even powered: you had to pull it using a rope attached next to the rails.

“Got a problem with the tank heating system. Schmitt checked the other day and there was a pressure loss in HFO tank 1.” She explained as she pulled the brake lever on the cart.

Saying that only got her a blank look from the Equestrian Pegasus.

Right. Technically only a cadet.

“I take it Angelo has yet to tell you about the tank heating system?”

Radiant nodded, which elicited a sigh from the hippogriff. Whelp, might as well teach her ‘pupil’ while they were at it.

“Alright, grab the rope and start pulling. I’m going to explain as we go.” She said, holding out the rope for him. “So, here’s the thing. Do you remember what kind of fuel this ship runs on?”

“Oil?” Radiant tried as he started pulling.

“Not exactly. Crude oil is barely usable as fuel. Here on board we have two kinds of fuel: heavy fuel oil, which we use on the main engine when in transit, and diesel oil, for the generators and all our vehicles. The main engine can technically run on diesel as well, but HFO is a cheaper distillate overall.”

“Distillate?” One of his ears tilted down in curiosity.

“Yes. Crude oil can be refined in multiple distillates from heavy stuff like asphalt for roads, to lighter stuff like aircraft fuel which we call kerosene. Back to HFO, the stuff works as fuel, but it’s barely above asphalt quality-wise. Practically tar when cold. If we want to keep it in a relatively pumpable state, it has to stay above 80 degrees at all times.”

“Hence the tank heating system.” He guessed.

“Yes. You familiar with steam systems?”

“I’d say.” Radiant deadpanned. “Most common engine type on Equestria, both on airships and seagoing vessels.”

“Then the heating system shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.” Aleksei explained. “Each HFO tank is fitted with a heat exchanger through which we circulate steam that’s fed through those pipes.” She tapped a set of two white pipes next to the cart. “Steam comes out of the boiler, goes through the heat exchangers, comes back as water.”

“Wait, there is boiler?” He paused in pulling the rope.

“A couple of them, two slaves, one master, all below the desalination plant, I’ll show you later, it’s all electric.” She waved off the question for now. “The boiler itself is connected to another heat exchanger that’s not for tank heating: the exhaust economizer. If you go look at the exhaust system, we have it installed just below the scrubber. It allows us to ‘steal’ some heat from the exhaust gases so we don’t need so much power in the boilers themselves.”

“Uh uh…” Radiant nodded, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead from the exertion as he pulled on the rope with his forehooves. “So… the tank heating is always on?”

“We got a couple hours of ‘thermal inertia’ before the fuel cools down too much in case of blackout but yes, it’s always on.”

She kept explaining the intricacies of the tank heating system whilst the Pegasus labored with the rope. The fact Amandine was trimmed by the stern to counter the damage didn’t help either, since it meant he basically had to pull the cart up an incline. But he managed it, even in the cramped conditions of the duct keel.

They soon found the source of the problem. It had escaped their notice at first, but the impact was jarring enough to damage the connections of the heating system in the foremost starboard tank. A couple pipes were partially disconnected, leaking steam through a damaged seal that had started to form a puddle of freshwater between two bracket frames inside the tunnel. It wasn’t alarming yet, but they’d have to get a welder and a plumber down there to fix the damage.

A matter of an hour or two. It was fortunate they had spotted it so soon, otherwise the unchecked accumulation of water could have become dangerous real quick. Particularly considering they were prepping for a dry-dock visit.

“John isn’t going to be happy.” Radiant commented.

“Happy or not, she’s the ship’s plumber, so she better do her damn job otherwise we’re going to have an entire tank filled with asphalt. Believe me, if you let HFO cool down to asphalt state, you’ll be at it for weeks trying to get it back to liquid state.” Aleksei hissed, wiping some hydraulic fluid that had stuck to her talons on her coveralls.

As a quick fix, she hastily wrapped some Teflon tape around the leak to mitigate it. John would have to come here after hours to fix it, and she didn’t think the Filipino hippogriff would be too happy at the prospect considering how overworked she was already.

That done, Aleksei didn’t let Radiant go immediately. She insisted on pulling the cart a couple meters further to check if the duct keel had suffered any warping damage during the collision. It ultimately didn’t, but the inspection opened them up for an unforeseen incident.

Pretty dumb actually, and Aleksei would later berate herself for forgetting how bloody sensitive the cart’s brake lever could be. It was only natural that when she leaned ahead and told Radiant to scoot over to the side -the cart being cramped enough as is-, one of them would accidentally bump a hoof against the lever.

The Latvian only had enough time to mutter a very heartfelt ‘Oh sūds…’ when she heard the brakes release before the two of them suddenly found themselves rolling at high speed through a dark, cramped utility tunnel, much to both of their horror.

With the Pegasus ‘Cadet’ busy screaming and suffering from tunnel vision as the few lamps inside the tunnel flew by, the female hippogriff straddled him trying to reach the brake lever. Amandine was only so long before their cart hit the access ladder aft of the duct tunnel.

She had no wish to become a meaty pancake stuck inside a tiny compartment.

The hippogriff finally managed to grasp the lever in her talons by pinning Radiant beneath her. With its wheels sparking and screeching, the stupidly fast cart came to a halt a few meters short of the ladder.

For a few moments, Aleksei just laid there, staring at the ladder, her bloodstream filled to the brim with adrenaline, a heavy burnt smell coming from the now red-hot brakes.

And then she realized her posture: her, a female hippogriff, straddling the Pegasus stallion that was now lying on his back.

Aleksei jumped to her limbs faster than you could have said ‘shipping’, frenetically brushing her coveralls with her talons as if that was perfectly intended. The blush on her features, though, was easy to notice through her light green feathers.

“You. Tell. No. One. About. This. Understood?” She ground out, jabbing a talon between Radiant’s eyes to punctuate each word before she quickly escaped through the access ladder. 

The Pegasus stood still for a minute after her departure before a cheeky grin creased the edge of his muzzle. His green eyes shone with a glint in the semi-darkness.

“I believe I got a chance…” He whispered to himself, confidently.







The next day saw yet another recce team leaving the docks to explore the area. This time, north of the city towards the Kilroot Power Station. To make the graving dock operational once more, they’d need to restart power in the city’s grid, which was apparently tied to that power station half-an-hour away from downtown Belfast.

It was once again up to Aleksei to lead a team there, though this time she had a bit more equipment along: in addition to the Defender used earlier to scout Belfast itself, they had a ‘mog following them, carrying some tools they felt might be necessary, a long range radio, along with a couple sailors from Rhine’s engineering department, including their electrician and an Engine Cadet in the form of Frederik.

As for who rode alongside her in the Defender, she had kept the same team she had with her in Belfast: Scarface and Thanasis, plus Radiant…

Though the latter was behaving weirdly. Ever since she had taken him to the duct keel, the Pegasus had started giving her odd looks and hanging around her more frequently, even when he didn’t strictly need to.

The two vehicles made their way up one of the many graffiti-covered overpasses that snaked their way above the docklands before following a four-lane highway north, towards Carrickfergus. Belfast’s cityscape disappeared behind them as they followed the road along the bay’s shoreline and through the municipalities that apparently served as residential districts to the bigger city.

The residences themselves were a bit bigger than the tiny worker housing found directly around Belfast, though still far below the Western European average. But that’s pretty much how housing was in the British Isles before the Event: limited space and small-sized plots that resulted in cramped houses, even in the suburbs.

Retail parks, shops and other abandoned businesses lined the sides of the highway, shielding the suburbs from the ruckus of the now deserted highway in a still very urban landscape. The shops there hadn’t been looted yet, though a couple packs of stray dogs -and even a random sheep herd- roamed the streets. It was only once they left Whiteabbey behind them that the green Irish countryside reared its head with a couple pastures and tree groves creeping in between the housing blocks, the vegetation already starting the process of reclaiming the suburban landscape.

Soon enough though, they came into range of Carrickfergus proper.

The town… was nothing exceptional in all honesty. At least that’s how Aleksei perceived it. To the hippogriff’s profane eyes, it only looked like someone had wanted to erect the town specifically alongside the highway with the sole purpose of playing second fiddle to Belfast. The buildings were mismatched: some with poorly assembled bricks, others with whitewashed concrete facades. There were fast-food joints and restaurant or retail chains breaking up what little semblance of order a row of building managed to achieve over a small distance; even the lampposts couldn’t seem to agree on one style, or even the flags they sported: some had Union Jacks hanging from their lamps, others displayed the English flag, and a scant few had tattered Ulster banners hanging from them.

And for some reason there was an old set of Norman fortifications near the marina. Go figure.

Say what you want about Post-Soviet cities, but even the worst of soviet buildings in Riga remained miles ahead of that… mess they called a city. At least her fellow Latvians kept a semblance of harmony in the city along with a profound desire to improve upon the brutalist buildings left behind by Russian occupiers.

Carrickfergus though? If she craned her neck up the hippogriff could spot what looked like the corrugated steel of a warehouse in the middle of the town. The horror.

They thankfully didn’t have to hang out in that eyesore of a town too long. Kilroot was but a few minutes down the road, the power station’s grey concrete smokestack rising high above the surrounding land. The closer they got to it, the more they noticed the infrastructure surrounding it: dozens of electric pylons directing their lines towards the rest of the country, clusters of chrome-plated pipelines going from large cylindrical shore tanks to the station proper, and some coal-stained conveyors that did just the same, except coming from a coal bunker linked to a thin jetty on the bay side of the power station.

Going by the size of the installation, none of the sailors doubted the claim it was supposed to supply a significant part of Northern Ireland with electricity. The boiler and turbine building itself was bigger than any of the skyscrapers they had seen in Belfast itself.

Aleksei waited until they were past the gates before she flicked on her radio with a talon, the frequency letting out a beeping noise to signal the other vehicle in the convoy she was about to speak.

“Alright peeps listen up, I’ll keep this simple. The graving dock in Belfast needs power, and this is the thing we gotta work with. But if we’re gonna do it, we’re gonna do it good, and safely. I want two folks to run a quick check of the fence and keep a tight eye on the gates while the rest are busy. Looking at you Scarface…” She addressed a pointed look over her beak at the Bulgarian veteran.

“Will do.” The gargoyle in the passenger seat nodded, his fingers drumming against the assault rifle in his lap.

“Rest of us… I want one team to look at the oil and coal bunkers and then check out if they’ve got records on consumption. I want to know how much power this plant has left. If you see any significant damage to the installation, please notify me on the radio. I’ll be looking at operational manuals in the control room –when I locate it that is-. Electrician, you’re listening?”

“It’s Johann actually… Over.” She heard him reply over the radio.

She had met the batpony way back when Rhine first reappeared. If rumors were to be trusted, he may be doing some… ahem, stuff with Sandra. Not that she cared overly much, as long as the guy could read wiring diagrams and hold a multimeter, he could do his job. Whatever he did with her friend, that was his business.

Wait, since when did she consider that pushy Dane to be her friend?

The hippogriff mentally shrugged.

“Alright then, Johann.” She drawled. “Find us a plan of the regional grid. It’s good if we can restart the station, but it will be better if we can get the current to Belfast. We need the location and status of the substation. If any of them is damaged, I wanna know if we can reroute the current around, or if we can fix them. Roger? Over.”

“Crystal ma’am. Over.” He replied.

And with that she keyed off the radio after repeating the usual procedures. More or less that is, she was an engie, not a deckie. Hence… no official radio or GMDSS license.

“Anything I can do?” Radiant eagerly asked from the back.

“Well you’re already familiar with boiler and steam turbines I think?” The hippogriff said as she slowly guided the Defender towards a parking lot next to what appeared to be the power plant’s offices. “You ought to be able to help with that… probably.” She shrugged with her wings.

“Gladly!” The Pegasus replied with a wide smile.

The hippogriff in the driver’s seat awkwardly shifted before turning her eyes towards the power station. She didn’t know what had gotten into the Pegasus, but maybe she could have him run errands on the other side of the building while she was busy.

Either way, they were going to have a busy afternoon.







Warning: explicit sexual content is present in the next scene







Back in Belfast, two Cadets finally managed to get a moment for themselves on Rhine. That moment, they chose to make a good use of by slipping away inside of Seb’s cabin.

The unicorn mare’s cabin was pretty much like all ratings’ on the barge carrier, though ever since Rhine’s return and the revelation they might be there for a while, she had started to personalize it.

The back wall with the single porthole had already been repainted to match her dark red coat, along with other stuff like a plasma TV, a better computer, and a collection of books –several of them related to DnD with notes stuck between the pages-. She also had a couple posters of festivals she had been to decorating the walls: Tomorrowland, Pukkelpop, even Graspop.

Perks of living in Belgium… plenty of festivals to attend to every summer. She’d better commit them to memory, because she doubted there would even be enough people on Earth to organize any for the coming decades.

She also had a picture of Carla and her from before the Event swapped their genders around, framed on her desk. She barely addressed it a glance as the two Cadets barged in the room and practically bounced their way onto her mattress.

“What a day uh…” Seb breathed out as she laid down on her back, hooves spread and crackling her back.

Doc Delacroix had now deemed her well enough to resume manual work… and the Officers sure didn’t need the Doc to repeat herself. Even with the help of telekinesis, all the maintenance work had run her ragged. At this point, she’d readily take the otherwise boring checkpoint duty over just scraping biofouling off the hull of Rhine’s auxiliaries.

“You don’t say.” Carla commented, the bigger male hippogriff joining her on the bed and wrapping a forelimb behind her rump. “At least you can do stuff without touching that…” He shuddered. “That gunk.”

Seb chuckled. The hippogriff may have been genderswapped, but that reaction alone told her even though he had quite the junk hanging between his legs, it was still the same Carla she had grown to love before she got feathers and the ability to ‘go mermaid’.

“It ain’t funny!” The grey hippogriff protested vehemently.

“I think it is… if only a bit.” She smiled and ruffled the blue mane/crest of feathers on top of his head. “You look all strong and manly, yet if it’s icky you still act like a prissy lil’ girl.”

Carla rolled over on his belly, pinning the mare down on the mattress with a wide grin on his beak. His sapphire-colored eyes shone with a glint as he stared deep into Seb’s own magenta irises.

“Would a ‘prissy lil’ girl’ do that?” He crowed.

Seb crossed her forehooves behind Carla’s neck and hoisted herself closer.

“Please, you and I both know you have no idea how to use what you’ve been gifted with, however sizeable it is, horsecock.” She teasingly whispered in his ear before giving his cheek a quick peck.

“I totally do!” He insisted. “And it’s not like you have any experience on the other side either way.” He huffed.

“I’ll admit, I don’t.” Her ear flicked at the admission before a smile appeared on her muzzle. “But unlike you I don’t even need to touch you to get you off.”

“Wha-“ Carla began before he felt a tingling sensation between his legs.

He had already been quite ‘ready’ just by pressing himself against the mare, but this was more than the intense, focussed feeling of male arousal he was still rather unaccustomed with. Seb still had her hooves wrapped around his neck, the heat of her core palpable even through both their coveralls, but now her horn had taken on the familiar glow of magic coursing through it.

His eyes widened in realization.

“You little hoer, shoulda known I could trust you to turn telekinesis into something kinky.” He breathed out, feeling a gentle constriction wrap around his member and start massaging it expertly.

Seb was indeed rather effective at this, a few seconds of the treatment enough to bring him near bursting point. Not that he’d have let her finish him without returning the favor, a single look in her eyes was enough to tell…

She was ready… and the nostrils atop his beak pretty much confirmed it by scent alone.

“Ready for your own bit of discovery?” He smiled down at her.

The mare didn’t answer. Instead, he heard a drawer open and out flew a packaged condom. That was all he needed to know, a few seconds later both had shed off their dirty coveralls and were making out passionately on the bed.

  Seb still had her horn lit up with telekinesis, and her much bigger hippogriff boyfriend now had his claws wrapped around her rump with his thumb-talons flicking her teats in earnest, which elicited a soft mewl from her.

“You know… I think Seb isn’t really a fitting name for you anymore…” Carla whispered in her ear before gently nipping at it with his beak.

“Speak for yourself, Carl.” She countered, squeezing the base of his knot in passing as if to make a point.

To which he replied by plunging two talons inside her dripping snatch, the gesture and intrusion almost enough to make her eyes roll back in her head. Damn, she never knew females had it so good before she got to try it herself, and she hadn’t even tried anything on her lonesome yet.

Or maybe it was just that way for ponies, not that she could tell.

“I think I should call you… hmm… that’s it! You’re Dot!” He exclaimed, talons still plunged inside her.

“Dot?” She cocked her head and threw him a look with her eyes half-lidded from sheer pleasure.

“Matches that nice mark you got on your flank.” He smiled down at her.

One thing was for certain about said mark, was that they would not be calling it a ‘Cutie-Marks’ like Equestrians did. Hers though, was rather odd. The first time she looked at it, it was simply a round black dot –the letter E in Morse-, then one day it had changed to a dot and a bar.

In fact ever since she had reappeared, she had gone through the entire Morse alphabet several times over, changing between letters at random.

“Hmm, fitting I guess, and not that bad sounding.” She agreed, giving a small lick on the underside of his beak, much to Carla’s embarrassment. “I guess I could use that. What says you finally make things simple and become Carl?”

“I dunno…” The hippogriff rolled his wings, making the joints at the base crack as he flexed the powerful muscles inside them. “It all feels a bit sudden right now…”

‘Dot’ laid back down and extended her hind legs outwards, fully revealing her marehood to her partner, her own blue spiky tail flicking from side to side in anticipation.

“So let’s seal that naming ceremony and finish it.” She beckoned him with a hoof, her horn finally releasing its telekinetic grip on Carl’s junk.

Carl himself was all too happy to comply, in a flick of his wrist that betrayed how unfamiliar he was with his new assets; he had a condom over his member and finally got to give Dot the rutting she so brazenly asked for.

In the privacy of their cabin, Carla became Carl, and Seb became Dot.







Aleksei and her team didn’t find enough time that day to restart the power plant. While they did spend their time there preparing how they’d go about it and calculating whether or not the power plant would even have enough fuel for the entire duration of the repairs –which it did, thankfully-, the group certainly wasn’t ready to boot up the systems by the time dusk came.

Well at least they’d be ready to whenever the Captains gave the order.

Right then she was perched at the top of the plant’s smokestack, her wings half-open to catch the refreshing breeze of the early evening. The rainy overcast weather had long settled, leaving breaks in the cloud cover that now shone a bright pink from the rays of the setting sun, a nice change of pace from the otherwise dreary atmosphere of Carrickfergus and the power plant.

She still had a couple spare minutes to observe the sights before the rest of the team was done tidying up the office they had commandeered for their little operation. It may or may not have been a bit messy after they had gathered all the manuals and notes they needed there, but hey, it had a working coffee machine they plugged to a mobile generator.

Off in the distance, thin plumes of smoke rose above Belfast. Three from around the docks –their ships-, and a thinner one that marked the City Hall they had yet to initiate contact with.

Not that she blamed the Captains for being wary. If their assumptions were correct, the guys holed up in there weren’t to be messed with. Last thing they wanted was to be car-bombed.

Aleksei shifted on her haunches to grab a canteen of lukewarm coffee attached to her flak jacket. She was half-tempted to pull out her phone and snap a picture of the bay right then, but a fluttering of wings stopped her before she could act on that whim.

A quiet sigh escaped her beak when Radiant’s grey silhouette popped up on the edge of her vision. The Pegasus landed on top of the smokestack behind her and pranced over proudly.

“Office tidied up all nice and convoy ready to leave boss.” He intoned cheerfully, his wings fluffed up and muzzle held high.

“Good.” She nodded, making a point of ignoring the Equestrian’s oddly prideful demeanor. She took one last sip of her coffee before reattaching the canteen to its holster. “Time to get going then, don’t wanna miss supper.”

She opened her wings to their full extent and let herself drop down the side of the smokestack, gliding back down to the parking space where she could already see Scarface waiting with the engine on. A flapping noise behind her ensured Radiant was indeed following.

“Did you make sure all windows and doors were closed? Last thing I want is for a monster to sneak in while we’re away.”

“All closed, the keys are inside the Landy.” He replied, still gliding behind her.

Why was she so sure he was staring at her rump again? Did he even know she intended to turn back male as soon as she figured out how? Whatever… They all piled up in the convoy and left the power plant after making sure the gates were closed, signaling to the ships over the radio that they were headed back to Belfast.

There was a hick though.

Because just as they were driving through Carrickfergus; the convoy met an obstacle just next to the Norman fort in the form of a Vauxhall Vectra. A police Vauxhall, with the usual white paintjob and blue-and-yellow checkered pattern on the sides, now blocking off the road.

There was a unicorn stallion sitting on his haunches atop the hood, wearing a muddy and ill-fitted set of the PSNI’s usual bottle green uniform.

“Convoy to Amandine…” Aleksei announced over the radio. “Be advised: we will come back with a delay. We have made contact with British loyalists. Out.”

Her stomach tightened. Turns out, they would be late for supper.

 

 

 
> Chapter 50: The Switzerland Clause?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pony constable stared at her.

She stared right back through her Defender’s windshield.

This status-quo would have kept going for hours had it not been for Scarface breaking the silence and laying a hand on her shoulder.

“So you gonna initiate contact or not?” The Bulgarian asked her with a pointed look.

“I’d rather not…” She replied in a low tone, eyes not leaving the unicorn stallion that was still sitting on the hood of his car with an expectant look.

“Seems like he does want to have a few words with us to me. Would be a shame to refuse now, wouldn’t it?” He insisted.

Aleksei’s talons tightened around the wheel. Her eyes left the constable and surveyed the surroundings. She hadn’t paid attention back when they first crossed Carrickfergus, but there were a couple hints that showed the place was inhabited: an inn/pub across the road stood out against the rest of the abandoned buildings around it with its barricaded windows, and the castle had been fortified. Sort of. A pile of tires and a couple pallets blocked off the entrance, but not much more than that. Some cars in the parking lot looked more serviceable than the others too.

The constable wasn’t alone either. If she squinted, she could see a couple equine shapes spying them from between the crenels in the castle, and a couple more hiding inside the inn.

“You got my back?” She eventually sighed, addressing her subordinates.

“Always.” Scarface nodded.

For emphasis, the gargoyle gave a light tap on the rifle he had in his lap.

She left hers in the truck. Might help appease the cop if she didn’t approach him with a loaded rifle. She still had the pistol in her flak jacket’s holster still…

Hold on. No, she had taken a 303 this time instead of a regular pistol. Can’t really kill someone with CS gas-filled paintballs.

Guess she’d really be counting on Scarface to back her up if things went south… Hopefully this wouldn’t be the case.

Then again, to an outside observer, they were a bunch of heavily-armed mismatched guys driving around the country with stolen military equipment. Not really the most trust-inspiring sight. Did they dress inmates in orange in the British Isles? ‘cause if so, Amandine’s de-facto uniform wouldn’t help with first impressions.

Before she had time to realize it, Aleksei’s limbs stopped just short of the constable’s Vauxhall. She tore her eyes away from the asphalt and craned her neck up to look at the pony on the patrol car. Believe it or not, but even regular cars like a Vectra could be deceptively tall when you’re walking around on all fours.

The constable –not that she could remember how they ranked cops around here- was a dark brown unicorn stallion with black eyes. He had the usual square muzzle shape of stallions, albeit with the addition of a black goatee on the underside of his jaw that matched the dark locks spilling out from underneath his police cap. Said cap being ever so slightly pulled back to allow room for the stubby horn on top of his head.

As for his uniform… saying it was ill-fitted would have been an understatement. The stallion was practically swimming in his service shirt, which was only contained by the stab vest he wore above it and to which he had attached the holster for his Glock.

Barring the vest and shirt, he wasn’t wearing anything else, much to Aleksei’s embarrassment at the sight of his bare rear half. Still, that let her take a peek at the Emblem on his flank: a pair of crossed police batons. That made her all the more cautious when paired with the stern look he sported and the actual baton he had attached to the back strap of his vest.

“You’re driving on the wrong side of the road and you don’t have a license plate.” He stated in a Kentish accent.

“Ah…” Aleksei stuttered, cut off before she could even formulate a greeting. “Hello to you too, I guess.”

The stallion eyed the convoy behind her with a scowl.

“Something the matter, Officer…?” She pressed, trailing off inquisitively towards the end.

“Codsworth.” He turned his eyes back toward her. “Figures Finnegan wouldn’t even bother telling his goons my name.” He added with a snort.

Aleksei cocked her head, one of her ears instinctively tilting in confusion at the remark.

“I’m sorry Officer but there seems to be a misunderstanding. I have no idea who this so-called ‘Finnegan’ is, but I can ensure you we’re certainly not working for him.” She said before pointing to her Defender –and more importantly, Amandine’s IMO number painted on the wings-.

This time it was Codsworth’s turn to look confused, though the surprise quickly faded from his features as he reasserted his stern look.

“And if you’re no Provo lady, care to tell me whose group you belong to?”

However tempting it was to outright insult him for calling her ‘lady’, Aleksei elected to keep her acidic remarks for later.

“We’re the World Seafarer Union, Officer. Just a group of sailor from multiple ships that’s been assembling to help whenever we can.” She jabbed a talon back towards the power plant. “Unfortunately two of our ships have been damaged, and we need the power for the repair dock back in Belfast.”

The stallion turned his head south to stare in the docklands’ general direction, a hint of a hopeful look dawning in his eyes.

“Sailors? That’s fantastic!” He exclaimed. “With the Navy’s help we can finally drive out these RIRA traitors and-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Aleksei cut him off. “We’re merchants, not navy. Our goal is to reestablish trade routes and help budding colonies build up their industry, not to fight. All these guns we have, are for monsters.”

“Oh Finnegan’s a monster alright…” Codsworth growled.

“That will be up to the Captains to judge.” She pointed out. “I’ll make sure your case is brought up to their attention and then… then maybe we’ll figure out a course of action.” She trailed off before turning her eyes towards the inn by the side of the road. “If I may ask, what’s happened around here? So I may tell my superiors.”

“He chased us out of town that’s what.” Codsworth replied bitterly. “We had a group going near Belfast Castle but then he started telling everyone they could ‘take back their land’ as he said. Then… it all went down from there, split us all in two groups up until it got so bad the castle got burned down in the argument that ensued. Some of us came here to find shelter, but there is only so much I can do on my own.”

“Nothing to defend yourselves with?”

Well, the UK never was known for allowing its residents to be armed, but at least he as a constable should be armed, right? He did have a pistol in his holster after all.

“We tried to get more weapons for the monsters, but those assholes had already taken all the guns in town, plus them IRA fuckers somehow had an extra stash lying around…” He shook his head. “Figures they would… The other day while I was inspecting the salt mine, a group of our guys went to the City Hall without me. They asked them if they could have some guns.”

“And?”

“Bastards didn’t even open the gates.” He said bitterly. “Father Smith just wanted a mean to defend our group, and they let loose a friggin’ MANTICORE on him!”

Aleksei recoiled a bit at the angry outburst. The hippogriff’s ears flicked a bit, seemingly trying to shake off the ringing the loud cry had sent reverberating through her eardrums.

“Did anyone die?” She asked.

“The manticore stung him before he could run away. Mister Baker managed to bring him back to the inn, but he’s been bedridden ever since.”

“That we might be able to help with.” Aleksei told him. “We got a doctor and a clinic, plus I’m pretty sure we got what we need to make antivenom for manticore venom in store. I just need to go back to Belfast and… I promise we’ll send back someone to deal with, uh…”

“Father Smith.” Codsworth reminded her.

“Father Smith.” She nodded. “We got a Frenchwoman with us, she’s a good doctor, she’ll help. You think Smith can hold on for a couple hours more?”

The police stallion hopped off his car’s hood and opened the door with his telekinesis. In passing, Aleksei noted how he had modified the controls to fit his much smaller frame: a booster seat, as well as a couple makeshift extensions on the pedals so he could reach them with his hind hooves.

“He will hold, but don’t waste time.” He said, turning the ignition to let the convoy pass. Codsworth’s features softened, and Aleksei managed to spot some genuine worry in his eyes. “Please. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Uztecies man, he won’t.” Aleksei promised before making her way back to the Defender.





To say Camille was busy would have been the understatement of the day.

With the addition of the labs and the medical scanner, the French Doctor had quickly found herself nearly drowning under an overwhelming pile of experiments, tasks and patients she had to take care of. She was so overloaded she could barely spare time for Vadim’s medical lessons, which was why she had given the Ukrainian griffon a copious amount of academic readings to get through just so she could have a bit of breathing room.

As for the labs themselves… they had been forced to make a couple compromises, but the end result should do the trick. Her dedicated set of containers had been installed one deck above the hydroponics in Rhine’s container bay, but there was only so much she could fit in there. Blame the MRI scanner for that: the bloody thing was huge, needing two FEU containers on its own so she could have enough room to fit bigger species like minotaurs and centaurs while still keeping enough room for other scanners and all the electronics needed to process and store the data.

That was ‘Section 1: scanning’, on the starboard side of her dedicated deck which was split in two by a single passageway connected to the utility lift.

On the opposite side, she had managed to get two laboratory containers. Not nearly enough room for what she wanted, but she did have two other storage containers further down the passageway to store extra lab equipment. If there was anything she needed to do in particular, she could just swap out equipment whenever necessary.

Still left her with only two FEU worth of lab space… which, needless to say, was sub optimal and had forced her to carefully organize operations. So she came up with the most obvious solution: one container would be used for chemistry and potion-making, while the other would be used for the analysis of samples.

‘Section 2: synthesis’ and ‘Section 3: analysis’, both now written in bold red letters on the doors to said labs, alongside a lengthy serie of warnings and PPE specifications. Last thing she wanted was for someone to pop up at random inside either lab and contaminate batches. Considering how much the HPI offered just for biological samples, a contamination was about the last thing she wanted otherwise she’d have to explain to the Captain Gerig why they’d just lost a third of their forecast revenue.

And so she found herself inside of the analysis lab, sifting through her notes with a yawn and a thermos of coffee in talons’ reach. The ventilation –fully internalized to prevent contamination- was on full-blast, making her blue mane feathers bob up and down under the artificial wind. She had the beginnings of a headache developing courtesy of the aggressive neon lighting illuminating the white plastic of the lab around her like a second sun.

Or maybe she had to thank the ever-present smell of chemicals for that. Neither helped, and she pressed a taloned claw against her forehead with a groan.

“Note pour plus tard… remplacer les lampes par des LEDs.” She muttered in her native tongue.

What was she doing again?

Ah, right. The MRI scans. One of the things the HPI wanted was for her to get as many scans of all transformed species as she could. The shady organization seemed genuinely curious about the intricacies of alien biology. So was she, of course. If she wanted to do her job correctly she needed to figure out how her patients worked in the first place…

Maybe they should recruit a vet. She was just a GP after all, and a specialization in workplace injuries didn’t exactly grant her much knowledge about nonhumans.

On the computer screen in front of her were several scans of griffons -both male and female- to which she had started adding annotations and color filters to highlight organs here and there. The most important of which would be their air sacs and dual-heart structure. As far as she knew, not something very common in mammals… birds… whatever classification group she was supposed to put them into.

Her headache spiked.

And they were only the first species she was looking at. After doing that, she still had to look forward to about two dozen other species, and then the other tests.

She needed to take blood samples to evaluate whether or not vaccines had carried over after the transformation. And maybe why all species seemingly shared the same blood group system. There was no reason why a minotaur should be compatible with an Abyssinian, yet both fell in group B and could definitely transfuse each other’s blood.

Then she needed to start evaluating blood composition and maybe extend that to a quick survey of their endocrine systems. If blood was so similar to humans, then with a bit of luck hormones would be too, and she might be able to figure out how birth control should work for the species that went through a heat season.

Which she was thankfully spared from, as long as she kept a steady diet if the Equestrian books didn’t lie. Needing to eat a lot to trigger estrus made sense… in its own twisted way.

Still not as weird as a griffon’s method of triggering estrus.

And finally she had to complete the big order the HPI wanted most of all. They had asked for samples… in the form of pure DNA. Not hair follicles. Not saliva samples. Pure DNA separated from any contaminants or proteins.

Not that it couldn’t be done… DNA isolation was a relatively common procedure. It just would be extremely tedious to do it several times over for multiple individuals per species, and she couldn’t even start it in advance otherwise the samples might spoil before they reached the delivery point and the HPI’s scientific board had specified they wanted a three-week spoilage window upon delivery.

She might need to train Vadim on how to use the lab equipment otherwise she’d never be able to finish it all in time.

And just as she was busy starting the annotation work on the digestive track of griffons, her reflections were brought to a grinding halt by the ringing of the interphone next to the lab’s entrance.

With a sigh, Camille stood up and resigned herself to the fact she wouldn’t get much work done that evening.

“Doc Delacroix, Analysis lab, what’s the matter?” She immediately said upon picking up the phone.

There was a pause as whoever was on the other end of the line began chattering rapidly.

“Only one casualty?” Camille asked.

Another pause.

“And manticore venom you say? Alright listen up… I’m gonna check whether we already got the ingredients. You go to Amandine and tell your colleague Vadim to get the ambulance ready.”

The other person asked a quick question.

“Yes we have one! The military ambulance, the one Valentyn got from that base in Denmark. Six wheels, olive green with armor plating. You tell him to get that one and come to the lab ASAP; I’ll see what I can do on my end.” Camille ordered before putting the handset back in place. Her headache throbbed.

Without missing a beat, the French hippogriff left the analysis lab and immediately took a turn next door into the synthesis lab. Its insides were pretty much identical to those of the lab she had just left, with the same overall mood and lighting, except that one had a larger refrigerated storage for all the alchemical ingredients brought in from hydroponics.

And she wasn’t alone this time.

Asha was already there, the Congolese centaur having shed her usual rugged coveralls –well, at least the approximation of which centaurs wore- in favor of a lab coat and a long white dress sheet to cover her impala half.

“Evening Asha, everything in order?” Camille asked as she barged in.

“Yes ma’am.” The Cadet nodded, waving a red-skinned hand over an aluminum tray full of freshly-cut plants. “Just getting the ingredients from the first harvest ready for processing.”

“Good… good.” The Doctor nodded distractedly. “Keep going.”

If Camille was surprised by how quickly the plants had managed to grow under Asha’s centaurian influence, she didn’t say.

But having the plants wasn’t all, hence why the centaur was standing in front of some basic chemistry apparatus. Some flowers needed to have their components separated from different uses, others needed to have this part or that processed and ground down. It varied.

Right then, Asha was in the process of separating the petals from an Equestrian flower. Some type of orchid with a shiny yellow stem and iridescent petals she couldn’t remember the name of. By the looks of it, the stigma was to be ground, the petals kept separate and the stem pressed for its sap.

No matter. Camille moved past the centaur and made a beeline for a small library set next to the storage part of the lab. She grabbed the first book in reach, a copy of a potion manual the Equestrians had shown them. They had scanned and reprinted it on proper, modern paper, her talons expertly flicking over the supple plasticized cover as she immediately skipped to the ‘poison’ tab.

Whichever equine had written the manuscript version had had the foresight of putting the general antivenin recipe at the beginning of the chapter. Her eyes perused the contents appreciatively. Simple process: make a general formula that can keep for a while in large quantities, and then apparently the potion could be altered by adding a small reagent depending on which monster’s venom was involved.

Didn’t work on mundane creatures though. Pity.

Camille flipped the page to the ‘manticore’ tab.

She swore.

	‘Caution: venom sample required’

“Asha?” Camille called over her shoulder.

“Yes ma’am?” The centaur didn’t turn her head away from her work, but her ears flicked in her general direction.

“I gotta go downtown, but I need you to do something.” She said, depositing the book on the counter next to the centaur. She had to crane her neck up to look the Congolese in the eye. “Please prepare the general formula here for the antivenin. Third Officer Zinoviya will come pick it up later but I need to get an ingredient to finish it. If he asks, tell him I’ll meet him in Carrickfergus later.”

Without waiting for an answer from the Cadet, Camille left the lab in a hurry. She just needed to pay a quick visit to the mess hall to requisition a couple sailors, and then…

Then she’d better hope the manticore’s carcass wasn’t too rotten.





Away from the worries of the Doctor, the three Captains had assembled around supper inside of Dilip’s quarters, the Diamond Dog having insisted on inviting Fugro’s Captain to discuss matters around a meal.

With a few subtleties of course. Amandine’s Captain had quickly understood it was better to avoid drinking alcohol in the presence of Raimund –being unable to drink anymore due to her rejuvenated age irked the German to no end-, and that Rahul’s tried-and-true coconut curry worked perfectly with both vegetarians and carnivores at the same table.

The filly in front of him had a fully-vegetarian plate, while the spices kept her from noticing the bits of chicken in his and Skinner’s own.

Speaking of which, the Scot seemed… cautious, to put it mildly. And that was beyond his species’ tendency to favor flight over fight.

Most likely he was still a bit shell-shocked from his ship’s return. How long had it been already? Still less than a week.

“Something on your mind, Skinner?” Dilip politely asked between two bites.

“Sorry, it’s just…” The Hedgefog tiredly swept a paw through his quills, accidentally releasing a few weak electric arcs with the sharp white protrusions. “It’s all going so darn fast. I mean… Christ, me and me lads barely got time to attach the mooring lines before your guys in America…”

“The HPI.” Raimund reminded.

“Yeah, them.” Skinner said, his Scottish accent seeping in from him being flustered. “I mean… I’m still shocked when I look meself in th’mirror. Some o’ me lads are lassies now, my engie’s got no hands and I just had a collision all within a few days before getting offered a contract by the shadiest agency I e’er heard of.”

He paused to take a breath before turning an eye towards Raimund, who just returned the look with a raised eyebrow.

“And of course I’m bein’ told I gotta thank that wee lass for towin’ us back to port. And that you’re supposedly older than me.”

“Still not used to it myself frankly.” Raimund shrugged.

“No… no no no.” Skinner shook his head firmly. “There is no way a creature like ye’ should be speakin’ with a German accent like that.”

“Sorry, not sorry. You got a nice roll of the dice, I didn’t.” She replied.

“Yeah… guess ye’re right.” Skinner sighed, poking tentatively at his food with his fork. “Still, ah thought we had already hammered out all the details for our… cooperation already. Told ya’ I’d join your fleet. No sense not doing it if I have a HPI contract.”

Dilip threw Raimund a glance before laying his fork down next to his plate. The Indian leaned back in his seat before finally opening his muzzle.

“It’s not about crew matters, not about the ships, or even what we’re going to do in the future. That can wait for tomorrow.” Dilip began. “What we want… is your opinion.”

Skinner looked cautiously at Dilip before motioning for the dog to continue.

“I’ll be honest… neither I nor Raimund think we’re qualified to take a position on the subject. We, as a German and an Indian, have no right intervening in such a matter, which you have by virtue of being from the UK.”

“Go on…”

“The IRA’s in town.” Dilip stated.

Skinner swore.

“What’s the situation?” The Hedgefog asked.

“We’re not sure. It’s still a bit hazy.” Raimund explained. “Yesterday our recon team said they found the City Hall fortified with an Irish flag hanging above it, and today the same team found some British Loyalists holed up in Carrickfergus. We’ve authorized a medical team to go help with an injured priest there but that’s about it.”

“The Brits say the IRA guys basically ran them out of town and sicced a monster on them.” Dilip added.

“And what do the Provos have to say to that?”

“I’m sorry, Provo?” Raimund cocked her head.

“Short for Provisional. Don’t bother… For all I know they’re probably RIRA anyway.” Skinner waved off the question. “Still, what about them?”

“We haven’t initiated contact yet.” Dilip explained. “Out of caution, I’ve ordered my ratings to keep the CV90 prepped for combat.”

The Hedgefog let out a sigh and stared the Indian in the eye.

“Ok listen… I’ll be straight with you, and I’m sayin’ that knowin’ I got a couple peeps from this here island on my crew… don’t get involved. The Troubles were already a stinkin’ pile of blazin’ shite, and if it’s gonna reignite, then it’s just better if us sailors let it burn on its own without adding fuel to the fire. Have a chat with the Irish if you wanna…” He clicked his tongue before taking a sip of water. “But lemme tell you, the fate of Ireland isn’t the hill I’d choose to die on. Don't meddle, otherwise they just might gift ye sum' fertilizer.”

“Well uh…” Raimund muttered.

“That’s a bit of a pity… I mean, we had all these humanitarian supplies and this plan to prevent civilization from falling apart entirely.” Dilip completed.

“Play the Switzerland card then.” Skinner simply said with a shrug.

“Beg your pardon?”

“It is not our place, nor our right to intervene, you said it.” He repeated. “But what you may be able to do is help both groups with the simple stuff. Shelter, a bit of medicine here and there. But the rest? Let them sort out the politics.”

Dilip got a pensive look on his muzzle.

“That might work…” He muttered, stroking his chin. “Might not pass with some of your crewmembers…”

“Then they shall cry.” Skinner cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“Your crew, your choices.” Dilip said, one paw raised in a placating manner. “But as I was saying, we could just drop a radio relay as we’re leaving, give both some basic transmission equipment, and then tell them we’re open for trade once they sort their shit out.”

“Trade what?”

Dilip jabbed a thumb towards the window, from where they could still see Kilroot’s smokestack.

“Exhibit A: coal and oil for electricity. Or even recycled diesel. Schmitt told me the prototype oil recycler was working alright the first test, so we just need to implement it to full-scale models.”

He flicked his digit towards the window on the opposite side of the room, from where they could see the full extent of the docklands.

“Exhibit B: parts and the repair yard. I’d sleep a lot easier knowing this place is kept in working order after we left, and we can’t take all the machining shops along either way. Bet you any part we could barter from them if they can be arsed making them would be a hell of a lot cheaper than what the HPI can offer.”

“Okay you got me. Bring fuel, get parts.” Raimund nodded.

“Or anything else they feel like trading for.” Dilip added. “It’s an open deal.”

“That’s only if the situation here remains stable.” Skinner reminded. “It’s okay to dream about juicy deals if you want to… but I wouldn’t expect too much from them.”

“That’s still fine by me.” Raimund declared before she crossed her forehooves on the table and addressed the two other Captains a serious look.

Or as serious a look as could be achieved by a pink filly with baby blue eyes.

“But this brings something to my attention. Skinner, you’re right to think it’s not our right to intervene in how survivors choose to govern themselves. So I say we put the Switzerland clause into policy.”

“Details maybe?” Skinner asked.

“Of course.” She nodded. “What I mean, is that we put in our uh… mission statement, for a lack of a better word, that the WSU, as a trade-focused organization, shall never infringeon the local governance and politics of colonies. We shall however provide defense against monsters and demons, medical and humanitarian assistance, as well as aid in the industrial development of colonies with the eventual goal of their insertion in an inter-colonial trade network…”

“Nicely phrased…” Skinner drawled. “But I get the feelin’ this ain’t gonna be as easy as you make it sound lass.”

“Ain’t that true…” Raimund admitted. “And don’t call me lass, Skinner.” She added with a mild glare.

“Edgar to ya’, kraut.” The Hedgefog grinned.





The sun had long set by the time Camille reached the manticore’s carcass. Her Defender’s tires screeched as it came to a halt near the rotting monster, in full view of the City Hall. There were lights coming from behind the fortified building’s barricades, but the hippogriff didn’t pay them much attention.

“Keep an eye out for me; I need to get a venom extract from that thing.” She told Mikhail as she exited the vehicle, her medical satchel slung over her back.

She had no reason to believe the situation could go too badly right then. She had two dragon veterans escorting her in the form of Mikhail and Artyom. Anyone dumb enough to attack them would be in for some serious trouble, more so considering the amount of frag grenades Mikhail was now packing to go with his M203.

What got her attention was the monster’s tail. She swatted a swarm of flies out of the way as she approached the chitin-covered appendage. The stinger at the tip of the tail alone was nearly as big as a pony’s head, looking more like it would fit at the end of a giant scorpion rather than the mostly leonine chimera that was a manticore.

And it stank. Badly. Camille suppressed a gag before forcing herself to approach the rotting thing. At least the bestiary told her the venom kept for a while.

“I’d hurry if I were you doc.” Mikhail warned her as he spotted more lights appear at the top of the barricades around the City Hall.

“I’ll need a minute.” She replied, pulling out a couple vials from her satchel one by one.

What was the procedure again? Put the vial against the stinger… then there was one spot she needed to press with her talon around… there?

A spurt of greenish poison squirted out of the stinger, which she barely managed to dodge as it landed on the asphalt. Right, put the vial to the stinger before checking whether it works. Camille made sure she filled up all her vials before standing up with a satisfied nod. That supply should last them a while, and if she recalled correctly there were a couple interesting potions that also required manticore venom beyond just the antivenin.

“Doc?” Mikhail repeated, the purple dragon’s eyes not leaving the City Hall.

“There, done!” Camille exclaimed after securing the vials inside her satchel. The hippogriff half flew-half ran back inside the little truck before ordering the Ukrainian to get them to Carrickfergus with a squawk.

He didn’t make her repeat herself twice. The Defender practically spun on its axles before speeding away in the opposite direction with a roar of its turbodiesel.

From atop the City Hall’s barricades, a green dragon eyed the red taillights disappear around a corner pensively before hopping off the watchtower, his wings catching him just before he landed.

“Everyone back to your posts, false alarm.” He barked out in Irish Gaelic.

The crowd of survivors that had formed around him dispersed quickly. Most of them were dragons, some ponies, and also a couple centaurs and Hedgefogs. Most also wore camouflaged clothing and black berets.

They were also all armed.

In the distance, the noise from the truck’s engine faded away. Finnegan had an inkling of an idea as to what they had been doing to the manticore… but he’d have to get around to visiting the sailors to confirm it.

Tomorrow.





Vadim had already parked in Carrickfergus by the time Camille caught up to him.

It didn’t take much more than a glance for the French hippogriff to notice how much smaller that colony was compared to their rivals in Belfast. There were a couple lights coming from the castle next to the marina, but most of them came from the inn where she found Vadim’s ambulance. Probably a lot more comfortable to live in that than in an old fort that hasn’t been lived in for nearly a century.

As for the inn, most of its windows had been boarded up at ground level, as well as a couple of the bigger ones upstairs, but that was about all when it came to what the locals had done to the place. Off to the side, a portable generator had been installed in an alleyway, alongside a rather impressive pile of aluminum jerrycans.

“That… doesn’t look very secure.” Artyom commented as he looked around the area for guards.

Except there weren’t any, save for Sri. The Indonesian hippogriff was sitting on her haunches atop the ambulance, cigarette in her beak and machinegun down on its bipod in front of her as she kept an eye on the area. She acknowledged their arrival with a nod before turning her eyes back to the main road.

“From what I heard they barely have any weapons.” Camille explained while they pulled into the parking. “The IRA’s got all the stash that could be found in town.”

“That can’t end well…” The Russian mumbled.

“This whole mess sounds like aftershocks from the Troubles, why would you expect it to end well?” Camille fired back before stepping out on the parking.

The only lightning outside came from what little light streamed out of the gaps between the planks that blocked off the windows, leaving them in a dim light that was barely enough for her to zigzag her way through the handful of cars parked in front of the inn before she finally reached the door.

A chime rung the moment she pushed inside.

The number of survivors inside was as she had expected: limited. A pony and a Hedgefog were tending the bar and passing plates to a couple sullen-looking patrons sitting either on stools at the bar, or at the couple tables around the room.

She spotted a family of four Hedgefogs with two kids sharing dinner in an alcove near the windows, as well as a centaur wearing a white shirt and tie glumly throwing darts at a board next to the toilets’ entrance.

For an Irish pub the mood was terrible, but at least they had electricity going.

Artyom apparently preferred to stay outside to chat with Sri, leaving it up to Mikhail to follow her inside, both of them making a beeline for the bar.

“’scuse me, have you seen my colleague?” She asked the barpony. “He came earlier to treat the priest.”

The dull-furred stallion just pointed a hoof towards a staircase before returning to wiping the bar counter with a soaked rag.

“Rude much…” Camille thought before giving a mental shrug and heading for the stairs.

The wooden steps creaked under her weight when she made her way up towards the inn’s bedrooms. Up above, she was greeted to the sight of a soft carpeted floor and walls covered in varnished planks with rows of doors on either side of her. Only one of them was open, the last bedroom at the end of the hallway.

Vadim’s accented voice could be heard coming from there too.

She found the griffon talking in a hushed tone with a pony constable inside the simple bedroom. Beyond them, on the bed, lay an unconscious Hedgefog. His black priestly robes were hung on a peg by his bedside with a black bible on the nighstand.

He didn’t look too good. His coarse dark gray fur clung to his frame perspiration that soaked the thin bed sheets, which made him appear even more emaciated than he already was. Unconscious, he had his narrow snout parted, ribcage rising and falling, feeble but steady.

Camille’s eyes drifted down to where the sheets had been pulled away to reveal a heavily bandaged leg. The bandages were fresh, properly wrapped around the priest’s thigh, and with the telltale orange hue of disinfectant, some of which had stained the sheets underneath the patient.

“I already treated the wound.” Vadim declared when he noticed her. “But… it was infected. Necrotic tissues all around the sting. I did a debridement to remove it but the necrosis had already started to seep into the muscle tissue. Had to cut into that I’m afraid.”

The French hippogriff instinctively pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves to inspect what she could see of the wound.

“Explain.” She asked him.

“Dead tissue in a three-centimeter radius around the sting, going about half as that deep into the muscle. Cut it off to only leave healthy tissue behind but I fear he may not recover all motor functions.”

“No shit he won’t.” Camille sniffed, now noticing the depression in the center of the bandages. “Is there skin over the wound?”

“Thankfully I managed it, yes.” Vadim nodded. “The scar will be nasty, but if he keeps to his antibiotic treatment and doesn’t move around too much for say…” He made a point of looking at the constable as he said that. “Two weeks, that should do. Problem is the fever and the poison that’s still in the bloodstream. Apparently he hasn’t been fully awake ever since he got stung, and from the tremors he’s got I think he may have nerve damage. Bet it’s from the poison. Mostly affects the limbs and extremities.”

“I got something for the poison at least.” Camille said as she pulled out a vial of manticore venom from her satchel. “Asha gave you the base potion?”

Vadim nodded, turning to his own medical supplies to grab an Erlenmeyer capped with a paraffin seal.

Working from that, assembling the antivenin was a simple affair. A couple drops of venom in the potion, which was then immediately plugged into an IV that would remove all toxins from the Hedgefog’s bloodstream.

Except… it didn’t just stop there. The two medics shared a look. They knew if they left things be, even after recovering in optimal conditions the priest would be left with nerve damage, tremors, and a severe loss of motor functions in his injured leg.

Had it been before the Event, that might have been all they could have done without resorting to specialists. But now… they could technically fix him up entirely if –big if- they could spare a couple healthcare-grade health potions.

The same potions for which they only had ingredients in limited supply, and for which there already was a waiting list in their own fleet.
> Chapter 51: Conflicting Claims
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night passed, and eventually the sun rose up once more above Northern Ireland with a clear sky. As soon as the clock hit eight, sailors started spilling out from the three moored ships, each of them fanning out to go fulfill their daily tasks like diligent worker ants.

Some went towards the outer perimeter to relieve the night’s watch at the checkpoint.

Some made a beeline for the one workshop they were using to gather all the spare parts and materials found all over the docklands.

The last significant group headed towards Fugro Symphony: they were the ‘instructors’. Fugro’s crew still had a lot to learn about their new forms, from magic to flight, including some basic biology Doctor Delacroix had ordered Marta to teach them.

“I don’t see the recon team.” Alejandro frowned as he looked down the bridge’s windows at the docklands.

“Which one?” Schmitt replied, the orange dragon momentarily tearing her eyes away from the documents she was perusing.

“Aleksei’s.” The parrot replied. “We got more?”

“Come to think of it… no. Either way, I told them to wait ‘til 10 before heading to Kilroot.” She explained. “We won’t need them restarting power earlier than that. How’s the docking plan for Fugro by the way? Think we can put her on the blocks this evening?”

“It’s ready.” Alejandro told her. “Finished it yesterday with McClelland, including planning the de-ballasting procedure for the critical period. I just need the blocks set up for her hull form and the pumps ready; then we can move on.”

“Oh…” Schmitt blinked. “Busy as ever I see. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite as fast planning it for our own ship.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The hyacinth macaw shrugged. “We got more than a week before the plan will even need them. If it wasn’t the docking that was taking up your time, what then?”

She hefted up a stack of papers for him to see.

“The repair plans. I’m trying to solve our little parts conundrum.”

“And?” He asked her, the crest feathers atop his head rising slightly in curiosity.

“Well… at least the hull beams and plating are sorted out. Somewhat.” She sighed. “It’s the advanced machinery that’s gonna be a problem.”

The two of them heard the door open behind them.

“And how is it going to be a problem exactly?” Dilip joined in, as the Diamond Dog came up the stairs that connected the bridge to the accommodation.

Behind him, Amandine’s two department heads also took note of McClelland herself –the white mare still clad in an oily set of coveralls-, as well as Quinn and Skinner. Respectively, Fugro’s Chief Engineer, her Captain, and her Chief Officer.

All three had also spared the time to adjust their wardrobes to their new forms. No more torn up coveralls and ill-fitted clothing at least.

“The need for finicky parts is the problem. Take Fugro for instance…” She explained as she pulled a list of parts from the stack. “I think that given enough time we can machine the parts needed to fix her engine. At a glance, they’re all relatively small so that should be manageable. Problem is the quality. We just can’t reach the standards of the original, so the quality will be… sub-par, and I’m trying to stay polite.”

“Well that was expected from the start. How is that such a big problem now?” Dilip asked.

“It’s a matter of engine uptime.” The orange dragon scowled, a puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. “It’s as I said… the engines will absolutely work. They may even achieve as much power as they were intended to. But the big problem is the parts won’t last as long between breakdowns. Frankly, I’ll be happy if what our guys can make lasts half as long as the original Rolls Royce-made parts.”

Skinner seemed to consider that for a moment before the Hedgefog crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall.

“Aye, I figure that might be a problem in the long run. But won’t that affect you as well? I mean… your bow thruster is damaged as well, down to its genset if I recall.” He shrugged.

“True, but the bow thruster isn’t the main propulsion. We only ever use it for a couple hours at a time. Your engine though? It’s got to stay active for weeks on end. That’s one bad thing already, but there is worse. You say your port propeller shaft is broken?”

Skinner nodded.

“And that it’s a variable pitch propeller?”

He nodded again.

“Then I’m afraid we can’t get that functionality back. We can make the shaft hollow for lubrication and all…” She waved her claw around. “But if you want the pitch control, that’s gonna have to wait until we reach the US and order the parts for it from the HPI. I’m really sorry. We’ve found plenty of small-sized propellers for maneuvering thrusters lying around, but propeller shafts aren’t that easy to acquire. It’s gonna have to be a machined one.”

Fugro’s Captain sighed before turning his head towards Quinn. The short black dragon was glaring a hole in the floor, scaly tail lashing from side to side.

“Think you can work around that Chief?” Skinner asked him.

“’shouldn’t affect maneuvers too badly…” The Irish muttered. “But it’s transit sailing that’s bothering me. I’ll need to have someone look at the coding in the autopilot and reprogram it from the ground up. As is, I think the system considers the port prop to be the ‘slave’ and starboard ‘master’, so it always adjusts rpm on the port side to match starboard. That’s gotta change, because without pitch control the system will try to do the next thing to change rpm, which is change the speed on the electric motor that’s turning the shaft. Un-ideal. Might even damage the motor in the long run.”

“But it can work?” Skinner pressed.

“With some elbow grease… yes.” The dragon reluctantly conceded. “I might need some help re-coding it though.”

“We got an Engineer that can help with that.” Dilip reassured him. “Parts aside, I wanted to know whether we all agree Fugro’s ready to enter dock?”

There was a chorus of ‘aye’s’ around the bridge, after which the Indian addressed Alejandro a pointed look. The Spaniard took it as his cue to start explaining the procedure.

First step first: the recce team in Kilroot. Aleksei’s team would go to the power station and begin the startup procedure to bring back power to the city’s grid. They would then move back towards Belfast, reactivating substations to direct current towards the docklands as they went.

As soon as they got the current flowing at the repair yard, the team down in the pumphouse would rev up the centrifugal pumps in there and start filling up the basin. By the time they got to that point, a third team should have already installed the blocks on which they would rest Fugro’s hull once she was in the dry.

If the blocks weren’t in place by then, no matter. They could always dispatch a couple seapony divers to install them as they were filling up the basin.

Once that step was done -and only then- they’d be able to open the floodgates that separated the harbor from the graving dock’s basin. Doing it any sooner would damage the gates because of the sheer pressure differential and could render the entire dock unusable.

After that came the moment where they’d finally pull Fugro inside the dock. For that, a couple of Rhine’s tug would be dispatched to slowly tow the damaged vessel inside, their relatively small side allowing them to slip back out before they closed off the basin.

At least their transformation came with several advantages. Sphinxes, gargoyles and unicorns could easily lift up and tie the lines they needed to keep the ship in place; and they also had seaponies replacing the usual divers that would ensure the ship stayed above the blocks at all times.

Yet that wasn’t even the last hurdle along the way. Stability always was a key issue when handling docking, and Fugro would be no exception. See, the matter with stability when docking is that, as soon as the stern of the keel lands on the supporting blocks, the ship’s righting lever starts to shrink away like ice in Mali. If the ballast system was not properly monitored in that span of time, the ship could easily roll over and come crashing down on her side.

Not something they would want to occur. This was why Alejandro was so thorough when he went through the process of detailing the procedure to Fugro’s Captain. That would be, by far, the most dangerous step of the entire operation.

Anything that happened afterwards was trivial in comparison: set up the scaffolding around the ship, plug in shore power, and begin the repair process.

Oh, and of course Fugro’s crew would have to sleep on Rhine for as long as it would take to repair their ship. Not much of a problem. They had already installed containerized cabins in the container bay way back when they were in Copenhagen.

“Sounds good to you?” The Spaniard finally concluded, crossing his arms over his chest confidently.

“That’s a green light from me.” Skinner nodded, signing all the documents the macaw had shown him while giving his explanation before handing them over to Quinn. “When do you think we’ll start?”

“That’s a wild guess…” Alej’ said, checking the clock. “But if we don’t have any delays with the power station, I figure we’ll start filling the basin by late afternoon, maybe early evening.”

“And thus have the dock ready for Fugro by tomorrow, got it.” McClelland guessed. “So that just leaves managing manpower around the docks and we’re good. Now-“

The white mare was cut short by a polite cough courtesy of Dilip. The bronze-furred Diamond Dog gave her an apologetic look before waving his paw towards the windows. More importantly, towards the repair yard’s southern checkpoint.

“That may have to wait.” Dilip said. “For now, it appears we have company.”

A few hundred meters in front of the checkpoint, a trio of dragons had stopped, all three clad in military fatigues with black berets.

“Well, we knew they’d turn up eventually…” Skinner sighed. “Guess it’s time to go and greet ‘em.”





A couple decks below in the vehicle bay, Vadim was busy resupplying the military ambulance’s inventory after his little intervention in Carrickfergus. The griffon was squeezed between the two gurneys in the rear bay, calmly reading his way through a checklist.

He had set down a loudspeaker on one of the gurneys, currently playing some of his own violin recordings, though the sound of the ventilation in the car deck nearly drowned out the music. Still, he found himself humming to the tune, a very avian trill escaping the grey falcon’s beak while he ensured the vehicle would be properly stocked for its next outing.

At a glance the clutter inside the Duro’s patient compartment made it seem far more complicated than it really was. There were two ‘slots’ for patients onto which gurneys could be mounted, leaving just enough room in the back for one single medic to sit and leave using a small lateral hatch.

Above the gurneys, a couple modular rails ran along the walls and ceiling of the compartment, allowing him to attach whatever was needed: shelving units, monitoring equipment, oxygen bottles, the obligatory EMT satchel…

All in all, there wasn’t much that needed to be replaced after the single intervention in Carrickfergus, though he did add a couple vials of the antivenin potion Asha had made for the occasion.

Potions that currently were the subject of his thoughts.

The previous day, he’d had a lengthy conversation with Camille as soon as they got back from Carrickfergus. About the healing potions, specifically. The first-aid variant may have been relatively simple to make, inexpensive even, but its use was rather limited. Sure it could close small wounds and stabilize a victim, so as far in the field of tactical care and emergencies, the variant was just fine. 

But it didn’t hold a candle to the healthcare variant. Using a first-aid variant on a gash would close it quickly, but the wound still needed stitches to avoid creating a seriously ugly piece of scar tissue.

Compare that to the variant they were trying so hard to put in production… which could fix any damaged tissue and even regrow it.

Using it on Father Smith would fix the nerve damage causing his tremors and replace all the muscle tissue lost to necrosis.

Using it on Carlos would let him get his eye back.

Using a fraction of a dose on Boris would fix his scapular fracture overnight, let alone the internal bruising in his chest cavity.

It could have saved Yancy…

But it was just so bloody expensive! Asha had been at it for weeks already, using one of the fastest growing methods human technology had available, paired with centaur magic, and only now were they getting enough ingredients for one potion. Granted, the fact they had that solution available in the first place was a Godsend, but they needed it.

And they needed it faster.

There was only so much a badly-trained Medical Officer, a GP and a Nurse could do. Even with the recent addition of Fugro’s doctor. In addition to that, his ‘Medical Assistant’ had to go and get shot.

Damn you Boris…

“Of course your dumb ass is stuck in your cabin and I gotta do this stuff alone…” Vadim grumbled to himself as he finally finished tidying up the ambulance.

“You talk to yourself in English now?” Someone asked in Russian right behind him.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Vadim squawked out, his wings unfurling in surprise and accidentally catapulting himself against the ceiling with a loud ‘thunk!’.

“No, just Boris.” The other griffon chuckled.

“What- what the Hell are you doing here?” Vadim growled; talons clutched around his throbbing head. “You’re supposed to be resting for at least a few days more!”

The Officer spared a moment to take a look at his colleague and –dare he say- drinking buddy. The goshawk/lion griffon wasn’t wearing coveralls, instead choosing to wear a white tracksuit with black stripes. Oddly well sewn too, it covered him from the base of his tail to his chest, clinging to his frame like a glove and further highlighting his stocky build.

He had even managed to piece together a pair of running shoes and gloves that matched the tracksuit.

Nevertheless, as well fashioned as his clothes were –by their standards at least-, he was still visibly wounded: he had both one arm and the wing on the same side completely immobilized in a sling.

White bandages peeked from beneath his collar, their color almost blending in with the brown-and-white striped pattern of down feathers the goshawk had on his chest.

“Perestan' bespokoit'sya, I know it’s fine.” Boris insisted, sitting down on his haunches in front of his superior. “I’m getting stir-crazy from being cooped up inside all day long. Or did you forget we griffons need the sky? Shit, I think if I stayed in that cabin any longer I’d become claustrophobic…” He said with a shudder.

Vadim didn’t miss the subtle grimace that warped his Russian friend’s break. 

“Yeah, somehow I doubt that.” Vadim growled out, not believing him for a second.

The Third Officer brushed his talons over his still aching head before padding closer to Boris. Going by the way the Russian’s tail went still the moment he got closer; he damn well knew he shouldn’t have made his presence known so casually.

Vadim only poked him in the chest once. Tough as he thought he was, the single talon connecting with muscles that were still sore from the recovery process was enough to make him keel over with a pained hiss. And thus he found himself embarrassingly looking up at the Ukrainian, lying down on his uninjured side.

“As I thought…” Vadim rolled his eyes. “You know, if you wanted to go outside you could have just asked Anton to get a wheelch-“

“Nyet!” Boris hurriedly stopped him.

Vadim quirked a feathery brow at the reaction.

“Is there a problem with Anton? I thought you two had found stuff to bond over. I mean, she did volunteer to take care of you.” He reminded.

“No- I mean, yes there is,  but… no.” Boris stuttered before letting himself droop with a frustrated groan. “Look… from a drinking buddy to another, I need your advice.”

	Vadim raised his eyes to give a quick look around them. There were vehicles and containers all around, with no one in sight, but he could hear some sailors working in close proximity, as well as steps coming and leaving from the nearby workshop.

Might need some privacy.

“Get on the gurney.” He ordered the injured griffon just as he reopened the ambulance’s patient compartment. “For what it’s worth, I’ll give your wounds a check-up while you be nice and tell Uncle Vadim what’s wrong.”

“I’m like… ten years older than you.” The Russian grumbled.

“Only physically, if I’m one to judge.” Vadim replied with a grunt, helping the somewhat larger griffon climb inside before shutting the rear doors without making a sound.

Once they were inside, Vadim folded one of the two gurneys and flicked the light switch with a talon, a couple small white neon lights coming on above them. Boris didn’t need to be told to remove his jacket, and so Vadim went to work on inspecting the bandages.

“So if claustrophobia is only part of why you’re here, care to tell me what exactly is wrong with Anton, uh?” He began, one claw reaching for the nitrile gloves stored above the gurney.

“It’s complicated.” Boris muttered.

“Everything is. Try again.”

“Anton uh… I like her. I mean, I really like her. At first to be honest it was just because… well, she’s hot. But now… we’ve talked. A lot.”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

Boris gritted his beak as he felt his friend’s talons prod increasingly closer to where the bullet had exited his shoulderblade. A mere touch in the area was enough to make his muscles twitch and his tail lash out with its hair fluffed up.

	Still, he forced himself not to move and let the other griffon carry out his inspection while he mulled how to properly phrase it.

“Griffon instincts.” He finally told.

Vadim just threw him a look, motioning with his talons for the Russian to go on.

“Well, uh… do you by any chance know if it’s possible to pair bond without mating?”

	Vadim paused.

“You two are an item now?”

“That’s the point: I don’t know! Look, I ain’t dumb, I didn’t forget about the whole mechanism, but I thought it implied you know…”

“Sexual activity, yes.” Vadim clicked his beak. “So did I. That’s how it went between me and Micha at least.”

“But we haven’t!” Boris exclaimed. “We’re close, sure, but not that close.”

“I might need some details to compare.”

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Of course.” Vadim rolled his eyes. “At this point you might as well call it medical privacy.”

“Well uh…” Boris began. “At first it was rather tame. I was a bit flirty maybe, but she ignored it on the first days when we were still in Copenhagen and she was still on Rhine.”

“That changed when she came aboard?”

“It did.” Boris nodded. “She was here more often, and since she doesn’t have friends on board -that I know of at least-, she stuck around beyond just helping me around my cabin and changing the bandages. So we started talking and…” He smiled wistfully. “There’s so much we have in common! She gets me like no other girl ever got me before, we like the same stuff, we think alike.”

“So I take it that’s the point you were getting at?” Vadim gave him a knowing look.

Hopelessly in love, he was.

“Not quite. The collision’s the point where it got… weird. We were watching a movie together and then the alarm rang. Went fucking flying, pain like I had been shot again… but there was her. It’s like someone had flipped a switch.”

“A switch you say?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want to go back to her cabin anymore, so she insisted to sleep on the couch I looted in Copenhagen. I didn’t have the heart to refuse but man, before that may have been like I was in love and I can recognize that but then…”He trailed off with wide eyes. “I swear every fantasy chick I ever had mind’s been replaced by her, she’s in every stray thought I have, I… I just can’t get my mind off of her. It’s scary.”

“What about her? Any change in behavior you’ve noted?”

“She… she’s a lot clingier than before. And protective. Very protective. You won’t believe what I had to do just to sneak away.”

“Physical contact?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you…” Vadim clicked his beak. “Rub against each other? Preen together? Any physical contact that’s not necessarily sexual?”

“I guess that’s changed too.” Boris glared a hole in the gurney. “Vad’, am I bonded to her?” He asked anxiously.

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing. C’mon, where’s the badass gopnik I always went out with? That ain’t like you to worry like that.”

“We bond for life damn it! I… I thought I could just get to know her and not risk too much…” He said, deflating. “I was so sure I had it under control, but now because I somehow misinterpreted what we were told I’m gonna be stuck with her for the rest of my life? I love her sure… but…”

He didn’t feel like finishing his sentence. There was just such a difference in the finality of relationships between humans and griffons. Back when he was walking on two legs, he’d have been able to get to know someone and just call it quits if it didn’t work out. But now…

He was there when Camille and Vadim made some interpretations on the notes the Equestrians had given them. And judging by what they told, both medics thought it was highly likely griffons bonded on a chemical level between mates, and that was without accounting for what magic may do.

Tales told of widowed griffons withering away from depression in the best of cases. All symptoms described in the data they had made it look like separation was as bad to mated griffons as cutting off longstanding drug users from their supply, albeit with no hope of ever curing the withdrawal.

It scared him. To have, accidentally, tied himself to someone for the rest of his life without even noticing, thinking he was risk-free because he knew better.

And even then, he could feel the primal instincts in the back of his mind clamoring for their missing half. He could just about imagine her down to the most minutes details, from her scent to the color of her eyes.

Yellow orange, like the amber they sold at stalls in Gdansk...

“I think I seriously fucked up Vadim…”

“It’s not all bad, you’ll see.” The other griffon comforted him with a pat on his back. “Anyway, if that helps, you moving around didn’t make your wounds any worse. Just lemme get a wheelchair and we’ll get you back to your cabin.”

With that the Ukrainian opened the doors of the ambulance and made to leave.

“Vadim?”

	The grey falcon griffon paused halfway through the doors.

“Is it only griffons that do that? The pair bonding I mean.”

“Minotaurs do it too, I think… but we’re the only ones who got it that bad. As for ponies and hippogriffs, they herd, so their bonds aren’t exclusive like ours.”

Saying that, the Ukrainian hopped off the ambulance, his quadruped form disappearing behind a stowed ‘mog, leaving Boris to mull over the consequences of his… accidental bonding.





“Moment of truth, uh?” Raimund said when the lift reached the car deck and its doors slid aside.

She was the first out of the ship, the short pink mare followed by Dilip and Skinner a few steps behind. None of the three looked particularly confident as to what was about to happen when they stepped off Amandine’s ramp and onto the quays.

“Can’t say I expected we’d be able to avoid it, but still…” Dilip sighed. “You all still in on the Switzerland clause?”

“Aye.” Skinner nodded. “Don’t meddle in their affairs, teach ‘em the basics and stay neutral. By the way, did you have to take… that?” The hedgefog asked, pointing a digit at the sword hanging off Dilip’s belt, right next to his revolver holster.

The Congo Sword. They had made a stop at the armory to grab it, the ornate weapon still radiating evil magic, the gem embedded in its pommel glowing menacingly.

“First impressions are important, Skinner.” Dilip tapped the sword. “And I don’t want them to think we’re defenseless.”

“But it...”

“I’m aware.” The Indian drawled. “It feels evil, but I know a bit of fencing and I’d wager it can do more than just cut flesh. Let’s hope I don’t have to find out what exactly.”

The trio lapsed into silence whilst they crossed the rest of the way from the quays to the checkpoint. A large swathe of open terrain separated them from the access point, weed-riddled and cracked concrete that had its monotony only broken up by piles of parts and metal sailors had brought out in preparation for the repairs.

Naturally, they had taken the time to shelter them under tarps. Last thing they wanted was for the parts they’d taken the time to salvage to rust away because of the rain. And wasn’t that a frequent thing in Ireland.

They passed a lorry laden with rolls of steel on the way to the checkpoint, raw materials for the engine and generator parts they wanted to manufacture. It headed for the other side of the graving dock, where a large hangar awaited with the machining tools inside. If they squinted they could already see a significant crowd of sailors gathered there, working, but that was not their goal at the moment.

Ahead loomed the checkpoint, installed in the former offices of Harland and Wolff. Much like they had done in Copenhagen, a machine gun nest with a pair of .50 cal overlooked the entrance from the rooftop, dividing the guards in a group behind the gates and another behind the guns. Without counting the sailors inside watching the CCTV and those outside patrolling the fence, of course.

Dilip scowled when he spotted the IRA dragons idly waiting in front of the gates. They didn’t appear outwardly hostile, but they were armed, something that obviously made the sailors on post twitchy. Heavily armed too: the leader was carrying an anti-material rifle slung over his shoulder and his two ‘escorts’ were brandishing old Armalites AR-18 the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the end of the troubles.

Of the three Captains, Dilip was the only one currently armed. Then again, he was pretty sure Raimund had learned a shield spell, and Skinner could always switch to fog form.

Save for his species’ ability to dig –which he had yet to try-, he had no such trick he could possibly pull off. Hence the .38 revolver on his hip.

That being said, he had serious doubts about his weapon’s ability to cause real harm to even a teenage dragon.

The trio came to a halt a short distance away from the gates, carefully gauging the Irish dragons on the other side. The lead dragon’s yellow eyes brightened upon seeing them, and he took it as his cue to come closer, arms spread wisely.

“Well well, and here I thought you’d just pass someone a radio to have a chat with good ol’ me.” He cheerfully began with a laugh. “Yet here ye’ are in person. Boy am I flattered!”

Dilip only gave him an unimpressed look, twisting his tongue in his maw as he thought how to go about it. He put a paw on his hip. Not on his weapons’ side though, he wasn’t crazy.

“You know, considering how far the nearest neighbor seems to be, I’m surprised my guys met them first instead of you.” Dilip pointed out.

“Ain’t us bein’ rude, typically it be the newest arrival that goes ‘round greetin’ the locals.” The dragon replied. “Oh, but mind my manners. The name’s Finnegan, proud leader o’ Belfast City Hall.” He introduced himself with a mock bow before waving at the two other dragons. “And my two friends here are the Callaghan twins. Don’t mind the guns, they’re more skilled with guitars anyway, but them monsters have no taste for good music I’m afraid.”

The Diamond Dog threw the two shorter dragons a glance. Now that he got a good look, they were identical, down to the clothing they wore. They had iridescent green scales that took on a slight blue hue when the light hit them at an angle, paired with bronze-colored spikes and horns. They also didn’t carry themselves like soldiers, unlike Finnegan whose posture was, for all intents and purposes, predatory.

“I’m terribly sorry if our behavior came across as rude then. Our ships are currently damaged and we’re more concerned about fixing them than making pep talk with locals, no offense intended. My name’s Captain Prateek if I may add, of Amandine.” Dilip said. “And these here are Captain Gerig, of Rhine Forest, and Captain Skinner, of Fugro Symphony which my ship unfortunately collided with off the coast of Scotland.”

“That explains what you’re doing here then… but how come your guys went all the way to Carrickfergus then?” He frowned.

“We need Kilroot to power up the graving dock.” Skinner explained. “And I’m sorry if we told our guys to avoid contact, but your organization does have an… ahem, explosive reputation.”

“We have our reasons.” Finnegan replied with a glare. “Now, what were you lot doing with Codsworth yesterday? Don’t think we didn’t see the truck pass by.”

“Medical assistance, simple as that.” Dilip replied without faltering. “They had a casualty, so we sent a doctor treat it. Nothing wrong with that as far as I know.”

“Of course the casualty is something you should know, since it’s your fault he got hurt in the first place.” Skinner glared at Finnegan through the fence, the Scot crossing his arms with a huff.

Dilip glanced back in alarm at the Hedgefog, but the damage was done. Finnegan strode over to the gate with a fierce look in his yellow eyes, smoke and embers spilling out of his maw.

“Our fault? Our fault?! Well ain’t that fucking rich!”He bellowed. “I let that wannabe RUC jackass reach out to you first and somehow he finds a way to twist his own fuckup against me!” He roared out in outrage. “I swear that motherfucker only transferred to the PSNI so he could whack all the paddies he wanted! Did he even bother telling you who killed the manticore? Me! With this gun!” He yelled as he brandished his anti-material rifle.

Despite the outburst occurring right in front of him, Dilip managed to keep his cool, even with his wilder ‘dog side’ clamoring from within the confines of his mind like an angered hound. Now was not the time to release the hounds. Putting a paw on Skinner’s shoulder, he addressed Fugro’s Captain a look telling him to stand down before turning towards the literally fuming dragon.

“I take it we’ve got a case of conflicting testimonies.”

“No shite!” Finnegan growled. “Not only did they come demanding we hand over our guns to them, these idiots also led a monster to our main base. And now, after I stepped out to kill it and bail them out from the shitfest they stuck themselves in, I’m supposedly the one to blame?” He scoffed.

“That’s interesting.” Dilip mused. “Codsworth said you set the manticore on them when they asked for means to defend themselves. That’s how my subordinate said he phrased it at least; I haven’t personally met the guy.”

“Fat load of bullshit right there. He asked we hand him all the guns because that incompetent oaf doesn’t even know how to access his own station’s armory.”

“He doesn’t?” Dilip quirked his head in surprise.

“Not at all. All the police guns are still sitting nicely in their armory, but I bet he doesn’t have the balls to tell his followers that. Instead he pretended we stole them.”

Tempting as it was to take the dragon at face value, Dilip just… wasn’t too sure. In all likelihood the two factions each had their own version of the incident and both might actually be lying.

He just didn’t want to get involved.

“Okay, either way, it’s not our war.” The Indian said. “We’re only here to fix our ships, not to decide whether or not the British should leave Ireland…”

Not that he didn’t have an opinion. He was Indian; it would be hypocritical from him to say the Irish couldn’t have their island to themselves. And he would have been damn outraged if the Brits had kept a part of the subcontinent after all they did to gain independence. That made him very tempted to believe Finnegan at face value.

But opinion aside, it wasn’t in his rights to decide anything about the Irish-English conflict. On the other paw, there were things he could do for either group.

“… So we won’t intervene in helping either of your two factions in taking over. But, we will assist you in setting up your colony. The same goes for Codsworth’s group. Our fleet holds a fair number of skilled sailors with technical skills we can put to use, so we’re willing to help with stuff ranging from flying lessons to setting up fresh water sources, fortifications, and even biology lessons on the species you and your guys may have turned into.”

“Fair enuff’.” Finnegan growled. “But why? Sounds very generous from ye’. There a catch I should know of?”

“In a fashion.” Raimund spoke up before Dilip. “What we care about is that trade routes and industries get restarted, not how colonies are governed. If we can help either your colony or the one in Carrickfergus get started, then we’ll be willing to trade with you in the future for some of the stuff you’d be able to produce.”

“Ships need parts, and there sure are a lot of workshops around here.” Dilip added.

“And you’d bring?” Finnegan asked.

“Anything you may ask for. We can retrieve cargo from anywhere in the world, fuel for generators, tools, medicine, we can even set you up with colonies we find in the future so you may trade with them.”

“Fat chance communicating without internet.” The green dragon pointed out. “Phone lines are out too.”

“We have a satellite network, and are currently in the process of setting up communications relays. Have something you need? Call us and we’ll see where we can salvage that. Machine broke and you need advice? You can call us too. I think we’ll set up the relay on Cave Hill, but we can give you a couple sat phones too.”

Finnegan raised a clawed hand to halt the German filly momentarily before turning to his two escorts. The three huddled together to exchange a few words before he came back to them.

“You caught our interest. We’ll look into what we can offer. Will you want the dock to… remain operational, I guess?”

“Of course.” Raimund nodded.

“Then I’ll go tell the rest about this. I’ll make you know when we got an answer.” He said, turning around to leave.

“Last reminder: we’ll do stuff for you, but we will help the Brits in Carrickfergus as well. We won’t give them weapons, but we’ll make sure they won’t be wiped away by monsters.” Dilip added.

Finnegan opened his maw as if to say something before closing it and shaking his head. He motioned with his wing for his two companions to follow before the three IRA dragons walked away, back towards downtown Belfast.

They watched them leave, Raimund turning her head towards Dilip a minute after the Provos disappeared behind a corner.

“You sure it was wise to tell them that?”

“I felt they needed to be reminded of that. And… I watched the charts, there is a quay in Carrickfergus for colliers and tankers, near the power plant.”

“Trade with the Brits for fuel?” She guessed.

“Fuel with the Brits, and the Irish stay here making parts and maintaining the dock. They’d need each other to run properly, so maybe that could lead to a status-quo.”

“Or we could come back months later and find one group exterminated the other. You thought about that?” Skinner told.

“I don’t think they would actually kill them. The IRA was never big on killing civvies.” The Diamond Dog shrugged before starting the walk back to Amandine.

Codsworth was probably fair game tho’.

Still, there were two things he had learned from observations alone:

The IRA folks weren’t trained to fly.

Finnegan was almost certainly an actual Provo and not just a nostalgic. Chances were, he may even have been part of the South Armagh sniper team, what with the anti-material rifle. Dilip was no fool, he knew what happened during the Troubles.





Later that day, Aleksei found herself running through the last checklists in Kilroot, her talons wrapped around her walkie-talkie.

“Alright, everyone sound off. Over.” She called

“Auxiliary generators… ready at your command, over.” Thanasis said.

“Conveyors cleared of any obstructions and coal bunkers open. Over.” Scarface followed quickly after.

“Boiler valves set up, no pressure and ready for action.” Radiant piped in as well.

There was a pause.

“Boiler room, what did we say about radio procedure? Over.” She sighed tiredly.

“Oh right…” She heard the Pegasus chuckle awkwardly. “… Over.” He finally said.

‘bout damn time.

“Turbines coupled and transformers in the green.” Johann said at last. “Start procedure whenever you want. Over.”

Alrighty then.

The Latvian hippogriff swiveled in her chair inside the control room, eyes glancing over the still dark screens in front of her, except for one. They had the plant running on emergency power for the startup procedure, which only allowed a limited amount of remote control.

They were about to change that.

At her order, they activated the auxiliary power, a set of small diesel generators they had inspected a couple hours prior. The little things couldn’t feed any power into the electric grid, but they provided enough power to run the plant’s systems for a while to let the boiler heat up.

The moment the generators started running, the control room lit up like a Christmas tree, the control systems finally being allotted the power they needed. This was her cue to start checking all the sensors she could for anything that may have gone wrong… which, she joyfully noted with very bird-like trill, was nothing. Kilroot was in pristine state and ready to reboot.

Following her orders, Scarface turned on the conveyor belts which slowly began the process of feeding fuel to the boiler, all the coal chunks visible on CCTV as the belt slowly carried them all the way from the bunkers to the burner just below the chimney.

It took a couple hours of careful monitoring and fiddling with the feed rate for the whole system to heat up, but they eventually got it to produce enough steam to turn the turbines and finally release electricity into the regional grid.

“Good job everyone, let’s switch the plant to auto-control and then we can get busy with the substations. Out.” She finally concluded over the radio before flipping a switch on a control panel.

It wasn’t fully automatic, but the system was connected to a couple pagers that would warn them if anything went wrong. They just didn’t have enough manpower to permanently set up watch at the power plant.

Her job done, Aleksei closed the control room and left for the parking. All that electricity wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t direct it towards the repair yard, and there were a couple substations they’d have to go through in order to achieve that.

Incidentally, their little stunt also brought electricity back to both colonies around the bay. At the rate the plant was burning it with reduced output, the coal bunkers might even last a little while.
> Chapter 52: One Shot Paddy's Stronghold
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beginning of the repair works went just as Alejandro had predicted it. As soon as Aleksei and her team brought back current in the city’s grid, the entire fleet at the graving dock was given the green light to begin repairs.

Machines started turning in the workshops, pumps revved up, and the lumbering shapes of Samson and Goliath rumbled to life, the two giant yellow gantries arcing over the graving dock and dwarfing even the merchant vessels beneath them.

For most teams, the preparations either involved working at the pumphouse setting up all the valves and priming the pumps; or just placing the support blocks in the graving dock’s basin. Another group made up of mostly engineering team sailors found themselves deep inside the humongous hangar they had decided to use as their workshop. There were other such places around the docks, of course, but for the sake of safety and practicality they had chosen to haul all the tools and machines they needed inside the one hangar.

And boy did that thing have room to work with. The building had probably been designed for the assembly of medium-sized offshore facilities, because the hangar was easily a dozen stories tall with several cranes and winches attached to the steel beams in the ceiling. It even had a mobile heavy duty gantry crane, mounted on rails that ran all the way to the graving dock’s basin.

Easily big enough to lift an engine, something Schmitt found herself seriously contemplating as it would be much easier to repair the damaged generators there before reinstalling them. After all, they’d have them right next to the machines that were supposed to craft the parts needed to repair them. That would be a hell of a lot easier when it came to fitting.

She’d have to bring it up with the other Chief Engineers.

The Luxembourgian dragoness had set up shop in one of the hangar’s offices. The room was just your regular factory foreman’s office, set aside at the top of several catwalks a couple floors above the main assembly chain. Her little ‘den’ was just in the right spot to observe all the work spaces down below. The multiple clusters of machines, mills and workbenches essentially boiled down to two parts: one cluster off to the side used as the machining shops with a small part dedicated to fixing engine sensors and electronics, and another much bigger cluster in the center of the hangar with a huge bending press to make the new hull plates.

Already she could see one of the inner cranes start lifting a couple unprocessed plates, one of Rhine’s centaurs manning the controls. The plates had been delivered the day before by a lorry they’d used to scour the local warehouses for materials. They had all been sorted depending on the grades of steel, each pile of plates labeled in bold red spray paint lest they accidentally use grade A plates on engine parts.

Or the reverse. They may not be paying for it, but she could not fathom wasting good steel on mere hull plates.

“Everything alright ma’am?” Someone asked behind her.

Schmitt turned away from the windows. There were two creatures behind her: Pavlos and Izaak. The two bosuns that served on Rhine. The former was a Greek gargoyle, middle-aged with a black coat of fur.

She had already gotten to know him during their ill-fated expedition to Gothenburg.

Izaak however, she was less familiar with. The Pole had suffered a fate very similar to that of Raimund: a genderswap combined with age reduction that wound up making a young griffon chick out of her. She was a buzzard/caracal mix, with colored feathers –every griffon hen had some- in the shape of a blue spot on her forehead.

Unlike Rhine’s Captain however, the chick couldn’t rely on her status as Captain to be respected by the ratings she was supposed to supervise, and relying on her colleague Pavlos to enforce her authority wouldn’t have flown.

In other words, she was very good at screaming at her subordinates in screechy squawks that would frequently send shudders down the spine of any creature with above-average hearing. More than enough to make her subordinates follow orders.

“I’m fine, just thinking is all.” Schmitt said. “How are things progressing down here?”

“Machinery’s in place and we’re getting the raw stuff to their workstations.” Izaak chirped. “Give us an hour or two and we’ll all be ready to start work.”

“Good good…” She nodded before making her way over to a desk. “What’s the status on the dock?”

“Fugro’s moored in place and held tight. They’ve just begun pumping out the water.”

Schmitt stared off in the distance at that. Alejandro had said it’d take a couple hours to pump the water out of the dock… then now would be about the time the stricken vessel would enter the critical phase of the docking process.

They’d best not bother the guys at the graving dock then.

Her claws reached for a couple stacked folders on the desk next to a forgotten coffee mug. She grabbed the entire pile and passed it off to Pavlos.

“Schematics for the parts we already know we’ll need.”

The gargoyle grunted a bit as he took in the weight off all that paper, shoulders sagging.

“Feels heavy, that a lot of stuff I guess...” He grumbled.

“It gets worse. Fugro has a lot of flooded compartments in her aft section that we have yet to inspect. What you have here is all the parts we already know we’ll need. Expect the list to grow. A lot.”

Izaak winced as she looked at her colleague that was near collapsing under the weight of all the plans.

“Ja pierdole.”She swore.





A couple hundred meters away from the hangar, several seaponies were swimming under Fugro as the basin emptied around the ship. Back before the Event, they’d have used regular divers to ensure the ship stayed put and didn’t slip off the blocks, but now they had the slight improvement of having divers that didn’t need to surface and didn’t fear hypothermia.

Emphasis on slight. Seaponies may be far better suited to living underwater than humans, but unfortunately, they also had to forfeit the prehensile talons of their hippogriff forms when they took to the water. That, had required a bit of on-the-fly improvising just so they’d have a way of manipulating tools underwater. As expected of a jury-rigged solution, it left quite a bit of room for improvement. They had attached some improvised gauntlets to their forearms (more like forefins) that they could equip with tools. Though it was nowhere near as good as claws or talons, it still was an improvement over the delicate membranes at the tip of their fins.

Ergonomics aside, Sri had to admit being underneath a ship whilst the water was being emptied made for quite the sight. Fugro was a gigantic red oblong shape, her hull perfectly smooth and still devoid of any algae or barnacles. Her sole presence cast an oppressive shadow on the bottom of the dock and the seaponies that were swimming under it, each positioned at key positions from where they could keep an eye on as many of the support blocks as possible.

Smooth as the steel plating of Fugro’s hull was, dozens of imperfections still broke up its surface: that went from normal stuff like the grills protecting the maneuvering thrusters and the sea chest, to the bulb holding the transducers for the log and echosounder, to less common oddities like a couple hatches along the keel including one for the moonpool.

“Wibowo, get in position please.” A seapony officer from Rhine reminded her as he swam past.

A Filipino from their barge department supervising the underwater side of the operation. She barely knew him, and didn’t want to either. Pushing aside a stray thought that wondered how exactly seaponies could talk underwater, she grunted an acknowledgment and pushed against the water with her tail fin.

The resulting action propelled her far faster than she could ever have swum before as a human. Support blocks and other seaponies whizzed past, and she used the ‘wing’ fins she had on her back to twist and turn past all the obstacles in her way while Fugro’s hull steadily got closer to them. All the while, she kept fiddling with the straps on her tool gauntlets with her teeth.

Rather ineffectually too. She had to ask Scarface to help her put them on once she had transformed. Unfortunately, the Bulgarian may have tightened the straps a little too hard. She fully expected to find bruises under her seal-like fur before the end of the day. No matter, better focus on the job at hand…

Or fin, whatever.

Her post was near the stern of Fugro. She halted herself by grabbing onto a bar recessed in the ground with the grabbing claw on her gauntlet and flipped around. The job was rather simple: they had shown them a drawing of where the support blocks were supposed to go to hold up the ship, and they just had to study it and flag either the underwater officer or someone above the surface if they had the slightest hint the ship wasn’t in the correct position.

Easy enough.

From where she was, she had a perfectly clear view of the damage Amandine had accidentally wrought upon the smaller offshore vessel. If on the surface, things looked rather mild, underwater was another matter entirely. Amandine’s bulbous bow had acted as a battering ram, cleaving a round hole straight through the other ship’s hull, and leaving behind a jagged mess of crumpled plates, bent girders and scraped paint. The damaged ran so deep in fact she could see some flooded compartments past what used to be a ballast tank.

Once they emptied all the flooded compartments, the guys in engineering were in for some hard work. And so was she, probably. For all she knew, the Captains might decide involving the deck departments in the repair process would speed up things.

Sri allowed her thoughts to drift a bit as she stared at the looming ship above her. She wasn’t exactly fond of her waterborne form. Similar as it was to flying, she far more preferred taking to the air than diving. Underwater just felt… utterly alien to her. Too many changes to get used to for her own comfort, including the small things.

One such small thing was that sound carried further underwater, something which was quickly becoming aggravating as it meant she could hear any conversation seaponies were having around the dock, layered above the constant white noise of Fugro’s machinery, above the droning noise the pumps made as well.

Big headache for such a small detail.

Plus, overhearing details on the sexual life of Rhine’s cadets wasn’t part of what she wanted at the moment. She had just barely managed to get over the conflict between her religion and her own transformation (with copious amounts of alcohol, a bit of denial and a stern rebuking from Artyom, but hey, she wasn’t a good Muslim to begin with), brazen sex talk was just a step too far.

Fortunately someone told the cadets everyone could hear them before she had to, and the emptying of the dock carried on without a hitch. It took a couple hours of dull watch-and-wait, but they eventually got to the point where the last puddle of water left in the dock got sucked through the pumps, and the seaponies all reverted back to hippogriff form, much to Sri’s personal relief.

Water still trickled down, emptying from the flooded compartments still on board, the liquid mixed with oil and chemicals they all stayed well clear of before someone came to rinse it with a pressure washer.

“’bout damn time…” Sri muttered in her native tongue as she massaged her forearms, finally free of the tool gauntlets.

Torture devices is more like it.

“Whelp, looks like that went alright, init?” Scarface casually asked as the gargoyle landed a few ways behind her.

He was a bit covered in grease and soot himself, having spent the entire time Fugro was being put on the blocks stripping down the generator that powered Amandine’s bow thruster just to see which parts hadn’t been completely burned down and could be salvaged.

Not that many beyond the engine block and casing it turned out.

“Alright? Al-right?!” She repeated loudly. “I got a splitting headache, know more about someone’s sexual life than anybody ever should, probably will have bruises on my forearms for a week or two because you tighten straps like it’s a BDSM porn flick, and you…” She trailed off, jabbing in a talon in the Bulgarian’s general direction.

“And me?” Scarface put his hands on his hips, utterly nonplussed.

“You owe me a fucking beer for tonight’s game.” She finally declared.

“You do know we don’t pay for those, right?” He replied with a quirked eyebrow.

“Shut up, it’s the thought that matters.”

Squabbling between the veterans aside, they soon moved on down their checklists. Lacking any water to cool down her generators, Fugro had to be plugged in on shore electricity (courtesy of the Kilroot plant). A trifle easily done by a team of sphinxes with the connecting cable, but a trifle that had to be done nonetheless.

They also began erecting scaffolding around the vessel, an entire armature soon wrapping around Fugro’s red belly, complete with makeshift lifts, fall nets and even a bridge that connected the quays with the deck of the docked ship. Necessary as it was to make Fugro still accessible to non-flyers, it didn’t mean her crew was permitted to stay on board during repairs.

That would have been far too dangerous. They were instead relocated inside of Rhine’s accommodation containers that the barge carrier had acquired in Copenhagen. Granted, they were far less comfortable than actual cabins, and nowhere near as luxurious as what could have been found on Fugro, but it was all they had on offer that was within the limits of the repair yard. Commandeering a hotel to accommodate Fugro’s crew may have been more comfortable, but that would have required them to set up yet another security perimeter, something they didn’t have enough manpower for.

Soon as the scaffolding was in place, the welding teams moved in with plasma cutters to remove the damaged components, Fugro’s belly erupting in a shower of orange sparks. The repairs were officially started





In stark contrast to the industrial process and engineering going on in Northern Ireland, things were a lot quieter in Brittany. The sun had risen above Trecesson castle with the crowing of a rooster in the farm, marking the beginning of yet another arduous day for Rockhoof. The large Earth Pony guzzled down enough porridge to sate six ponies before heading out to get into the fields. They still needed to get a couple more ready if they wanted the castle’s food store ready by the time winter rolled in.

Meadowbrook followed soon after, trotting over to her garden for a quick inspection. Not that it would take too long: she still needed to find a room in the castle she could rearrange to make a new potion lab.

The sun shone, birds sang in the trees, even the cows in their pastures were grazing peacefully, looking at the big stallion that was now plowing the fields on his lonesome. Rockhoof only addressed them an awkward glance.

He found them strange. Cows in Equestria may not be fully civilized, but they were intelligent, talking creatures. These… they had the beginnings of a spark of intelligence in their eyes, but they were still animals. Not creatures he could have a chat with after a day on the farm, not creatures to whom he could ask if they were willing to lend him a bucket of their milk.

How in Faust’s name was he supposed to get milk then? Just… stride up to them and milk them?!

He had best leave that to Meadow…

A few ways away from Rock’s awkward musings, somebody stirred awake inside the keep. In the upper floors, just next to the lord’s chambers, was a smaller bedroom. Its furnishings were very similar to those of the rest of the castle: dark varnished floorboards covered by a thick white woolen carpet, tapestries covering the walls to better retain heat, a cast iron stove in a corner of the room, and only one little window to let the sunlight in.

It was that sunlight that woke up the little fawn lying in the oversized bed in the center of the room. Blearily, he let out a long yawn before blinking at the rafters above him, his mind attempting to piece together memories of the last few days. Rather ineffectively so, mind. The memory of waking up on a trail and limping aimlessly for days before making his way to a nearby castle was all but gone now, replaced by foggy images of an equine shape feeding him broth amidst lances of pain in his limbs and tummy.

Tummy in question which took it as its cue to start gurgling. That spurred him to awake fully and take a proper look at his surroundings. The chambers were sparsely furnished compared to more modern dwellings. All the little fawn could see was the poster bed he was lying in on a small dais, a tall oaken wardrobe and a couple sturdy chairs around a coffee table near the window.

An older individual would have noticed that, as medieval as the bedroom looked, there were still hints of modernity creeping in. Martin, however, didn’t see some of the fixtures were actually light bulbs mimicking candles, nor did he see the power outlets subtly hidden in the corners or the radiators that were peeking out from behind the tapestries.

No, to Martin’s young mind it looked like he had somehow gone back in time to the era of his favorite cartoons. The same cartoons that were why he had begged his daddy to take him to visit the forest.

That would have been bad enough, but then he attempted to stand up. On his hind legs. That obviously failed and sent him sprawling back down on the mattress, the fawn only then realizing his hands had been turned into cloven hooves.

It didn’t take long before he did what any kid his age would in a similar situation: he began bawling his eyes out and crying for his daddy. Meadowbrook overheard him and rushed in his bedroom to try and comfort him, the blue mare soon finding herself with a little fawn crying in her hooves.

“Shh, shh, you’re safe with us.” She reassured him in French.

“Mah da-“Martin hiccuped, snot dribbling out of his nostrils and his eyes streaked red from tears. “Il est où papa? What’s going on?”

	Meadow hesitated. She spared a second to wipe away some snot that had stained her coat before addressing him a tentative smile.

“Your daddy… is busy. He’s working now, Martin, but he said you needed to be a good colt until he got back, okay?” She elected to say.

Martin nodded feebly. His tears finally seemed to abate.

“Good!” Meadow beamed, ruffling the strands of spiky fur at the base of the fawn’s still stubby antlers. He didn’t seem to notice the fake tone in her cheerfulness. “Now, are you hungry? I bet you are, do you wanna come to the kitchen with me?”

“Y- yes…” He stuttered.

She assumed he had been running on pure instincts when he turned up at the gatehouse, because she had to help him up on his hooves and the frail little fawn hobbled unsteadily all the way down to the castle’s kitchens. She didn’t comment on it, instead choosing to encourage him as the former human boy still had to get acquainted to his body.

Guilt wrenched her heart every time she looked in his general direction as she prepared him a bowl of oatmeal porridge. She just couldn’t outright tell the kid he may never see his father again. She glanced back at him.

Martin was just sitting on his haunches on a stool, eagerly looking at all the shiny copper pots hanging from the rafters above him.

“Daddy… he said we were going to visit the forest.” The fawn finally said, a small lisp in his voice.

“The forest really? It’s a bit dangerous now you know.” Meadow pointed out.

“Daddy’s the best, he would protect me just so we could see where Merlin and Arthur went.” Martin insisted, puffing out his narrow chest proudly.

“I’m sure he would.” Meadow smiled as she poured a bowl of steaming porridge. “You said Merlin?”

“Yeah!” He nodded cheerfully, the earlier sadness now completely replaced by pure fanboyishness. “He’s from my favorite story. He’s just sooo cool, I wanna be like him later!”

Meadowbrook’s eyes glinted knowingly.

Now where to find Starswirl, about time the mage payed them back a bit.

“I want him to turn me into a squirrel!”

Hold on, what?





	Camille carefully eyed the City Hall as she flew in circles above it. While everyone was busy with the docking procedure at the repair yard, she as a doctor had little to offer to help things along.

So they sent her to the IRA guys instead.

On her own.

She wasn’t sure whether to consider it a relief from the usual lab stuff she had been doing as of late, or to treat it as having been handed the proverbial hot potato. She was aware Vadim was currently doing something similar up north in Carrickfergus with the British loyalists. The ‘similar task’ being to give the survivors the very same briefings they had gotten from the Equestrians. Simple enough, she could feel the weight of her laptop and a little projector inside the backpack she was currently holding in her talons.

Yeah, in her talons. Turns out, having a massive rucksack on your back and between your wings works out poorly when you’re trying to flap them. Who would have thought?

	More details of the City Hall popped into view as she steadily decreased her altitude. Aleksei’s report couldn’t have been more right when she described the building as a fortress. The formerly Victorian building’s white walls were now bristling with defenses and makeshift barricades.

From her position up in the air, the French hippogriff could also see details hidden by the outer barricade that the recce team had missed. The group of returnees living there obviously had their plans set straight, because they had already gone ahead and modified the lawns around the city hall to fill their needs, and then some.

Vegetable patches now replaced the grass where tourists used to lounge in the summer, along with other stuff likely looted from a nearby garden store: greenhouses, a chicken coop or two, a makeshift shed with at least a dozen electric generators set up next to a large fuel tank. Even on the roof of the building she could see some modifications they had made so they could better collect rainwater and channel it towards their cultures using a makeshift maze of PVC pipes and plastic gutters.

That was about all she could say about the modifications they had made though. The city hall had an inner courtyard too, but they had completely covered it up with large blue tarps and bits of corrugated steel.

Her assessment made, Camille finally landed in front of what she assumed were the gates, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as soon as her hooves hit the pavement. Now that she was closer she suddenly felt a tad less confident about the visit. Sure she may be wearing a modified plate carrier for protection, along with a pistol in a chest holster (and she didn’t even want to, they forced her to take the gun for her own defense), but the watchtowers and all the barbed wire were imposing, to put it mildly. She shifted her weight from one side to another, wings instinctively fluffed up as she waited for someone to turn up and notice her.

That didn’t take too long. A hedgefog appeared at the top of a watchtower, clad in the same Provo uniform they had seen on Finnegan when the dragon turned up at their gate. He was armed too –obviously-, with some Cold-War era battle rifle in a sling across his chest.

“What’s yer business ‘ere?” He gruffly asked.

“Uh… Hi!” Camille waved at him. “I’m from the WSU and I’m here to see Mr. Finnegan. We wanted to share some of the knowledge we have on the species you’ve turned into.”

The hedgefog motioned for her to go on with his paw.

“I’m Doctor Delacroix, from Rhine Forest. You see, I’ve spent most of my time since my reappearance studying details about our new species.” Bit of a white lie there, the Equestrians had given her most of the answers. “So I thought you’d be interested in some biology lessons. Really basic I promise, how your reproductive system works, what kind of trick each race can pull off…”

	Technically, she also had the data on the monsters, Charybdis and Scylla and even the 10 000 years return rate, but she doubted turning up at someone’s gate claiming that kind of stuff would garner much success.

The guard in the watchtower seemed to evaluate her for a few seconds before he finally turned his head, seemingly to look at someone behind the gate.

“So what’s yer take, uh boss?”

“Let ‘er in. Sounds genuine to me.” Finnegan replied.

Camille heard someone work the bar holding the gate shut before two identical dragons opened the doors, finally allowing a look inside the compound. A crowd had amassed by the gate to take a look at the visitor. Most of them were dressed in IRA uniforms and variants thereof: hunting clothing, military surplus, even some blatant airsoft gear to go with their eclectic mix of black-market weapons.

However, as noticeable as the paramilitaries were inside the compound, Camille also recognized a not-so-insignificant share of civilians in the crowd, wearing regular clothes and carrying tools instead of guns.

Of all the residents, she also took note of their species, if only to know which she should focus on for her briefing. Dragons and hedgefogs were the most prominent, with unicorns and centaurs being a close second after them. There were a couple other species as well among the lot, like a lone Earth Pony mare, but their numbers were pretty minor in comparison.

Numbers that were still rather limited she noted. At a glance she would say there must have been… forty of them? Probably closer to thirty. That still was a lot more than the Loyalists holed up near the power plant.

“Well hello there Doctor.” Finnegan came up to her, the dragon holding out his claw towards her. “I don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet. Surprised you guys would come to us so soon.”

“As I told your guard: I’m only here to offer you basic information.” She replied after firmly shaking his claw. “Anything about trade or local politics doesn’t concern me. That’s up to the Captains to decide, but any message you have, I can tell them.”

“Aye, ah can work with da’.” Finnegan nodded before turning around to give an appraising look towards the crowd around them. “Alright you lot, back t’work. We’ll call ye when Doc’s ready to give us the brief, ‘kay?”

There were a few grumbles but the survivors all went back to their posts, if begrudgingly. Camille watched a group of three centaurs and the Earth Pony head back towards the greenhouses.

“Quite the endeavor you managed to arrange in here. I gotta say… I’m surprised you found so many returnees in town. All the ports we’ve seen yet were rather deserted. This is a crowd by recent standards.”

“Ain’t only from Belfast.” Finnegan snorted, shoving his claws in his pockets. “We got peeps from all ‘round the countryside comin’ here. I popped in a month ago near Crossmaglen, the twins I believe roughed it all the way here from Dublin for God knows why, and I’m pretty sure we got someone from effin’ Cork workin’ inside.”

“And they all came here?”

“Fuck if I know why…” The green dragon shrugged. “I just headed for the nearest big city to see if I could find someone. Not gonna complain tho’, even with this many folks workin’ here we’re always short on hands.”

“Doesn’t look that bad.” Camille commented as she gave an appreciative glance at all the stuff they had built around the gardens. “You look like you’re managing just fine.”

“Could always be bettah.” Finnegan admitted. “This place was the easiest stronghold we could find, and it draws in quite a few peeps ‘cause o’ its position; but it’s not exactly comfortable per se. Right now I got a couple guys in there workin’ on makin’ us some propah bedrooms and plumbing.”

That was the start of an improvised ‘tour’ of the settlement which gave Camille the chance to see how they had set up their stuff around the area. In essence, it was rather simple: Finnegan as the de-facto leader of the colony had set his focus on securing all of their basic needs.

Food was ensured by a stockpile of canned and dry food they looted from all around the city that they kept safely stored in the cellars under the city hall. Not satisfied with that supply only, the dragon had decided they should start working on a more durable food source, which led to them turning the city hall’s grounds into a makeshift farm, complete with the vegetable patches, greenhouses and the chicken coops Camille had spotted before landing. The ‘farmers’ all greeted Finnegan as he crossed through the greenhouses, Camille trotting a few steps behind.

If Camille wasn’t already aware of how centaurs influenced plant growth just by observing Asha, now was the last bit of confirmation she needed. All of their greenhouses were as lush as jungles, with the more open vegetables patches showing signs of following down the same path. Not bad for a few weeks of production.

Water was a bit more complicated, though not unmanageable. They built a system on the roof to collect rainwater and reroute it towards their farms, which they had coupled with a few cisterns and barrels up on the roof, just so they wouldn’t have to use pumps for irrigation. Of course they were still working out some kinks in the system, like filtration to make it so they could actually drink that water instead of relying on a large but limited supply of bottled water.

They also lacked running water, but that was nothing they couldn’t solve with a bit of elbow grease and some camping showers Finnegan claimed they had installed in a section of the public toilets they now called ‘the bathhouse’. He knew it wasn’t ideal, but he already had a couple teams working on creating actual showers and fixing their plumbing.

As soon as they were done with the bedrooms that is. Useful as it was for defense, the city hall was exactly that: a city hall. It came with offices, gathering rooms, archives and whatnot, but bedrooms so far were just a matter of ‘find an empty room and claim it for yourself’.

Speaking of their lodging issues brought Finnegan to the last part of the survival trifecta: shelter, which he directly associated with security after several attacks from both escaped zoo animals and monsters. If anything, that was what forced them to use an easily fortifiable structure like the city hall instead of regular housing.

“Are the attacks really that bad?”

“D’pends.” Finnegan frowned as he led her inside the city hall. “Dogs in packs can be pretty dangerous if ye’re not careful; and even if monster attacks are rare, the risk factor is enough t’warrant gatherin’ inside a stronghold. If ah had more men t’patrol the streets, then maybe we could live in the apartment buildings nearby, with actual patrols and perimeters, but there ain’t enough o’ us t’do that.” He explained. “So far, we can only do short range patrols t’keep an eye on all the packs but that’s ‘bout it.”

The interior of the city hall further highlighted the level of skill of Victorian architects. An atrium directly followed after the entrance, just below the central cupola, opening up to a wide room below the dome with pristine white walls covered in intricate moldings and murals. This, paired with velvet red carpets, marble parapets and reflective floor tiles gave the entire building such a richly decorated atmosphere it was almost overwhelming. The sight alone was enough to explain how Belfast could have produced a ship like Titanic in the first place.

Crates and miscellaneous loot were piled up along the walls, stuff they had recovered from all around town ranging from tools to medicine, furniture and even random stuff some survivors had looted for their own gain like gaming consoles. Camille took note of two things as the dragon led her down a hallway to a gathering room: one, them restarting the plant in Kilroot had apparently brought them electricity as well(not much of a surprise); and two, there were some noises coming from above her that sounded a lot like they really were busy re-purposing the building to make it livable.

“Just to be sure, does your electricity…”

“From the grid, yes. We’d been usin’ our generators, but yer guys brought back power. Ain’t gonna complain, tho’ knowin’ how long the plant’ll be runnin’ would be nice.”

“I’ll ask.” Camille nodded before pointing at the anti-material rifle he kept slung over his shoulder, its massive muzzle brake nearly scraping doorways every time they passed one. “I wonder, where did you guys find so many weapons? I could have sworn… ahem…”

“Officially? We disarmed like... ten years ago. Unofficially? Most o’ us hardcore Provo’s splintered to form our own brigades. They got some o’ our weapons, sure, but we kept the stuff we actually needed. Me rifle? That’s the same I used in South Armagh way back in ’93. Spent a lot of time hidden in a barn, but now was the best time to reactivate all this here arsenal I daresay.”

That got Camille to stop and gaze at the taller dragon, beak held agape.

“You… I remember the papers from back then. The Brits, they called you One Shot Paddy.” She gaped.

“Wasn’t the only fella to get the title you know.” He answered. “We were more than just I and me .50 cal.”

“You killed people.”

“Aye, ah did.” He confirmed. “Soldiers, in uniforms. Them guys were well aware o’ what might happen to them when they enlisted. And ah didn’t even attack off-duty and retired folks, unlike some o’ me… harsher peers.” He added upon noticing the glare the hippogriff was throwing his way. “In any case, now that the Brits are gone we’ll finally get the island fer ourselves, and their childish attitude towards guns is bitin’ them in the ass as we speak. G’luck fending off monsters without some serious firepower, but that’s what ye get for infant’lizing yer own people. The world’s changed Doc, and ah fer one ain’t gonna try t’reverse it and give the reins back to authoritarian Britons. Peeps, they got a right t’defend themselves.”

Camille opened her beak to protest only to stop when Finnegan stopped in front of a tall double door. The dragon opened it, revealing the Great Hall behind it. It was a long ballroom painted with warm yellowish hues to go with its red carpet. Several Irish flags hung from the vaulted ceiling above them as well, some decorated with either the raised fist or the phoenix all IRA splinters had sooner or later used as symbols.

As for what was in the room, she could see rows of cots lined up along the walls on either side of the room, each separated by curtains to allow for a measure of privacy. There was also a long table in the middle, with a detailed map of Belfast pinned down on it with four pocket knives, along with the remains of a breakfast, a couple empty cereal boxes lying down under the table.

Finnegan said something about needing to grab a white screen somewhere and told her to get ready for her briefing, something Camille was all too happy to comply with. She shrugged off her backpack and set down her laptop on the table before getting to work on making sure her presentation was ready.

Just a matter of putting more focus on the races she had spotted among their group really.

A mere five minutes into that, she was interrupted by a polite cough behind her. Camille turned around, finding herself faced with the Earth Pony she had spotted earlier near the gates. She was a rather short mare with gold fur and a white mane she wore in a braid, like her tail. The equine was wearing a surprisingly well-fitted green shirt, but only that, which left the sewing-needle-and-thread symbol on her flank visible.

“Something the matter?” Camille asked, her hippogriff ears tilting sideways in curiosity.

“Hi, are you from that group of sailors that just turned up?” She asked.

“The WSU yes, we came here for repairs.”

“Good! Good…” The mare said before awkwardly rubbing her neck. “Say, do you plan to go to America eventually?”

“That’s our next port of call. Why the question?”

“Well, I guess I should explain then.” She said, taking a seat at the table next to Camille. “I’m Molly Hawkins by the way. I’m not really from here. I’m a tourist.”

“American then?” Camille guessed.

“Yes.” Molly nodded. “I was born in Boston, but I lived in Jacksonville before…” She waved at herself. “That happened. Do you-“

“Think we can bring you back home?” She completed. “Most likely, but I’d have to ask around because I’m not sure we could drop you off at the right port. We already have most of our ports of call prepared, believe it or not. Is Jacksonville even a port town anyway?”

“It is. But you could get me across the ocean?”

“Bien sur.” Camille confirmed. “I don’t think the Captains would object to bringing a passenger along if the request is phrased nicely. You might have to put in some work though. What can you do?”

The Earth Pony pointed a hoof at the mark on her flank, a needle and thread weaving through a piece of fabric.

“Seamstress.” She declared.

“Oh, then I’m sure they will agree. I’ll talk to them about it when I get back this evening.” She promised. “Now, I don’t wanna be rude but I have a briefing to prepare…”
> Chapter 53: Arboreal Mystery
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well it’s grown alright...” Rockhoof grunted.

It was the first time the Earth Pony was back by the Golden Tree on his own, Meadowbrook being currently busy taking care of Martin. The sun was nearing noon by the time the large stallion finally reached the clearing, distractedly brushing a little scrape on his shoulder courtesy of the hunchback boar. Turns out, it wasn’t as nice to ponies when it didn’t have a sow and piglets to worry about.

The cart-sized beast got off considerably worse than him at least. Oh he spared it alright, but the boar wouldn’t be messing with him anytime soon.

Daylight may have robbed the clearing of some of its mystical charm, but it couldn’t take away all of it. Sparks of concentrated magic flickered in the air like fireflies, accompanied by the ever-present thrumming in his ears such that could only be encountered near powerful convergence sites. He swallowed, the taste of copper palpable on his tongue just like the smell of ozone in the air.

As for the Golden Tree, it sure had changed since the first time Rock saw it. For one it had doubled in size, in a matter of days. No more was there a tiny antler-shaped tree in the centre of the clearing, now a far more robust – albeit still small- tree with solids roots. The crystalline veins were now completely part of its bark, each of them connecting the pulsating six-pointed crystal star between its branches to the network of roots at its base, the veins themselves twisting and turning between newly formed branches and knots.

It even had foliage to boot: perfectly uniform oak leaves of gold and crystal that rustled despite the absence of wind, every single one of them glowing faintly and casting a halo of light above the trunk.

“Impressive don’t you think?” Starswirl said, the ghost popping up behind him in his equine form.

Rockhoof didn’t grant him the pleasure of acting surprised.

“Isn’t it odd it’s grown so much? I mean, how long has it been? A week at most?” He asked the mage.

“Not really. It’s a known fact magic can accelerate plant growth, so I wouldn’t worry about that too much.” Star said.

“Yeah, I know what we Earth Pony can’t do. That though, that’s too fast, even by our standards. But you’re implying there’s something to be concerned about?”

“Concerned? Not really.” His friend frowned before shifting to his human form for a moment. “Take a look, not at the tree itself—amazing as this blend of human and Equestrian magic is-, but at what’s around it.”

Rockhoof glanced away from his friend. The area in the tree’s direct vicinity had indeed been affected.

Golden grass had sprouted in a circle around the trunk, replacing the coarse weeds that used to grow in the tree’s vicinity. It looked like it was spreading too, Rockhoof could see some strands of the golden grass had branches out, reaching for the edges of the clearing.

The tree’s crystalline roots had connected to the six charred trunks arrayed in a circle around it, winding around them like vines, cracking the blackened bark and pumping the first signs of life back into them. Already, Rock could see specks of gold had broken up the charcoal-esque surface of the six husks, with hints of encrusted jewels in each of them at head level.

Head level to a quadruped, of course.

Hold on, six? The Tree of Harmony only ever had five branches holding the Elements, with Magic residing in the trunk. He counted again, and no, his mind wasn’t fooling him. There were six jewels, one per trunk, plus the crystal star in the Golden Tree itself.

Total: seven.

“What’s up with that Star?” Rockhoof questioned, his left ear flicking in curiosity.

Colours were already visible in the jewels: pink, yellow, orange for the element he used to wield, purple, red,… and green. That one was new, if Magic still was in the trunk as it should be.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out.” Star said as he cast a spell while in his Merlin form. “Though the blending of magics involved in this tree makes that… nigh impossible I’m afraid. For now at least.” He sighed, releasing his grip on the spell to lean on his staff.

“You don’t know?”

“I consider myself to be an expert in magic of both the human and equine sort, Rock. Unfortunately, magic is an ever-changing subject and my sealing in both worlds gives me a thousand-year to catch up on, more or less.” He explained, electing to stay in human form for a little while. “Furthermore, I know of no artefact of human origin that could be compared to the Elements.”

Rockhoof watched the Enchanter’s ethereal gaze drift off, past the tree, towards a darker area of the woods, his thumb distractedly stroking the haft of his staff.

“You have an idea. And it’s not a good one.” The Earth Pony guessed.

“Mayhaps.” Star said. “I’m only one… ghost. So much I can do with only my own expertise, and I don’t have a lab anymore either. Can’t rely on my version in Equestria to research Earth magic either, even though I can use it to get any information I want on Equestrian magic.”

“And somepony around here does have a ‘lab’?” He made quotation marks with his hooves.

“Some-body, rather. Though… she and I didn’t part in the best of terms last time we met. Remember what I said about the fay?”

“That you’d tell us more about them eventually. What are they?”

“It’s a general term for multiple creatures that manifest in a common fashion. They can be demons, ascended enchantresses, elementals and spirits that all appear in the form of young nubile women with an ethereal aura. There are two fairly important fays living in these woods.”

“’Fairy’ important you mean?” Rock joked. “Ah, I take it that’s the two we saw on our first day.”

“Right on the mark, friend.”

Merlin paused for a moment, the ghost making a pained grimace at the thought of the two High-Fays of Broceliande.

“… and there’s a catch?”

“As I said, we didn’t part on the best terms. I have wronged them. Severely. Both of them.” He said, tightening his grip on his staff. “Badly enough that it warranted sealing me away.”

“And now we need their help. Great.” Rockhoof snarked.

“I… I will come up with something. Surely nopony stays angry for a thousand years right? I mean, they didn’t banish me the moment I freed myself, so that’s got to mean something.”

“Why do I get the feeling it’s like the Canterlot Archmage incident all over again?” Rockhoof sighed.

“Because it is? I’m sorry Rock, I just can’t help myself with...”

“Stop.” The stallion raised his hoof to interrupt him. “I know you Star, and it seems like human or pony you can’t help yourself whenever you see a powerful, female magician.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.” The mage admitted with a shrug.

“Does she like flowers too?”

“Morgane? Uh… not really… she’s more of the ‘Dark Enchantress’ type. Goat skulls all around her hut last I visited a millennium back.”

“Oh horseapples...” Rock facehoofed. “Buck it, I’ll ask Meadow to prepare an offering of potion components and play wingcolt again. That should work. By the way... you’re hopeless.”

“Thanks!” Starswirl said, brightening up and switching back to unicorn-form.

“Hold on pal, you’re not scot-free yet.” Rockhoof said. “You’ll owe me and Meadow a favour for that.”

“Go on...”  

“Remember Martin? The little fawn?”

“What of him?”

“Meadow’s been trying all she could to get him to settle over the… you know, loss of his parents. Kid’s said one thing though: reason he was around here in the first place was ‘cause he’s a fan of yours. Merlin, that is. So maybe...” Rockhoof trailed off.

Starswirl squinted at the much larger stallion, motioning for him to go on with his hoof.

“Look, Meadow and I, we just need a bit of ‘us-time’ if you catch my drift. And Martin, he won’t stop gushing over the ‘Legend of Merlin’ and some ‘Sword in the Stone’. We just need you to watch over him, an evening or two. So?”

“Deal.” Starswirl nodded. “I’ll keep an eye of him while you two lovebirds ‘get busy’.”

Both of them then lapsed into silence for a few minutes, observing the tree. The air in the clearing felt heavy, both because of the magic and because of the summer heat that permeated the area with little hope of a refreshing breeze.

“He’s a rather nice kid you know. Once you get past the fanboy-ism, I’ve never seen a fawn that young so willing to help around. More so nowadays.”

“He’s growing on you.”

“That he is. I… Look, I never really got to know my children you know, back in Equestria. They were barely a few months old when we got sealed away with Stygian.” He said sombrely. “And when we got back, I had all these folks turn up claiming I was their ancestor and that they’d preserved the traditions.”

“You looked into it?”

“I did.” Rock nodded. “History books wouldn’t tell me if they ever resented that papa never was there for them. But they sure make it look like they did all they could to match me.”

“They did?” Star said, sounding genuinely interested.

“My son united all the Northern Tribes under one banner to help the Legion fight the dragons, with the Mighty Helm becoming an elite Earth Pony infantry regiment; and my daughter is responsible for digging up a network of lava trenches that’s still maintained to this day… Saved the entire region more than a hundred times ever since...” Rock said, voice trembling. “I… I know they were awesome in their own right. I’m just...” His eyes shone with the hints of tears welling up. “I never got to see my little foals. And all the paintings and statues of them were as adults, not the...” He choked. “Sorry.” He said, wiping a hoof across his eyes.

He felt something cold on his back, slowly turning his head to see the ghost had thrown a friendly hoof over his shoulders. Somehow.

“You don’t have to be ashamed, friend. We all sacrificed a lot for Equestria.”

“I’m aware. It’s just… there’s this dark part of me that sometimes whispers that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have come along just so I could have lived with my family.”

“We’ll work on fixing that okay? This time around, you won’t have to be the hero that makes the sacrifice. That’s the point of the tree, alright? To choose the next generation of heroes that will fight the demons.”

“Yeah, thanks Star.”

Before they could once more lapse into contemplative silence, his mage friend abruptly threw a glance westward.

“Something the matter?”

Starswirl raised a hoof telling him to hold on before he lit up his horn to cast a quick detection spell. Not a second later, he facehoofed, muttering some curse words under his breath.

“Remember when I said I told local survivors to head for your castle?”

“They got lost, didn’t they?”

“That they did. There were two I found in a nearby military base a dozen mileseast of the castle. Looks like they got lost and wandered off here.”

“Hold on. East of the castle?! The castle is between the forest and their base then; how could they possibly go past the castle and completely miss it?”

Starswirl shrugged.

“Eh, that’s lieutenants for you.”

	Rockhoof looked up towards the sky, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same...





The door to Dilip’s office closed with a soft click before the Diamond Dog crossed the short distance to his desk in a few calm strides. Sitting down, he allowed himself a few seconds to take a sip of his tea – Darjeeling, as always- before finally turning his attention towards the griffon in front of his desk.

“Alright, report time. How was Carrickfergus?” He asked.

He knew the written report was right in front of him. He just wanted to hear it from the mouth of Vadim since the grey falcon griffon had gone there himself one day prior. Same principle as Delacroix’s visit at the IRA’s place: give the basic briefing and evaluate their colony.

“Well Captain… it ain’t much, and I’m being polite. There’s like… fifteen of them, tops. All led by that unicorn constable, Codsworth.”

“Species?”

“Mostly unicorns and hedgefogs. No dragons, unlike the IRA, and they have a lone centaur and an Earth Pony.”

“Earth Pony?”

“American tourist. Blue collar guy. Called himself Lucas and asked about passage to...” Vadim tapped a talon against his beak. “Philadelphia I think, though he said he could manage if we just got him across the Atlantic.”

“That’s two of them then.” Dilip commented. “Shouldn’t pose too much trouble, and we can get some extra manpower for the duration of the crossing from them.”

“Pragmatic I guess.” Vadim shrugged with his wings. “The entire group in Carrickfergus is pretty low on morale, and they have a family of four that seems rather worried about their fate. Codsworth puts most of their woes down to the IRA guys and most of their group seems to eat it up because of how precarious their situation is.”

“Precarious?” Dilip set down his teacup and leaned forward. “Explain.”

“It’s a bad colony. The location is not terrible, it’s got potential, but they lack the technical know-how to actually improve upon it and develop the infrastructure.

They occupy two buildings: the Norman fort near the marina on the shore side of the highway, and some kind of inn/pub on the hinterland side. The fort has good defensive potential and might protect them from most monsters even though they don’t have weapons except for the cop’s pistol, but it’s an old fort and requires some serious work to be lived in. That’s why they use the inn, and they’ve barely been able to plug in portable generators for electricity.”

“That bad uh...”

“Yes, that bad.” Vadim confirmed. “They’re mostly office workers with the exception of the American. Maybe one is a journalist I think? All in all, they’d need more lessons than just the starter edition on biology and anatomy I gave yesterday if they want to survive at all.”

“And you think their colony has potential?”

“I asked a few questions without prying too much and I did a quick survey while I was in the air. Their centaur could feed them if he had a couple gardens in the castle, or even on the lawns outside of it. As for the castle itself, you could refurbish it well enough to host a good fifty survivors comfortably. Then again, that’d require a fair deal of elbow grease to install all the plumbing and electricity.

As for what they could do and provide from Carrickfergus, there are a couple strategic points in the area. The obvious one is the power plant, which they could keep running even after we leave. If it stays active, that would make the life of survivors in the entirety of Northern Ireland a whole lot easier, as well as provide a point where we could regularly sell fuel and coal. That being said, the terminal at the power plant isn’t deep enough for us, so we’d have to use Rhine’s barges, or land a hovercraft via the boat ramp in the marina. No going in there with the big ships.”

“There is more isn’t it?” Dilip asked when Vadim paused to take a breath.

“Yes Captain.” The Ukrainian nodded firmly. “Two things at least. The lesser one is a small fleet of fishing boats, all of them less than twenty meters in length. Doesn’t do much, but they’re meant to retrieve shellfish from the bay. There’s like… twenty kilometres of shellfish beds hidden underneath the surface, plus any fish they could get if they lay down their nets properly. Might be enough to make up an export.

And the last thing is probably just as important as the power plant, though I doubt it would be enough to affect the whole region. They have a reservoir and a water treatment plant.

I think that as long as the population in the vicinity of Belfast stays low, that might be enough to provide colonies with running water and waste treatment. And if the number of survivors starts to exceed the threshold, then there’s another water treatment plant at the foot of Cave Hill that can be reactivated as well.”

“That’s excellent, I see you did your homework on the place. Good.” Dilip commented approvingly.

“Sir?” Vadim added, this time a bit more hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“It’s about the uh… ‘Switzerland clause’. I know we said we wanted to remain neutral, but maybe if we play our cards right we can get them to reach a status-quo and cohabit?”

Dilip looked at the griffon across from him, one paw reaching up to tiredly rub his muzzle.

“Listen… I know it’d be noble and all to intervene and settle matters between them ourselves, but unless it becomes life-threatening for either party, then we shouldn’t meddle. It is not our right to settle this feud, and it would be far too risky for us to do so. Better men have tried, and I will not risk our safety if intervening means we get attacked.”

“But don’t you have any opinion on the matter?”

“I do. I most certainly do.” The Indian admitted. “I think it’d be unfair from me as an Indian to say a country should not get full independence from the British and would probably have been quite pissed if London decided to keep Mumbai when independence was signed. That is my opinion. However, I don’t believe that warrants me intervening. Understood?”

“Yes sir. I… I may have told them about using their assets as a bargaining chip though.”

“Vadim...” The Diamond Dog growled lowly.

“It’s not about politics!” The Ukrainian quickly defended himself, one claw half-raised. “They barely have any weapons to defend themselves, so I just told them they should get… something to barter to convince the IRA to give them guns. It’s not like they’d find any otherwise.”

“Alright… that’s... fair enough.” Dilip deflated.

“Speaking of guns, are we going to retrieve any for Fugro’s crew, sir?”

“Yes, but not in Belfast, and not by land.” He replied. “I want to try and keep looting in Belfast to a minimum to avoid alienating the locals. The harbour is fine, but there’ll be no art retrieval from Belfast. And we can’t get the guns that are supposedly at the police station since they’d notice too.”

“What then?”

“I talked to Captain Gerig about this.” He explained. “The plan is to send out some trawlers, so they’ll think the expedition is just regular fishing...”

Which they still sucked at.

“Two of them. One is a diversion and actually goes fishing, the other heads to Londonderry. The town has… a heated reputation, to put it mildly. Getting weapons from there shouldn’t pose too much trouble, and we might even get some art pieces out of it with a bit of luck. I’ll put a list up later for volunteers.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Besides the fact that you won’t go?” Dilip quirked an eyebrow.

“Sir...”

“I’m sorry Vadim, but I don’t want my medic off to the other side of the island without a good reason. Your expertise is needed here, and Derry’s expedition can settle with nurse-level medical backup.”

“Fine.” The griffon sighed, sagging in his chair. “Will that be all Captain?”

“You may tell Micha I’ll need her to accompany Aleksei on a recce in the countryside. She can hunt, right?”

Vadim nodded.

“Good, we might actually get some fresh meat for once.” He crossed his arms. “But since I don’t want to be too cruel against you, tell her that if she find good hunting spots on her recce, then she can bring you along for the actual hunt as long as it’s within two hours of the docks. Fair deal?”

“More than fair enough sir!” His subordinate exclaimed, perking up at the prospect of going hunting with his mate.

“Alright. Dismissed.”





Around Fugro’s now dry underside, the noise of machinery was near constant. Scaffolding hugged her damaged flanks, wrapping around them tightly to allow various teams of sailors access to the warped hull plates and crumpled girders that surrounded the impact zone.

Danny was among them, obviously. As one of Amandine’s welders, she was bound to be roped up in the repair process, even though they had yet to move on to the welding part. No, that would have to wait a couple days at least, because right now she had a plasma torch in her talons, a welding mask on her head, and a long list of damaged components that needed to be cut away before the end of the day.

The scene around the Filipino was something worthy of a South Indian breaking yard: the air hissed with the sound of plasma cutters, sparks and specks of molten metal flew all around, soon followed by loud clangs every time a damaged beam or plate fell to the bottom of the graving dock. A burnt scent hung heavily in the air, mixing with the pungent stench of the low tide rolling in from the bay outside the harbour.

On the plus side, Fugro’s bosun was overseeing the repairs as foreman, and the stern gargoyle had allowed them to have some music on in the form of a radio tuned in to Sandra’s broadcast. In Danny’s mind, the playlist wasn’t the best, but it sure beat working in silence and soon enough the golden parakeet found herself humming along to the tune of Toto’s Africa.

The process was pretty simple: some of Fugro’s Engineers had already marked precisely where they were supposed to cut the plates and beams. The only extra bit of thinking she had to do with that was making sure she cut them down to size a bit before separating them from the hull, just so she didn’t accidentally let loose twenty tons of steel to fall at the base of the scaffolding she was working on.

That would have been a bad idea.

As far as she knew, the main reason why they were so stringent on them separating the beams and plates in those exact locations was so that the guys in the machining shop would be able to tailor the required hull plates going by the plans instead of having to manually measure them at the graving dock. Just a bit of a time saver. There was a second reason too, and that was that they needed to clear the way for the removal of some propulsion systems.

Remove the grills protecting the stern thrusters to replace the bent props. Cut open a larger hole in the side so the sphinxes would be able to pull out the damaged engine. Two of the welders were also busy removing the propeller nozzle and rudder on the port side so they’d be able to remove the damaged shaft.

All in all, delicate work that required foresight unless they wanted to be flattened by falling multi-ton marine components.

But that was up to the Engineers to figure out. She was busy as is with her own work. One of the disadvantages she had to work with was that her transformation wasn’t all positives. Bedroom stuff sure was awesome, but she had been forced to revise her approach towards work. Switching gender and turning into a species that, while fast, was physically weaker than humans, was actually rather inconvenient when you were supposed to do manual labour. The agility boost was a boon, particularly considering she was now casually hanging upside down from the scaffolding and holding herself with the prehensile talons that made up her feet, but she couldn’t just push through with raw strength anymore. Had to be a bit more clever than that.

Feathers were also… sometimes problematic, at least as far as she was concerned as a welder. What would you know, she’d had a few incidents where her plumage almost caught fire because she hadn’t paid attention. In all cases, that was owed to the longer feathers she had on her head and tail.

That problem was quickly solved once it annoyed her so much she decided to take action though. The ‘hair/crest’ feathers were tamed just by her wearing a bandanna and tucking them under her coveralls, and the tail feathers only required her to add a rear flap to her welding apron.

The lack of elegance in the solution irked her parrot instincts to no end, but nothing she couldn’t live with.

“Watch out downstairs!” She warned as the last part of the beam she was cutting down came loose.

The two-meter-long H-beam fell down, kicking up a bit of spray when it impacted a small puddle that had formed in a depression of the concrete. Danny turned her head down (or up rather) at the area she was busy with. The hole in the hull was now clear enough that she could see Fugro’s port engine in all its damaged and waterlogged glory.

Whelp, that’s her sector done for. Making sure her plasma cutter was secure, she quickly turned her arms into wings in a flash and let herself fall down to the bottom of the graving dock.

A tent had been set up a few ways away from the ship to shelter some of their gear. Danny ducked underneath the half-open awning and grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from a jug Rahul had brought before moving further inside to take a look at the plans. It wasn’t anything complicated, just a section-by-section drawing they used to divide work.

“That’s section… uh… section four completed.” She mumbled in Tagalog, marking itwith a notchon the drawing before adding her name to another section they had yet to finish.

Several sections had already been marked off as completed as well, meaning that if her watch was to be trusted they were ahead of time. Not a bad thing for her own sake: it meant if the engineering folks at the machining shop didn’t keep up, then she’d have some downtime for as long as it took them to craft the first hull plates…

Nah, that was too much of a luxury. With her luck she’d be pulled into guard duty or even have to go give flight lessons to the locals. And being anywhere closer to the IRA than necessary wasn’t exactly on her bucket list.

The radio she was listening to chose that moment to switch from the regular playlist to Sandra’s daily podcast.

“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU radio. Hope you’re having a fine day because I’ve been getting a couple messages from you lot I feel I should talk about.” She heard their Danish radio operator say.

Well, she could spare a couple minutes to listen.

“Remember that thing I talked about with Miss Naomi? The Texan sphinx that’s stuck in Africa with a pride of lions. We mentioned a couple things about lions being more intelligent than they used to. Well, I’ve received a couple reports that other species have had similar intelligence boosts. So where do I start...” She trailed off.

“I think we should start with Gunnar.” Another female voice said on the radio.

“Oh of course, I keep forgetting. Thanks.” Sandra said, audibly shaking her head. “By the way dear listeners, lemme present you my friend Lekan. She’s from another ship so she won’t always be there, but I think she’s got a wonderful voice for radio and having a bit of a back and forth is better than me rambling alone for hours.”

“Hi.” The Liberian Abyssinian timidly said. “I promise I’ll watch my accent.”

“Do keep it dear, I think it’s lovely!”

Danny rolled her eyes.

“So, starting off with Gunnar. Quick context: he’s a Norse farmer, a reindeer, living really far North near a convergence point. Our Chief Officer crossed path with him on an expedition.” Sandra explained.

“What he reports...” Lekan continued. “Is that a herd of reindeer –  not the intelligent magic ones that is, just your regular caribou- came to his farm. Usually he says they leave after a while because of hunters, but now they’re sticking around apparently. And they’re not behaving as they used to. And so do his farm animals for that matter, dog included.”

“Yeah, it’s like the magic in the air makes animals more intelligent as long as they’re around hum- former humans I mean.” Sandra mused.

Frankly, what Danny was curious to know was what kind of unspeakable things the farmer had done to the female reindeers in the herd. Lone guy presented with a relatively similar creature? Someone call Animal Protection.

“Now I don’t say they’re just as clever as you and me, but if something like a reindeer suddenly jumps to crow or parrot on the intelligence ladder, then that’s probably something you should take note of. I’m keeping an exchange of messages between us and Naomi in Africa ‘cause she probably can evaluate that better than us, being a vet, and she claims it only takes her a couple days to teach stuff to her lions. Neat stuff I say.” She added.

“We have one more report that’s not from contacts we already know about too.” Lekan spoke up in turn. “I think some of you may be surprised, but this time it came from the US. Montana to be precise. Sandra, you spoke with him, mind telling them then?”

“He didn’t tell us much about himself actually. Just called himself DJ Grizzly. But he told us a lot of stuff about what’s going on his side of the Atlantic.”

“By which she means the US.” Lekan quipped.

“Yes, of course I’m talking about the US. The guy’s in Montana, it’s not like he’ll know about what’s going on south of Mexico.” Sandra deadpanned. “Anyway, if anyone listening is interested, there’s a colony in Montana. ‘bout… sixty survivors, give or take. They don’t want me to give away their exact location, so they told me to say that: if you’re interested, head for Flathead Lake in Montana and tune in on 98.5FM, then you’ll have a procedure. Be warned though: they’re mostly ponies, so don’t expect to eat much meat if you join them.

As for our ‘animal’ subject, they told me about this one thing. Their looting parties came across an… oddity, of sorts, on the eastern shore of the lake. A sphinx, probably one of these survivalist nutjobs, but the guy was moving around with a family of freakin’ mountain lions like they were dogs. I know sphinxes get along with lions, but mountain lions?”

“Don’t these things claw your face off at the first chance?”

“I thought they did! Jeg mener… seriøst?” The batpony mumbled.

“English Sandra.”

“Sorry, my B” She corrected herself. “So yeah, nutty survivalist lives with a pack of cougars, and apparently he’s very territorial. Watch out for that if you go there and come in from the east. Though apparently, folks coming in from the East is unlikely going by what they told us.”

“Yeah, flow’s going the other direction after what happened to the West Coast.” Lekan said. “I don’t know, maybe they’re exaggerating and we shouldn’t take it at face value, but they claim there are some massive fires ravaging the West Coast all the way from California to Washington-”

“Hold on, isn’t Washington their capital? I thought it was on the East coast.”  Sandra cut her off.

“You’re mixing up the city and the state.”

“Oh… nevermind then. Sorry Americans, I guess I’ll have to study your geography next time.” The Dane sheepishly apologized.

“Back to the fires...” Lekan resumed after a short pause. “There’s a small stream of survivors fleeing the coast to escape the carnage. Not many since there aren’t even that many people on Earth at the moment to begin with, but by current standards it’s significant.”

“Now, it’s just a theory I shared with DJ Grizzly when he said he had a lot of peeps headed his way, but maybe because there’s like… desert directly east of California, that would push survivors to go north where it’s easier to survive instead. Just a theory though, never been there.”

“All in all we’ll just leave one last piece of advice before calling it a day with that podcast: avoid California. It’s on fire.” Lekan said.

“As my friend said.” Sandra opined. “Tune in next time for a podcast on weapon safety with our bosun Artyom as guest. Up next: Eye of the Tiger, from Survivor.”

There was a small beep, and the Danish batpony’s accented voice was replaced by the first notes of the legendary song. Danny immediately started bobbing her head to the tune before setting down her now empty coffee cup.

Back to work.





“Why aren’t we teleporting again?” Rockhoof asked before he pulled out his shovel.

“What? Big stallion like you can’t take a bit of a walk without getting winded? Didn’t know age got to you that bad yet, Rock.” Star snarked.

The large stallion and the ghost wizard were currently following a game trail in the middle of the woods to reach the two lost lieutenants. It was narrow, winding between the thick gnarly tree trunks along the side of a hill with a large amount of bushes in the way. While they didn’t pose trouble for his ghost friend (who could seemingly control when he touched stuff and when he didn’t), Rockhoof was forced to slow down and use his shovel to clear out the obstacles.

“You’re dod-ving the quef-tion.” Rock grunted around the handle of his shovel.

Slash the fronds, dig the blade under the roots, toss the bush aside, repeat. Ad nauseum.

“If I want to figure out the intricacies of magic and how they interact, I need to get a look at it. Can’t do that if I teleport around all the time.”

Rockhoof spat off to the side of the trail before wiping the handle of his shovel on his fetlock, putting it back in place on his harness.

“Oh poor you. Knowing how you like popping around that must be downright crippling.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll admit, part of the reason I do that so much is because it startles ponies.” The mage admitted.

“Don’t we all know...”

“Oh shush, Luna and Cadence already chastised Equestrian-me about it this morning in Canterlot. No need to repeat it twice.”

“Considering how you’re technically two ponies rolled up in one, I’ll say that’s probably necessary to get through that skull of yours. How is Canterlot by the way?”

“Boring as ever. If it weren’t for the library I’d rather avoid the city entirely.”

“Too many nobles?”

“And self-important academics that want my endorsement over stuff that’s mostly political.” His friend shuddered. “Faust almighty is that infuriating.”

“What about...”

“Flash?” Starswirl guessed. “Moved off to Cloudsdale as soon as we were back. Last I met him he was moping in a bar and said something about training the next batch of hopeless junior officers.”

“Oh… good for him I guess… could you tell him we’re alright next time your other body meets him in Equestria? I know that’ll do him some good.”

“Of course.” Starswirl nodded.

They kept following the trail along the hillside. Broceliande’s power still was as palpable as ever in that area of the woods, though at least it wasn’t only the gnarly old oaks that occupied the space. Taller but thinner beech trees rose up in the gaps left open by the oaks, as well as a couple odd chestnut trees with their bark so dark it was almost black save for the white lichen that covered their roots.

Ignoring the fact a lot of the plants were faintly glowing from sheer magic despite the daylight, the sight was fairly pleasant. Him removing bushes from the trail had made the earthy smell of soil rise up in the air, the smell of fertile decomposing leaves that brought pleasant memories to mind.

Even though they were rather deep in the woods, sunlight still pierced through the canopy casting shadow figures down on the ground, the pictures ever changing thanks to the breeze that shook the branches above them, accompanied by the soft music of the rustling leaves and the groaning branches that supported a chorus of birds of all sorts.

Not as satisfying to him as a breeze over a freshly ploughed field, but not far behind.

“Rock?”

“Hmm?” The stallion’s ears swivelled towards his ghostly friend in mild curiosity.

“You may want to pick up the pace.”

“They’re in trouble aren’t they?” He groaned. “Monster?”

“Of the local sort. Equestrian monsters can’t be summoned here thanks to the wards.”

“Wait, wards? Star...”

“That’s Morgane’s work, not mine.” The mage interjected as he switched to Merlin-form. “They’re a few minutes down the path that w-”

Rockhoof didn’t even wait for his friend to finish his sentence before he bolted galloping in the direction he had pointed. Thorns and ferns whipped his sides as he barrelled through, all previous care got about the obstacles set aside.

He soon found the two lost returnees when the ground dipped down into a hollow of sorts with a brook at the bottom. The monster had come right out of it and it was… a tiny sea serpent? No, not a sea serpent. It was still big, at three to four ponies in length, but nowhere near as big as its ocean-dwelling lookalike. Its head very much resembled that of a quarray eel, except with silvery scales and no fins or frills.

Oh, and it had its tail coiled around the barrel of a purple pegasus mare.

Rockhoof didn’t think, he just reacted. The powerful muscles in his hind legs coiled before unleashing their Earth Pony strength in one mighty leap that had times and again spelled the doom of his enemies, his combat shovel going from harness to mouth in one practised motion.

The… serpent didn’t even have time to spot the massive blue blur of a stallion bearing down on it. In a massive spray of blood and gore, Rock’s shovel found its mark at the base of its head, the sharpened blade separating it from the rest of the body before it landed on the bed of decomposing leaves with a soft thud, a confused look on its features showing it never understood what it was that ended its monstrous life.

The rest of the body fell limply, freeing the pegasus mare from its coils before slipping back in the brook it had come from, the gaping wound in its neck staining the water red.

Rockhoof didn’t address it more than a passing glance, instead turning around to appraise the two ponies he had just rescued.

One was a wiry unicorn stallion with bronze fur and a short blonde mane. He was wearing a woodland camouflaged poncho that hid the mark on his flank, paired with a small olive green backpack covered in webbing straps. He carried himself with the same falsely confident and cocky air he had seen on junior officers in the past, a confidence that didn’t fit how frazzled he looked from the altercation. The little blue-white-red flag on his backpack marked him as a local.

His companion was worse off, the mare’s teeth chattered from all the adrenaline in her bloodstream. She was relatively tall for a pegasus mare, with shaggy purple fur and a mid-length ivory mane. She was sprawled out right where she had landed with a haggard look on her muzzle that made her hazelnut eyes all the more noticeable.

Oddly enough considering the two were supposed to be military, she wasn’t wearing the same camouflage as her comrade. She was wearing a poncho/backpack combo as well, except that her camouflage was far brighter than that of the stallion (and of dubious quality, whoever thought you could hide wearing that must have been a grade A idiot), and the flag on the backpack didn’t match.

What he could identify was the little marking on the side of her backpack that read out as ‘US Army’.

“Greetings, my name is Rockhoof. St- I mean, Merlin sent me to help you.” He explained.

The two junior officers just gaped, eyes switching back and forth between the dead serpent, his bloody shovel, and himself.

Oh wait right, wrong language.

“Autant pour moi. Vous voulez que je me répète en français?”He tried again.
> Chapter 54: Find the Health and Safety Violation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two military ponies stared at Rockhoof, mouths agape.

The large ice-blue stallion in front of them stared right back, calmly wiping his bloodstained shovel against the dead leaves beneath him before sheathing it.

He’d clean it properly once he was back at the castle.

“Everything alright? That was close… any of you have any idea what that creature was?” He asked in French, distastefully poking his hoof at the decapitated head of…
Well, whatever that thing was supposed to be.
“It’s a piast.” Starswirl told, popping up behind him in human form.
“So it’s got a name.” Rock nodded. “What else do you know? By the way, is that thing used in alchemy? You know, to bribe your fairy ex.”
“Just take the whole head, I’ll ask Meadow to process it later. They live in the Lady of the Lake’s domain, north of here. Think of them as lake-based sea serpents in essence, though they’re part water spirits as well, with just a touch of dragon… or wyrm rather. Normally they used to live in Eire, but somebody ran them off the island so Vivian decided to make use of them as guards.”
“Lady of the Lake uh? One of the fay?”
“Correct.” Star confirmed. “But Lady Vivian is not quite the same as Morgane. Where Morgane delved into darker lore and obscure magics, she fused with a water elemental to attain her powers and create her realm at the bottom of a lake. I don’t think she scorns me quite as much as Morgane, but she’s always been a bit of an isolationist and… not very inclined to change her opinions.”
“Can we ignore her for now?”
“For now? Of course. But she does have something we’ll need eventually. A relic of immense power…”The mage told him. “It feels like she set a couple wards around, but nowhere near as extensive as the ones Morgane set up.”
“Yeah, you mentioned those earlier. She blocks monsters from coming in?”
“No, it only prevents them from teleporting in. They can just walk the old-fashionned way. Though… I can ‘port around just fine, and our summoning circles a couple days back weren’t impeded, so it’s not a full jamming array.”
“Guess that’s added to the list of things you’ll have to ask her.” Rockhoof shrugged.
A soft cough behind them interrupted the two Pillars in their tracks. They turned around, finding the two military ponies had apparently gathered their wits after the little altercation with the piast.
“Excuse me Mr Merlin...” The pegasus mare started in English.
“Hold on, so you do speak Equestrian?!” Rock interrupted before rounding up on Merlin. “What was that about locals speaking P-, I mean French then?” He asked.
“She’s American, she’s not from here.” The second pony, the unicorn stallion, explained with a thick French accent to his voice.
There was a pause.
“What’s America?” Merlin asked. “I mean… pardon me if I’m not up to date on local news but I’ve literally been living under a rock for the past millennium… and then some. I’m still not fully sure how long that was exactly.”
The two newcomers’ jaws dropped simultaneously before the stallion shook his head firmly, muttering a couple words in French under his breath.
“Long story short Mr. Merlin, her country is all the way across the Atlantic and is an ally of France. Our respective armies have a… partnership of sorts where we sometimes let Officers graduate from the other’s academies. I’m a Sous-Lieutenant, from Saint-Cyr, and she’s a Second Lieutenant, sent here from West Point for an exchange program.”
Merlin’s eyes twinkled with genuine curiosity as he leaned on his staff, the ghost pensively stroking his beard as he looked at the two ponies with newfound interest.
“France you say? Do you mean the Franks? That’s… I’m surprised their territory would extend so far west, what with the capital in Tornacum. Didn’t think young Clovis would even manage with the Visigoths to the south…”
“With all due respect… that’s quite outdated monsieur. Clovis more than managed with the Visigoths. He conquered and united territories to the point that he later became known as the first King of nowadays’ France. Unfortunately, saying empires have risen and fallen ever since would be a gross understatement.” The unicorn explained. “And we moved the capital to Paris. Tornacum… is that Tournai? That’s not even in France anymore.”
“Paris? Hmm… I’m afraid the name draws a blank. I take it the city was founded relatively recently?”
“I’m pretty sure you’d know it as Lutetia.” The mare interjected.
That simple remark got the stallion to throw her a surprised look, to which she replied with a cocky grin.
“Surprised? I read it in Asterix and Obelix.”
“As-… what? You’re the first Yank I meet that even knows the comic exists. I’m amazed.” He admitted.
“I read it for a bit of cultural immersion before coming over here. It’s a lot less boring a read than stuff like Journey to the End of the Night. No matter...” She focused her attention back on Merlin and Rock. “I’m sorry we got lost in the woods on the way. Where are we exactly, now?”
“West of the castle. You went right past it.”
Both lieutenants winced in unison.
“Now, I don’t want to bother too much since I suppose local history is interesting and all, but I’d rather we discuss it from the safety of the castle than in the middle of the woods where we can be jumped anytime.” Rockhoof interrupted. “Merlin?”
“I told you earlier, no teleportation. I need to scan the magic field.”
“So be it...” Rock sighed dejectedly before pointing his hoof in one direction. “Follow me, castle’s that way.”
The Earth Pony led the way home, though he kept quiet for the entire trek. Behind him, Merlin kept asking questions to the two newcomers, his friend genuinely curious as to what had happened during his absence.
And Rockhoof was rather surprised by what he heard too. Equestria hadn’t gone through that many regime changes in the span of time he had spent sealed away, so catching up wasn’t too hard barring all the cultural and political reforms.
France however? When Morgane entombed Merlin, the place was split in multiple kingdoms with very different cultures from east to west and from north to south: Bretons, Normans, Visigoths, Burgundians. Several times over the course of the centuries, one warlord would rise to power and unite all those regions, before his dynasty inevitably split it all up between his descendants.
In fact the region they were in, Brittany, only really was integrated into France proper by the 1500’s, having been a fringe province with its own sovereignty for the better part of its existence. And even then, it still kept a culture that was quite different from the rest of the country, influenced more by its pagan Celtic past than by the Frankish culture that latter coalesced to make up modern France.
It was all a bit too much for the Earth Pony to wrap his mind around, though his mage friend seemed quite eager to just soak in all the two lieutenants told him.
Speaking of lieutenants…
He managed to interrupt them just long enough to get an explanation as to who they were exactly.
Turns out, the military base east of Trecesson castle was actually a military academy. For officers. Camp Coetquidan, as they called it, had been set up as the new spot for training army Officers when the capital of Paris became too cluttered to keep a school there and remain practical. Both of them were last year students a few weeks short of graduating when the Event struck. They got caught just as they were driving back to base after a night out drinking.
Whether it was the alcohol in their blood or the transformation that caused them to total the car, they didn’t say.
“So what’s your name anyway? Forgot to ask...” Rockhoof said.
“I’m Miles.” The mare answered.
“Miles… isn’t that?”
“Yeah...” She grumbled, glaring at the path in front of her. “Used to be a dude.”
“I may be able to devise something to give you your masculinity back.” Merlin quipped. “Not immediately, since I have to figure out how to properly merge human and Equestrian magic so the enchantment would stick, but I might come up with something.”
“That… thank you for that.” She smiled. “Could you-
“I can’t make you human again.” Merlin interrupted her, making a cutting motion with his hand. “Modern humans cannot survive exposure to magic. If I were to turn you into a human, you’d die in a matter of minutes.”
“But aren’t you human?” The unicorn stallion asked. “I’m Emeric by the way.”
“Well met Emeric.” Merlin said, bowing his head slightly. “And to answer your question: yes and no. For one: I’m dead, and for second I’m from an era where humans could still practice and survive magic.”
He was also technically linked down to the soul to a creature from Equus, to the point where both shared the same conscience, so he really wasn’t an example of what humanity should be at its core.
“Lady Miles, I’m afraid I have to warn you: I have a lot of topics awaiting research, and very few assets to work off of. Making you male again may take weeks, months even, as it’s rather low on my list of priorities.”
“But that just feels so unfair…”
“You’re not the only pony in that situation you know. As far as I know, there is about a third of humans who come back that have their gender swapped… somehow. And in some cases that involves age as well.”
“Age?”
“Yes, age.” Rockhoof joined in. “There have been cases where middle-aged and elderly humans came back as pre-teens, kids even. You may even have lost a year or two yourself without noticing.”
“You’re saying that as if you weren’t human yourself.” Emeric said.
“That’s right, I wasn’t.”
The unicorn did a double-take.
“Come again?”
“I was always a pony. Didn’t Merlin tell you?” He asked, throwing a glance towards the mage that was now trailing behind the group.
Merlin just shook his head.
“Guess he didn’t. Thing is, I’m basically an alien as you’d call. Long story short: a demon or two escaped from our planet when our two worlds got too close, along with their clique of monsters and criminals. We had to bring something to help you combat them. Problem is… that thing won’t work for a while, so I stayed behind with somepony to keep an eye on it.”
Both lieutenants stared at him in disbelief.
“An alien?” Miles repeated.
“Eeyup. Closest word I can think of.”
“I thought aliens would be more...”
“Modern? Nah, we’re not like that.” Rock said. “Plus it’s even worse for me because I was sealed for a thousand years like Merlin over here. Technology and I don’t really mesh together.”
“So how did you even come here?!” Emeric burst out.
“Magic.” The stallion shrugged simply before returning his focus to the path ahead of them.
The group kept going down the trail back to the castle, and with the two newcomers now silent Rockhoof elected to give them a quick explanation as to how he intended to run the castle. Lacking anywhere else to go, he was more than willing to let the two of them stay in one of the many rooms available, be it inside the castle itself or even in any of the outbuildings that made up the farm.
But they’d have to pitch in, and he told them up front this wasn’t going to be easy. He damn well knew they could have salvaged food from anywhere in nearby villages, but that supply could only last them so long. Farm work it was, and farm work was hard work.
“We’re military, hard work doesn’t scare us.” Emeric boasted.
“Sure you do.” Rock smiled. “But remember one thing: I do things old-school, so don’t expect me to pitch in if you want your modern luxuries. That means electricity.”
“That supposed to be a challenge?” Miles scoffed.
Rockhoof rolled his eyes. Might as well be talking to Flash Magnus. From one planet to another, from a millennium to another, military folks always would be irrevocably cocky.
Eh, they’d have all the time they wanted to change their mind. Plus, the looming challenge seemingly got the human-turned-mare to look beyond her current gender problem. He sincerely hoped Star wasn’t lying when he said he might be able to come up with a solution.
A couple minutes later, they finally reached the castle, and Rockhoof was surprised to see Martin rush out to great him with a hug. Meadow was there too, with her mane tied up in her usual beehive so she could easily work in her garden.
Rockhoof tossed Martin on his back with a smile and walked across the courtyard to greet her, throwing one forehoof over her shoulders and planting a quick peck on her cheek.
“How’s the tree?” She asked him.
“Growing just fine, pretty quick even.” He reassured her. “And over here?”
Meadow glanced over Rockhoof towards where Merlin was now chatting about the castle with the two new ponies.
“Martin dear...” She told the fawn on his Rock’s back, seamlessly switching to French. “Merlin is here, do you want to talk to him?”
The kid’s head turned so fast Meadow wouldn’t have been surprised if it snapped, his features immediately brightening up with utterfanboyish glee.
And in a second, he was off Rock’s back and rocketing towards the ghostly wizard with a squee.
“Diversion?” Rock asked.
“Martin’s a sweet kid, but I think he’s a bit too young for that kind of talk.”
“Oh...”
“Oh indeed honey.” Meadow whispered, breathing in the stallion’s musky scent mixed with the smell of forestry. “Remember that potion Starswirl mentioned? I managed to brew it.”
“So you mean you...”
“If it’s with you? I’d take this potion as many times as I can so we can fill up the entire castle with foals.” She said tenderly.
“You’re not worried about age?”
“I’m a master alchemist dear, and I have another potion for you and me so we can live as long as we need to see these foals all grown-up.”
Rockhoof looked off in the distance pensively. At the edge of the castle’s moat, reeds broke up the silvery surface of the water, and there a mallard hen had made her nest, with half a dozen little ducklings trailing behind her.
“Tonight?” He whispered.
“Tonight.”
He’d have a family again. And this time, he wouldn’t let himself be separated. Not anymore.
The mallard quacked.





“Hold it!” Schmitt called out. “Don’t touch that engine until we’re all green, alright?”
“Yes ma’am.” The reply came from the group of sphinxes gathered around Fugro’s port engine.
Admittedly, the orange dragon was a bit angsty. She was standing on the bottom of the graving dock along with Todd and Erik, respectively Fugro and Rhine’s Chief Engineers.
Now that she thought about it, it was a bit weird that all Chief Engineers in the fleet had their gender swapped by the Event. What were the odds?
One in twenty seven. Her mind supplied the answer.
“Stressed out?” Todd casually asked.
“Well obviously.” She said, crossed her arms over her chest, one puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. “It’s you who’s a bit too confident about that idea of yours.”
“Schmitt, we do need to extract the engine.” Erik reminded. “We’ve gone over the operation, if we want to leave the dock on schedule we need to work on the engine in the shop.”
“That I agree with.” She frowned. “What I don’t is how you wanna go about it.”
And she felt like she had every right to be. Erik and Todd’s idea of an engine removal involved gathering all the telekinetic leverage they could (a.k.a. sphinxes) to lift the 40-tons hunk of Rolls-Royce metal out of its seating and pull it out of the side of the ship.
Granted, there already was a fair-sized hole there ever since they had removed the damaged structure, but she’d much have preferred if they cut open the deck above the engine room to lift it thenormalway. Using the cranes the bloody repair yard was already fitted with. The gigantic yellow cranes with a SWL above the thousand-tons mark. Samson and motherfucking Goliath!
But nooo.
Let’s save time and use sphinxes, of course. The idea was that the sphinxes, being already powerful creatures as far as magic went, would have enough leverage in group to lift the engine for a short distance out of the hull. And once it was up in the air, a couple flyers would swoop down and attach the straps so one of the gantry cranes could then take the burden.
On paper? Sensible if you squinted and used a non-western safety culture.
In practice? It meant that if only one of the sphinxes released their grip they might have a marine engine-sized wrecking ball falling down through Fugro’s hull and causing a catastrophic failure.
“It’ll be fine.” Todd insisted as she adjusted the bandanna holding back her wavy purple mane in her telekinesis.

Schmitt dubiously glanced down at the unicorn mare out of the corner of her eyes. The Scottish mare looked confident at least, the bright look on her muzzle shining through despite the numerous oil stains she had over her white fur. Todd certainly wasn’t the kind of Engineer that had her subordinates do all the work, she was rather ‘hooves on’, which was all the more bizarre to anyone who took a look at her. Her post-Event body was more that of a fashionista than that of a blue-collar worker.
Well, at least the engine wouldn’t stay aloft too long. Remove it from the ship, and then the crane would deposit it on a superheavy trailer.

“Alright, let’s do it before I change my mind.” Schmitt barked after a couple seconds as she pulled out her walkie talkie.

“Attagirl, that’s the spirit.” Erik nodded.

On that note, the three of them split up to install themselves at key position, with Schmitt opening her wings to fly up to the top of the gantry crane they had brought above Fugro like a gigantic yellow arch with the letters ‘H & W’ proudly displayed in black on the crossbeam.

Was it Samson or Goliath again? Didn’t matter.

The two cranes were engineering marvels in and of themselves. Built to match the scale of an ever-growing shipping market, each had their crossbeam seated at an impressive 90 meters above the graving dock and were over 140 meters wide. They were asymmetrical too: most of their weight was supported on one side by a wide pillar that also contained a lift, and an A-frame on the opposite side provided some much-needed stability to the 4000-tons machines.

In fact the cranes were so big they hadanotherjib crane on top of them just to get parts to the trolley atop the crossbeam. Said trolley which was in fact Schmitt’s current destination.

It was in times like that she counted herself lucky her transformation into a dragon came with a set of wings. Damn practical to get around,particularly since it saved her from having to go up the crane the old way.

The trolley was a house-sized cabin with red-painted metal walls installed atop a pair of rails that coursed over the length of the crossbeam. Not a small thing by any stretch of imagination, it contained all the pulleys and cable drums used to lift loads, motors to drive all the machinery, as well as the 1.1MW diesel generator that powered the whole crane.

Yeah, turns out they were wrong assuming the cranes ran on the local electric grid. They’d just needed to top them off and tune up the gensets before the hulking cranes were ready to resume work.

The crane operator (an A/B griffon from Fugro… Floyd if memory served) had already gone through the startup procedures, as the airborne dragon could see a thin plume of smoke rise up above the trolley. She angled her wings to change direction.

Unlike other gantry cranes she had already seen in the past, the operator’s cabin wasn’t situated in one of the support pillars or even directly on the trolley. Instead, she beat her wings and approached a small beam that arced at a 45° angle below the trolley to peek underneath the crossbeam. There, at the end of the beam, was the cabin.

Or, as aptly described by one crane operator that vehemently refused to climb in the thing: a glorified fishbowl suspended twenty stories in the air.

Schmitt didn’t mind, and neither did Floyd apparently. Not much of a surprise to her: winged species didn’t have the fear of heights that plagued their grounded counterparts.

That train of thought brought her back to wondering how much her transformation had affected her mentally, something she’d rather not think about too much.

‘Keep that for later...’ She told herself before folding her wings. She smoothly landed on the cabin’s roof before letting herself fall down a small hatch in the roof. Floyd was there, the Brit mumbling a soft ‘Ma’am’ before going back to observing what was going on below them, a thermos of coffee in hand and a cigarette in his beak.

“Everything working alright with the crane?”

“Yeah...” Floyd quietly nodded. “Controls are a bit… weird, but all winches are in working order. Even had the time to inspect the cables for rust damage. Just waiting for them to get the engine out before I lower the hooks.” He explained, talons drumming against the control lever.

It wasn’t long before she heard her radio crackle with Todd’s voice giving the order to begin the operation. She didn’t see it, but a part of her could feel the thrumming power of all their sphinxes as they began lifting the massive engine. They didn’t even have that many sphinxes in the whole fleet, so it was a testament to their raw magic power that they could even lift it at all.

“Lower the hooks.” Schmitt ordered Floyd.

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” She insisted. “Get them as close to Fugro as you can. Let’s not make them keep up the thing any longer than they have to.”

The kestrel griffon in the operator’s seat gave a firm nod before letting his talons dance over the crane’s controls. With a loud whirr from all the winches up in the trolley, Schmitt watched the cables slowly descend closer to the ground.

Not too soon either, because a minute after they came to a stop next to the opening in Fugro’s hull, they got their first peek of the water-damaged port engine. Most of the damaged parts had already been stripped off of the engine block to shed weight, leaving behind a sky blue-coloured skeleton with only its silver grey manifold left attached to it. The entire metal block was wrapped in the ethereal light of telekinesis as the obviously strained team of sphinxes under it floated it out of the vessel.

Schmitt’s blue eyes flew towards the top of the engines, right where the welders had attached a couple rings to connect the hooks. They had put them on either side of the engine, right below where the exhaust and turbocharger manifolds connected to the engine proper.

“Flyers that’s you cue.” She called over the radio. “Get those hooks in place, the sphinxes won’t last long. Out.”

Just as she said that, a group mostly composed of griffons and hippogriffs flew up to the crane’s hooks that were now positioned right next to the floating engine. They had to flap a bit harder to pull the heavy-duty hooks in position, but they managed to attach them all correctly under a minute.

“Don’t release the weight yet.” She heard Todd warn over the radio. “Smooth, let the crane tension the cables slowly and take the weight. We don’t want shock loading today okay? Out.”

“Alright, tensioning cables… now.” Floyd flicked a switch, and the winches above them started turning in the opposite direction.

Rumours had it the cranes could bend half a meter in the centre when they were near maximum load. That would have been several hundred tons. The engine however? Its weight may have been significant for the sphinxes holding it up at the moment, but it was downright puny in comparison to the scale of the crane. The cables in the pulleys didn’t even groan when Floyd started reeling them in.

“Okay, I got the engine. Tell them they can release, good job sphinxes.” The griffon said.

From then on, the rest of the operation was pretty smooth. And that was the keyword with cranes: smooth. Most accidents with them (barring the odd weather-related breakdown) didn’t occur because someone tried to load them past their SWL, but because operators were in too much of a hurry and didn’t account for load inertia. Masses in motion don’t just stop instantly, and creating a pendulum effect on a carried load was about the last thing you wanted to happen with a crane.

Except for wrecking balls of course.

That in mind, Floyd went to work on the crane’s controls. Reel in the cables to lift the engine above the graving dock’s levels. Rev up the electric motors at the base of the gantry crane so he could roll it on its rails closer to the quays, and then he just had to slide the trolley to a position above the trailer they had decided to use to carry the damaged engine to the workshop.

Fifteen minutes later, a team flew in to detach the hooks holding the engine and a truck came to take the trailer to the workshop where the engineering teams would begin the hopefully not too lengthy process of bringing the engine back to operational status. Schmitt stared at it as it disappeared under the roof of the hangar, distractedly chewing on a used drill bit.

Eh, at least drill bits lasted longer than cigarettes. Probably a lot healthier too, at least for dragons (and maybe Diamond Dogs).

“Well, guess I owe Todd an apology about sphinxes being unable to do it.” She concluded, crossing her arms. “Good job with that crane by the way.”

“Meh, work as usual.” Floyd shrugged. “Say… may I ask a question?”

“You just did.” Schmitt snorted.

“Classic...” Floyd rolled his eyes. “So I was wondering… dragons like you, so far I’ve only seen them bein’ from Ireland, maybe Wales, or Eastern Europe. And you don’t sound like either. Maybe… German?” He guessed.

“Close, but not quite. I’m from Luxembourg.” She corrected him.

“That… doesn’t really answer my first question. How come you’re dragon?” He swivelled in his seat to face her. “You’re the first Luxembourger I meet by the way.”

“White Emigré.” She simply said.

“Come again?”

“My family—at least on my mother’s side- comes from Russia. Saint-Petersburg to be precise. Problem is… we were sided with the White Movement so when the revolution went wrong my ancestors had to flee to France. Later on we moved to Luxembourg of course, but that still doesn’t change the fact I got Russian blood.”

“Oh… guess that explains it.” Floyd commented with a whistle. “So you speak Russian?”

“Among other things.” She nodded. “I speak… Luxembourgish, German, French, English, Russian –with a bit of Ukrainian-, Portuguese of course, and a bit of Italian.”

Floyd blinked.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Eh, don’t act shocked. We start in Kindergarten.” She explained. “I was raised in Luxembourgish of course, but that doesn’t long. We switch to learning French and German before we turn eight in school. Then they add English later on. On the family side, we always did reunions in Russian ‘cause gramps said so,and I had to learn it. By extension, Ukrainian wasn’t too much of a stretch, and it’s rather useful what with how many of them you see in the maritime industry.”

“But… Portuguese?”

“They’re one of the biggest ethnic groups back home. There’s like… a hundred thousand of them, and remember Luxembourg only has like… six hundred thousand people in the whole country I think? So that too, was useful to learn.”

“And Italian?”

“Okay, that one was just because I like the country. You ever been to Gubbio? Lovely town I tell ya.” She said with a smile.

“Man… you ever get the feeling you’re overdoing it?”

“Nah, seeing foreigners react like that never gets old.”





The removal of Fugro’s engine was the biggest event of note that occurred that day. Naturally work carried on as usual around the docks, with teams scouring the harbour's warehouses for salvage, engineering crewmembers spending their time in the hangar molding raw materials into parts capable of fixing the engine, and various groups training for this or that or even just resting.
Them having Fugro in dry-dock didn’t mean they weren’t doing anything to Amandine either. Much like the removal of the offshore vessel’s port engine, they had decided to remove the half-burnt equipment in the bow thruster room and send it to the shoreside workshop for repairs. That was significantly easier to achieve than with a main engine thankfully, and with a bit of elbow grease, some minotaur muscle and clever use of telekinesis, the engineering team managed to extract all the parts and toss them on a trailer.
That included the generator and the electric motor directly connected to it. Both would have to spend quite a bit of time in the shop, but at least that would enable Amandine to recover some much-needed low-speed manoeuvrability. In other words: the ability to moor without tug assistance.
Once they cleared out the burnt machinery in the compartment, Carlos got to work on repairing all the damage the fire had wrought upon the electrical installation, which, needless to say, was a lot. His arm still in a sling from his injury, the Filipino parrot had to resort to using Radiant as an extra set of limbs what with Danny already being busy welding and cutting metal all over Fugro’s hull.
And obviously the Equestrian was intensely curious as to how an electrical installation worked. Granted he agreed with Angelo that Radiant could be nice to hang out with when it came to geeking and playing video games…
But the bloody pegasus just wouldn’t shut up with his questions! It was just in and out, an endless barrage of rapid-fire questions.
“Bonding? Earthing? What’s the difference?”
“So how does the colour-code work with the cables again?”
“What’s a multimeter for?”
“Tumahimik ka!” Carlos eventually squawked out in frustration, the cockatoo’s crest flaring up from sheer irritation.
“Beg your pardon?” Radiant meekly asked, his ears now laying flat against his skull after the outburst.
“Just… shut up. Please.” The one-eyed parrot pinched his beak. “Can you just focus on what we’re doing right now.”
“Oh… sure, sorry. I mean… we didn’t have electricity like that on Equus, so I’m just curious you know.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I promise, I can give you a couple syllabi later if you’re interested, but didn’t Aleksei teach you anything about it? Even the basics?”
Radiant shook his head.
“She told me to stick with you today. Said she was busy prepping tomorrow’s recce in the countryside and… buck, there was something else but I forgot.”
“Probably Micha’s birthday.” Carlos shrugged. “Bet she’s helping Vad’ with it.”
Radiant set down the multimeter he was using to check the new fuse box they had just installed.
“Oh really? She holding a party?”
“Not really, Vadim told me he wanted to keep it private, so they’re just having dinner… somewhere.” He shrugged. “Didn’t say where, just that he needed Aleksei to cover for them and watch Andy. I think.”
“You think?”
“Well it’s not like I pried. Ain’t none of my business.”
“Oh...” Radiant blinked. “You know… at this point I’m surprised I forgot not all species are as social as ponies.”
“It’s not like you’d be familiar with humans anyway.” Carlos replied while he quickly checked his list for what they needed to do next.
“No you don’t understand. As far as I’ve seen, you do match the general social behaviour of the species you turned into.”
Carlos pocketed the list.
“Elaborate.”
“Depends on the species, but for one I can tell the griffons and dragons on the crew sure are as solitary as those I met back on Equus. Vadim and Micha, they don’t have social circles that big, Schmitt mostly hangs around with the Captain and the Chief Officer, and Artyom...”
“With the veterans.” Carlos completed.
“Exactly. That’s always below half a dozen ponies they hang around with. Now if you look at the parrots.”
“What about us?” Carlos put his uninjured claw on his hip and stared down at the pony next to him with his sole good eye.
“Ahem...” Radiant clicked his tongue, doing his best not to look at Carlos’ eyepatch and the scar tissue around it. “Bigger circles, but not by much. Thing is, maybe I’m wrong but the groups you hang out with amount to about the same size as the flocks of parrots I’d see around the airship towers in Mt Aries. Like… they used to treat their fellow aviators as a second family. Maybe I don’t know… do you feel closer to the crew than before?”
“Fair enough.” Carlos gave a curt nod. “That is true. Now… list here says the fire busted a fuckton of sensors, and I’d rather we get that done before supper, ‘kay?”
“Fine by me. By the way, what was that earlier? ‘mahimi ka?”
“Tagalog, my mother tongue.”
“Sounds nice. Can you teach me some stuff?”
“Eh… why not?”
That beat the technical questions at least.





Later that evening, Micha was flying circles above the Titanic Quarter. At this time of the day, the sky had already taken an orange hue, with the last rays of daylight hitting the massive silhouette of the Titanic Museum and reflecting off of the many windows and silvery panels that made up its facades.

The gigantic thing was actually pretty impressive, even in the eyes of someone who didn’t have much taste for modern architecture like her. Built in honor of the ill-fated ship right next to the slipway where she had been built, its architects had designed it with four corners each mimicking the shape of Titanic’s prow, down to the angular edges that contributed to the reflection of light against the panels covering the facade. All four ‘prows’ of the building then merged into a bigger all-glass inner structure in the center.

From her position up in the sky, the museum looked like a blooming metal-and-glass flower enshrined in the ivory slabs at its base. Not bad. Then again, with that much budget a Victorian-style building would probably have looked way better. 

And yes she was a bit disingenuous at times. Modern architecture wasn’t her favorite by a wide margin.

Micha’s raptor eyes quickly spotted her goal on the relatively featureless surface of the facade: a hole in the glass, somewhere towards the top floor and marked with bright spray paint. She angled her wings smoothly, turning her level flight into a soft descent that carried her through the opening. She came to a landing on all fours, stopping herself after a quick jog further inside the room.

A little issue she had found out recently with her raptor eyes: her eyesight may be far better than a human’s in daylight and nightlight, but her pupils were nowhere near as quick to adjust to changes in luminosity, which forced her to blink repeatedly before she could fully look at the room she’d just landed in, just about enough time to run her talons over her clothes to smooth them down.

Vadim had insisted she come dressed in casual clothing, so naturally she took this as her occasion to try out her new suit. Instead of her usual coveralls, she was wearing a green shirt that matched the colored feathers around her eyes, along with a pair of light brown cotton pants recently refitted to better hug her frame and with a tail hole. Above that, she also had a green scarf around her neck, and a black leather jacket with studs around the waist (actually closer to her midsection now). Not too bad, though maybe taking advice from Sandra (the sole actual female on the crew) wasn’t the best idea, as the batpony had insisted she make the clothes a lot tighter than she’d have liked. She also didn’t have shoes on, safety shoes were only really necessary when working on the docks, and being barefoot was more comfortable anyway. Exception made for the black leather gloves she had around her talons: hygiene was still a thing, and she had to eat with those claws.

She was in a hallway… of sorts. Heavy curtains blocked off one side, with the windows where she’d just flown in from on the other. A thick velvety carpet was beneath her, her paws reflexively kneading its surface. Obviously there was light inside, ever since they had restarted the power station in Kilroot electricity wasn’t much of an issue anymore as long as they bothered flipping the breakers. It was coming from somewhere further down the hallway.

What was odd was the violin tune she caught coming from the same direction as the lighting. She found herself humming along as she followed the sweet sound, eventually winding up in a much larger room that had her blink in surprise.

Make no mistake: Micha had already seen James Cameron’s Titanic. Several times over in fact. That gave all the more effect when she found herself atop an exact replica of the iconic ship’s Grand Staircase, down to the clock, the intricately shaped wood carvings and the little cherub statue.

At the bottom, a ballroom had been built to mirror First Class areas of the sunken liner: fancy carpets, a host of little round tables with pristine white tablecloths – one of them with a chandelier and a couple plates-, a bar in a corner with veneer furnishings, and finally one scene on a raised dais where Vadim was playing the violin whilst sitting on his haunches. If anything, the grey falcon griffon was dressed rather fancily: white shirt paired with tan trousers that matched the fur of his cougar half, to which he had even added a tie and white gloves.

She rather liked how closely the shirt fit his frame, highlighting the well-packed muscles of the male griffon. Where hens of their species were lean and thin, males were a bit shorter (length wise), but with a much bulkier frame.

Silently, she padded over to her mate who had yet to notice her. She let him play his instrument for a couple seconds more, before gently wrapping her arms around him from behind, her beak burrowing itself in the fluffy down of his neck.

“Nice evening don’t you think?” Vadim purred, carefully depositing his father’s violin in its case in front of him.

“Way to greet me champ, you’ve overdone yourself.” She replied in Polish.

“I got help.”He admitted.“This evening? It’s just you, me, a fancy dinner, and a First-Class suite replica until tomorrow morning. Happy birthday dear.”

“Who helped? Just asking, you know...”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Vadim turned around, tapping a talon against his beak. “Andy and Rahul helped with the cooking to make you some Pierogi – kid loves working in the kitchen mind you-. Aleksei helped me set up the ballroom and the suite. Alej’s picking up our watches while we’re here. Sandra and Camille helped pick the wine. And Angelo’s the one who gave me the idea in the first place, plus an extra… here.” He said, pulling a small package out of the violin case.

Giving him a quick peck of thanks, she eagerly opened it, finding it to be a CD with a note attached to it.

“So… I know you’re a big fan of Sabaton and the group’s probably not going to play anytime soon… but I know they’re Swedish so I managed to grab this from a recording studio while we were in Denmark. Found it across the strait in Malmö.”

Micha looked down and turned the note in her talons.

	‘Prototype record. The Last Stand. All tracks incl. Winged Hussars. NOT FOR PUBLIC SHOWCASE’

“So I know… they weren’t supposed to release it for one year yet and all b- Gah!” He squawked when he suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by his own mate who was now happily rubbing her beak against his neck feathers with much purring on her part.

“Dziękujędziękujędziękuję!” She exclaimed giddily. “I thought I’d never get to hear it in my life!”

“I take it you like the gift?”He grinned before jabbing a talon towards the table with the chandelier. “So… wanna try out those pierogis Rahul made for you?”

She sure did.

One thing was for certain: coming up with something even half as good for Vadim’s birthday was going to be a challenge.
> Chapter 55: Irish Countryside
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn rose above Belfast to the cries of seagulls taking to the air above the harbor, eager to get the earliest spoils brought by the shifting tide. Those cries were what woke up Micha, the hen slowly opening her eyes to the sight of the dimly-lit suite she was in.
Following the birthday dinner in the ballroom with Vadim, they had taken things to the next level inside of a replica First-Class suite. She didn’t know how close to the actual thing the room was to Titanic’s cabins, but the decor sure didn’t disappoint: they had a four-poster bed in a corner of the room, draped in royal blue sheets with silky curtains, positioned just the right way as to give her a perfect view of the entire suite.
Varnished wood panels covered most of the walls, their dark brown colors and intricate carvings giving a warm atmosphere to the room to go with the dark blue wallpapers that occupied any flat surface left behind by the panels. A thick carpet matching those colors also covered most of the floor, with an exception made for the couple floor tiles near the bathroom’s door –the sole element that didn’t match the original Titanic’s cabins-. Furniture in the room was as intricate as the walls themselves: a fancy wardrobe, a coffee table with a couple seats, a leather lounging chair, all of them exact copies of what Harland and Wolff originally manufactured themselves for their Olympic-class liners. The atmosphere would have been perfect, had it not been for the discarded clothes littering the floor, along with a couple used condoms and empty wine bottles.
All of the porcelain fixtures lining the walls were dark, only sunlight seeped in through the curtains on the opposite side of the room, their presence hiding a small window architects unfortunately couldn’t have designed to match a porthole in design.
Vadim’s breath rustled her chest feathers. The griffon tom was wrapped comfortably around her with one wing protectively over her. His scent permeated her nostrils –along with the notable smell of sex in the air-, its presence alone evoking soothing feelings in the hen, primal griffon instincts echoing words like ‘mate’ and ‘mine’ in the back of her mind.
Perks of being mated to a griffon being… downy feathers and fur sure made for an extra comfy pillow she was all too happy to exploit, nuzzling the crook of his neck and setting her head back down for some more snoozing.
Her stirring must have been enough to wake Vadim up because the gray falcon griffon soon opened his eyes, blearily blinking a few times and clicking his beak repeatedly before he lovingly gazed into her own yellow irises.
“Dzien dobry...” He mumbled. “Had a nice birthday?”
“The best.” She replied, gently nipping the underside of his beak. “I’m gonna have a hard time outdoing you, you know?”
“Meh, you got time. Like… four months. What time is it?”
“Still got an hour or two before we’re needed back in the fleet. Spooning?”
“Yeah… God know I could use some rest.” He chuckled. “Wanna preen?”
“Thanks I’m good. Did that Monday already.” Micha said, hefting a wing to show him her still pristine primaries.
There was a pause, and she caught an awkward glance from her mate, as if he was trying to get the words out.
“Something the matter? Is it about work? Today’s recce?”
“Nah it’s not that.” Vadim shook his head vehemently. “Though I wish I could go out in the countryside with Aleksei like you.”
“Eh, what can I say? Managed to bullshit something about them needing a sniper to accommodate for the longer ranges. Plus there’s the hunting the Captain approved of, I just need to find where to do it.”
“Bullshit indeed.” He smiled, a very avian trill escaping his nostrils in amusement. “No actually… I was thinking about kids?”
“Andy you mean?”
“No głuptaś!” He chuckled. “I meant making one.”
Micha blinked owlishly at him.
“Oh...”
“I’m sorry.” Vadim apologized, his tail wrapping around hers to give a comforting squeeze. “I… it’s just I’m curious how you think it’s going to be in the future.”
She took a moment to formulate a reply.
“I’ll admit… I just haven’t thought about it. Not seriously at least.”
“Do you want kids?”
“Hell yes! Of course!” She exclaimed. “Just… you know it’s complicated. We’re busy already, and we’re kinda lucky Andy’s so self-sufficient as is.”
“And that she got wuj Rahul to look after her when we’re on watch.”
“That too.” She nodded. “So...”
“When do you think we’ll be...”
“Ready?” She completed. “I don’t know… maybe we’ll need more stability to form a family. An actual family.”
“There’s this thing I heard Roberto discuss with Alej’ and the Captain. Kitten’s evaluating locations for a headquarters. I didn’t eavesdrop for too long, and either way I don’t think they’ll keep it a secret but what do you think if we had a base ashore?”
“That’d do. They got any location yet?”
“No, just a statement about what they want. A harbor of course, a repair dock, shore tanks, enough accommodation and storage,… you know how it goes.” He shrugged with his wings. “But that would do? Really?”
“Yeah I guess...” She trailed off. “A proper house, not just a cabin...”
Idly, she kneaded the mattress with her paws, rubbing her thighs together self-consciously. The idea that she could now have life growing within her… she was already accustomed to the changes the transformation had inflicted on her sexuality, but to actually bear children (or cubs in her case) felt like such a huge change. Like the coin had been flipped over, and she wouldn’t even know how to do it properly.
Because griffons didn’t mother their cubs the same way humans did obviously...
Vadim noticed her distress and nuzzled her neck to comfort her.
“I’ll be with you you know. Always. That’s how griffons work remember?” He promised. “By the way, you think you have a preference yet?”
“Preference? Name ideas you mean?”
“Not quite. You remember what you can do to bear cubs?”
She did. Griffon reproduction had its… oddities, to put it mildly.
One: provided she had unprotected sex once, she’d go into estrus the next day. Not hard to manage provided Vadim always had condoms on claw, and probably better than human reproduction. No eggs wasted that way.
Second was that she had a choice, in a fashion. She could have the kids (griffons always came in clutches of two, one per ovary) either via egg, or via pregnancy, depending on how hot she was during the first two weeks of gestation. Keep it hot enough, and she’d be laying a pair of eggs four weeks after that.
Via pregnancy she’d otherwise be spending 32 weeks with the kids inside her. Granted eggs weren’t any faster but she wouldn’t have to carry them all the time.
“Eggs, definitely eggs.” She told him. “And tata’s gonna be helping with the incubation.” She added jokingly as she jabbed a talon against his chest. “And that includes feeding them. If I’m gonna puke down a fledgling’s beak, then so are you.”
Vadim grimaced. Yeah, maybe that part in particular wasn’t as glamorous as it was for humans.
“Guess I’ll have to.” He conceded.
“It’s just as weird to you as it’s to me, believe me.” She leaned against him as one of her talons pensively drew circles on her belly fur.
They stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other’s warmth before they eventually had to get up, both collecting their discarded clothes and heading for the suite’s bathroom to wash off the scent of sex that still clung to their feathers.
Vadim had made sure there would be water running the day prior –not too much trouble as long as you know what to look for in the building’s utilities-, so he was all too happy when they both sank in the steaming waters of the large marble bathtub. The thing was almost big enough to classify as a little pool.
And he totally enjoyed the sight of his mate’s lithe form half-covered in foam. Griffons were as supple as cats, so they had no problem reaching any part of their body they needed to. Hell, as he was seeing even their tails were pretty good at it too: Micha had managed to grab a loofah in her tail which she was using to scrub between her wings while her talons worked on her underside.
“Say Vadim...” She said.
“Yes?”
“I heard from Angelo there was this expedition they were going to do with the trawlers.”
“Oh yeah. I had a word with Roberto over it. Turns out it’s a bit complicated. Remember the art retrieval we do?”
“Uh-uh.”
“And the fact that Fugro’s crew is still unarmed?”
Through no fault of their own. It was just that neither Amandine nor Rhine had enough spares in their respective armories to equip the whole crew.
“Go on.”
“Well the Captains didn’t think we could just grab art pieces from here in Belfast without upsetting the locals.”
“No shit.” She rolled her eyes.
“Well, pair that with the fact we’re pretty sure the IRA took all the guns around here regardless of what they claim, so they decided we should check out Londonderry up north. Town’s pretty heated in its reputation, so there should be plenty of weapons at the police station to retrieve. And any art or relics we can find too. Too late to enlist for the expedition by the way, they already got the crews for the trawlers plus extras.”
“Shame. Who then?”
“They’re sending two trawlers with the Greek twins from Rhine on board. One is a diversion so the locals will think they were just out fishing when we unload frozen fish, the other will actually go there. I think the one with Nikolaos, not sure. Since it’s Nikolaos… then that means they’ll send Diethelm and Mikhail as boat crew, plus three extras. Marta as medic, Geert is detached there too as lead since Nikolaos doesn’t classify as Officer and...” One of his talons poked through the bubbly surface of the bathtub to tap against his beak. “Ivan, I think. Since she’s always on Geert’s watch as helmsman… or helmshen rather.”
“Lucky them, doing tourism while we’re stuck in Belfast.” Micha drawled.
That got her a talon flick upside the head from her mate.
“Kurwa! The Hell was that for?!” She yelped.
“You got no right to complain Miss I’m-going-on-recce-today.”
“Right… my bad.” She smiled sheepishly.
Vadim smirked right back, both his claws suddenly diving under the water’s surface.
She stared at him blankly for a second before he suddenly lurched on his hindlegs, catapulting a huge wave right on her face. She squawked sharply, coughing up a bit of soapy water before addressing him a playful glare.

“That’s it! You’re on!” She laughed.





Just as Micha had told Vadim, it was only a matter of hours before the hen found herself grabbing her bolt-action rifle from the armory and heading for the car deck where Aleksei awaited in one of the Defenders 130. The hippogriff was fiddling with one of their long range radios as she chatted with Scarface and Radiant.

Yeah, headed for the countryside as they were, they’d need to take one in backup of their regular satcom gear. Normal handheld VHF just wouldn’t do. Come to think of it, the radio she was busy with was part of the gear they had taken from the navy base way back in Zeebrugge: a PRC (or was it VRC?) manpack radio supposedly meant to fit either on a vehicle’s dashboard or in a backpack. A couple more models of various brands had joined their stocks later down the road when they raided the Danish base of Slagelse and the other one in Sweden where they got the CV90, but barring the encryption systems (that they removed anyway), the workings and frequencies were essentially the same.

Though Micha doubted any of them would fit inside a backpack anymore after the whole engineering department got done retrofitting them. Larger antenna, beefed up receiver and completely modified modulation… Maybe they’d overdone it, then again they had some genuine electronic nutjobs on board, with most of the blame resting on Carlos, and maybe Roberto to an extent. Either way, the bastardized VRC/PRC radios had plenty enough range to be taken out in the countryside.

“Hey there, where’s Thanasis?” She asked as she strode up to the group.

“Resting.” Aleksei immediately replied. “Yesterday’s stunt with the engine left him completely exhausted. There’s enough of us with you in the team anyway, so that’s not going to be a problem. You got the charts by the way? I don’t like relying entirely on GPS.”

“Printed them this morning. You know how to read UTM maps?” Micha shrugged off the backpack she was carrying and handed her friend a couple folded sheets of paper.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The Latvian nodded. “Dad was National Guard, he taught me when we went hiking. By the way, how was...?”

“Lovely. Can’t say many can claim they’ve slept in a Titanic suite.” She smiled. “Back to the patrol, what’s your plan?”

Aleksei jerked her beak towards the hood of the Defender, motioning for her team to gather round for a quick brief as she laid down the charts, twirling a pencil in her talons.

Her route was actually rather simple, she explained. They’d first head to Carrickfergus to get a quick update on the status of the colony before veering north to start a wide circle around Belfast’s general area up in the hills. Going by the path she drew on their map, they’d reenter the town from the south right where they needed to quickly get an update on the IRA folks at the City Hall. No one raised an argument against her plan, so they got underway in as little time as it took to put the radio and maps in place on the dashboard.

Behind the wheel, Aleksei pressed her hoof on the gas pedal and gunned it, the Defender’s turbo whistling its tune as they drove past the checkpoint marking the end of the security perimeter of the repair yard. They could all hear the mudflaps clack in the wind, and the wheels kick up some spray whenever they passed through the puddles that accumulated in the depressions of the concrete that made up the quays.

As often as it rained – frequently enough to make fair-sized puddles-, they did enjoy a clear sky when they left.

“Confident in your driving, uh?” Scarface commented as he felt his superior gun it.

“Please...” Alek rolled her eyes. “It’s a Defender. Cool as they look, we ain’t going anywhere fast. Plus what do you fear might happen? Codsworth fining us for speeding?”

“Eh, I’m no judge of character but he looked grumpy enough to actually do it when we met him.”

“Fair enough. He did greet me with a complaint.” She admitted. “By the way, it’s kinda dull in here, anyone wanna put some music.”

“Got just the thing for you kiddo.” Scarface immediately replied, pulling out a CD and inserting it in the truck’s player.

It took a minute for the music to pick up its beat, some old-school rock tune Aleksei and Radiant quickly found themselves bobbing their heads to in rhythm. She didn’t understand a word of what the singer what saying, but it was kinda catchy to her ears.

Micha however, wasn’t.She gave the Bulgarian gargoyle a questioning glance, to which he only replyed with a knowing grin.

“What the hell Niko?” She finally said when the second song of the album began.

“I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” Radiant blinked. “The music’s good.”

“C’mon Alek’, don’t tell me you don’t know what he just put on?”

“Nah, no clue.” The driver shook the wheel.

“So tell us, Officer...” Scarface chuckled. “What’s the matter with my taste in music?”

“You- this..ugh…” She sniffed before shaking her head. “I thought Bulgarians didn’t get along with Serbians, so why in all circles of Hell do you have Yugoslavian rock?”

“I could ask you how you know it’s Yugo rock in the first place you know.”

Micha’s warning look was enough to tell him he shouldn’t.

“Ok fine.” He relented. “Story time I guess? My first car, it was a second-hand Yugo I bought from… somewhere shady. Shady enough that I had to check it for blood stains and a corpse in the trunk. Didn’t find any, but the previous owner had left a tape of Kerber in the deck. Not much of a fan since I barely understand a word of Serbian, but the tune was kinda catchy and it was the only tape I had at the time. Plus it’s a bit of a nostalgia factor: damn car broke down all the time, and I’d put on the music while I fixed it.”

He paused.

“Come to think of it… it might be because I spent so much time fixing my own car that I wound up making it my job… even if it was with the army at the time.” He added as an afterthought. “In short: me old, me nostalgic, don’t understand lyrics, tune good. Simple enough for you, kids?”

The truck’s cabin was silent for a minute.

“Humans are weird.” Radiant finally said to conclude the conversation.

And in the back, Kerber’s singer kept spouting catchy gibberish to all of the truck’s occupants.





Inspecting the Carrickfergus colony was a mere trifle they got done with in a quarter of an hour. Underwhelming as always, Codsworth was now entirely out of ammunition for his pistol after they got attacked by a couple escaped zoo animals, leaving him with only his baton for defense, along with makeshift weapons and gardening tools used by the rest of the colonists.

The unicorn pleaded them to lend him some ammo. To no effect unfortunately: their hands were tied as the Captains didn’t want to be seen arming either the Loyalists or the IRA.

Switzerland clause at play.

There were a couple improvements though. They had managed to raid a DYI store and had started retrofitting the castle and its ground into a proper inhabitable building after getting some advice from them. Greenhouses had popped into existence inside the courtyard, along with the beginnings of a small outer fence that would encircle both the castle, their inn, and part of the marina so they’d have a protected quay. A tiny boat was already tied up there so that they’d be able to gather food from the many shellfish beds in the lough.

Soon enough, the Defender left Carrickfergus behind to begin the climb up the hills north of town The relatively urbanized areas along the shoreline soon traded place with more greenery the further inland they got, up until all there was to be left of civilization were a couple lone houses and farmsteads plopped down here and there between the pastures.

Them seeing proper Irish countryside at last did make them notice something: the trees, or the relative lack thereof rather. It was an odd thing coming from an island that was frequently praised for its greenery, but in all likelihood that reputation was owed more to the vast expanses of pastures than it was to the forestry. Now, there were a couple forests and groves here and there, but they were all situated around reservoirs, and they only had a single species of pine tree in them, most likely for lumber exploitation and firewood. Pretty much the standard fare for landscapes in the British Isles: forests were already rare because of scars left behind by prehistoric farming turning lush forests into heath, and pioneering the industrial revolution and building hundreds of wooden vessels for the Royal Navy had further accentuated the rarity of wood in the isles. You’d have to go deep in the Scottish Highlands if you wanted to find anything that might resemble old-growth woods. Mainland Europe had, in contrast, been far more diligent in maintaining and expanding vast swathes of forest like the Schwarzwald, the Ardennes, or even the Polish primeval forest.

That absence of forestry made the countryside appear surprisingly barren despite the pastures, even though short waist-height hedges separated many of them when the locals could not afford to pile up enough rocks for the signature walls that kept the sheep herds in check. Sheep that had now gathered in herds so massive they created white wooly blobs over the horizon. Ireland’s insular status kept it free of predators, so the worst thing the herds would ever fear would be the odd monster and escaped zoo animals, and the latter wouldn’t last once winter rolled in.

At least there was a benefit to the absence of forests in the countryside: when paired with the relatively smooth terrain of rolling hills and drumlins, very few things impeded sight lines during their recon operation. Micha had no difficulty surveying the area for anything worthwhile through her rifle’s scope.

“Looking for something in particular?” Radiant asked.

“Hunting spots.” She replied. “We’re running out of fresh meat and I was told griffons on your planet used that as a bonding activity. Plus, haven’t got the chance to go hunting in years.”

“Is there even anything worth hunting on the island? I mean, I don’t see much ‘round here except for cattle and wild dogs.” Aleksei pointed out.

“Really? You didn’t see anything?”

“Okay, maybe I’m blind, or maybe you got the instincts to spot them anyway, griffon. So shoot.”

“Small game mostly, pheasants and partridges running around in the hedges.” Her beak creased in a predatory smile. “And I spotted a nice little extra around one of the reservoirs.”

“Am I the only one that’s a bit uneasy at how casually you talk about eating the flesh of the living?” Radiant grimaced.

“Depends. Believe it or not I’m not actually as comfortable eating meat as I used to be.” Aleksei admitted. “Bet it’s because hippogriffs are supposed to eat fish. You fine with fish Rad’?”

“Absolutely. There’s a bit of a stigma against it among ponies in Equestria, but it’s only cultural and I’m past it.”

“How come?”

“I think I told Angelo once. Before volunteering to join the Equestrian Relief Effort, I was hanging a lot with the hippogriffs at Mt Aries. Pegasi and hippos’ get along pretty well I can tell you.” He said. “To the point where some ponies back home found me a bit… weird, to say it politely.”

	‘So that’s why he’s been flashing over me…’ The thought flashed inside Aleksei’s mind.

She blinked.

Why was it only a couple days after the duct keel incident that she realized that? Stupid!

The rest of the recce team wasn’t privy to the inner monologue of the hippogriff sitting behind the wheel, though there was one pegasi inside the cabin that was sneaking looks in her general direction –which she made a point of ignoring despite the blush that was creeping its way underneath her facial feathers-.

Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she decided to focus on the road and the recce they were supposed to do.

Later on they spotted a couple quarries, one of them already inhabited by quarray eels that they made doubly sure they drove a wide circle around. Even Micha’s .308 rifle wouldn’t have been enough to reliably harm them.

Villages and clustered farms flew by too, all of them completely deserted save for maybe some abandoned cattle and animals, or one pack of timberwolves that they easily dispatched with long-range fire courtesy of Micha along with a couple well-placed fireballs from Scarface.

Because yes, of course the gargoyle had been experimenting with magic. To the point where he’d consider he had three combat spells available: a variant of telekinesis he could use as a shield to redirect projectiles, the basic fireball he copied from a spell tome, and one ‘light orb’ that could act either as a parachute flare at night, or as a flashbang in a pinch.

And with the ability to neutralize them at a distance with a fireball, the self-reassembling logs weren’t much of a threat anymore. Unlike the quarray eels, those they’d leave alone. Scarface wasn’t quite ready for round two, one scar was enough as is.

They didn’t really go that far north before looping back west towards Lough Neagh. Going any further north wouldn’t have made much sense as their maps only showed some isolated hilltops where the only passerby’s to ever come through were beginner-level hikers and shepherds looking for an isolated place to do unspeakable things to their sheep. Chances to find any survivor there were astronomically low, so they changed direction as soon as they came in sight of the yellowish, moss-covered hills.

Lough Neagh was a lot more inhabited than the hills they’d just left, most likely because of the importance it carried as a large freshwater source. Farms and mansions started popping up along the road the closer they got to its shores.

Being the single largest lake in all of the British Isles, Lough Neagh was considered a strategic piece in the region’s workings. It’s importance was such that five of the six counties that made up Northern Ireland had some kind of land access to it. Aleksei’s team eventually reached it through Antrim, and unfortunately the little town wasn’t much of a sight anymore. At some point after the Event, a fire had ravaged most of the buildings and the surrounding area, leaving behind nothing but ruins and vast swathes of burnt suburbs before it petered out when it ran out of buildings. The cause was in all likelihood the wrecked plane they found in the ruins, its carcass oddly devoid of corpses.

At best, only twenty buildings still stood in town amidst the ruins.

The international airport directly south of Antrim wasn’t any better, if less charred. Not a single sign of intelligent life was to be found there, and Aleksei was ready to call it quits before she finally spotted something. A thin smoke column rising up from near the shore of the lake, which they spotted once they parked atop a hilltop for a quick break.

“’bout damn time we found something.” Scarface grumbled, lowering his binoculars. “You got the location narrowed down on the map?” he asked Alek.

“Yeah.” She replied, having laid down the map on the hood of the truck. “That’s definitely a farm. Buildings on the map look like a stable.”

Radiant quickly flew up in the air and confirmed her assumption. Over in the distance, the Pegasus could easily see a cluster of buildings with a cottage, grain silos and a couple corrugated-steel prefabs that reflected the sunlight like dirty mirrors.

Getting closer wasn’t much trouble, and revealed the farm was pretty much like every small-scale European farm from before the Event. They found it tucked in its own little corner of countryside along a narrow, poorly maintained road with tall hedges on either side. Concrete slabs and low-grade gravel covered the ground around the equally cheap and inelegant buildings around it, sending out vibes that screamed ‘utilitarian’ out of every possible orifice.

The place also bore a relatively unkempt air to it (in addition to the odorant air that permeated all farms) with tools strewn about and the farming vehicles messily parked where their owner had left them, in addition to the various mud stains and all the dust.

Said owner didn’t wait long to turn up upon hearing the sound of their engine, as a stocky brown dragon wearing nothing but a blue set of coveralls strode up to them, an Irish Setter quietly trailing behind him when he exited a stable from where they could hear the mooing of cows.

They all got out of the truck to greet him, making a point of keeping their weapons slung over their back.

“Hi there sir.” Aleksei greeted him, extending a claw. “I’m Third Engineer Klavins.”

“O’Connell.” He gruffly replied as he bent down to shake the proffered claw. “Watcha doin’ her’?”

She didn’t miss the careful glance he gave towards their weapons and flak jackets.

“Exploring.” She said. “We’re sailors, from Belfast-“

“IRA?” He interrupted.

“No, we’re not with the IRA.” She shook her head. “We had to stop by at the repair yard to fix our ships. Collision. We just want to stay as neutral as possible.”

The brown dragon crossed his arms and stared her down for a couple seconds.

“We’re willing to trade.” She added.

O’Connell smiled.

Reaching an agreement wasn’t difficult. If anything, O’Connell’s accent was the biggest hurdle they had to wade through. He had a lot of stuff they were interested in, just as they had stuff he was willing to trade for. Most important of which, was mechanical expertise and fuel. His farm had a fleet of tractors, trucks and trailers that were in dire need of maintenance, something he was willing to exchange food for, including live chickens and a couple heads of cattle they’d slaughter for food.

Having brought Scarface along made it even easier. Him being the de-facto head of Amandine’s vehicle bay let him know precisely how long it would take to repair them all, and which of the vehicles he’d need to have towed back to Belfast for repairs in his shop.

Hell, they even promised O’Connell they’d sell him a fuel-recycler when Schmitt got done with her first prototype. That alone would be worth a couple heads of cattle more, and it was something the brown dragon was 100% intent on buying when they told him that, yes, fuel could and would spoil within a few months.

O’Connell’s tale itself wasn’t particularly unique. He just woke up one day in the wrong body and immediately set to fixing his farm and gathering as much of the stray cattle as he could, be they chickens, cows or sheep. The sole real problems he’d had were that he needed to convince his dog he wasn’t an intruder and fending off some small-sized monsters with his 12 gauge.

Which included a lone cockatrice that almost managed to petrify him before he discovered humans could shrug off and even resist the spell with enough force of will.

That much Aleksei attributed to transformed humans still producing magic on their own. That might be enough to disrupt curses laid upon them.

He didn’t even miss civilization that much. Then again, he himself admitted he’d always been a loner, and Aleksei assumed him being a dragon probably made that even worse.

As for Antrim’s fate, he blamed on the red dragon that crashed the plane in town. He hadn’t seen the hatchling ever since, but he was pretty sure she’d survived.

An hour later, they left with the last details of the deal hammered down. Another team would deal with picking up the food and damaged vehicles later on; they had a patrol to finish.

“Weird guy…” Radiant commented as soon as their Defender left the farm behind.

“How so? Sounded pretty normal to me, at least for a farmer.” Scarface asked, the gargoyle distractedly tossing a light orb from one palm to the other.

“Normal? Where I’m from dragons live near volcanoes. At best you’ll have teenagers working in the heavy industry and foundries because it’s easy for them. But a bucking farm? Faust toss me in Tartarus but that’s the first time I’ve even imagined a dragon could farm.”

“That odd then?” Aleksei quirked her head.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “That odd.”

Of course the patrol couldn’t just have ended the normal way with a quick visit at the City Hall.

It was about when they were nearing the outskirts of Belfast that Aleksei felt a tug. Nothing strong, just a feeling similar to that she had when she shifted between avian and aquatic form, except it was drawing her towards something.

Something strong, and intrinsically powerful. Magic, quite obviously.

It needn’t be said they had to investigate. That was the point of the recce after all, so she took the next turn at the crossroads despite the deep feeling of uneasiness that was creeping up in her guts. The others noticed too, as shown by the deep scowl on Scarface’s muzzle and the way Micha’s talons drummed against the stock of her bolt-action rifle.

Apparently whatever was drawing their attention was situated on the southern edge of Belfast near River Lagan, way out of the residential districts, but not so far out that it would have been in the countryside outright. Instead it was surrounded by a couple parks on one side with a chapel, and two golf courses built along River Lagan on the other.

And ‘it’ was actually a shallow crater, some 200 meters in diameter.

Aleksei had to pause when she got a proper look at it. There it was, right in the middle of what must have been a field at some point. The field ended abruptly when a 3-meter-tall dirt berm rose in a circle around the lip of the crater, perfectly shielding its interior from view by outsiders.

They parked the Defender nearby before carefully walking over to the crater and climbing atop the embankment.

“Well I’ll be...” Scarface muttered in Bulgarian at the sight of what was inside the crater.

Now, he was aware of what Mikhail had seen at the convergence point in Norway, so he knew Earth had its own brand of ancient magic. But reading a report of it and seeing it for himself were two very different things. In front of him, the ground sloped down softly towards the center of the crater, covered in a grass so perfectly trimmed and of such a verdant green color that it gave the entire place an eerie appearance.

It was as if they had stepped inside a bubble the moment they reached the top of the embankment. In fact… As he looked up he could see the sky had darkened significantly, taking on a hue more befitting of a sapphire gemstone than of the bright blue sky. The clouds were gone too, as was the wind.

But the grass and the sky weren’t what drew the most attention, no. They just enshrined what lay in the center of the crater: a Celtic passage tomb, its stones half-collapsed, so old and weathered they were perfectly smooth save for the multicolored lichen at their base. And these stones were radiating power. A maelstrom of pure white magic rose up above them, a translucent column of power that reached for the sky.

To his profane eyes, it looked like the stones were drawing power from the area, likely feeding off the intense field of magic brought on by the Event. Little white specks the size of fireflies rose up from the lawn at regular intervals, to be sucked in through the magical vortex tied to the stones and sent… somewhere.

“Eh, is this place on the map?” Micha quickly asked.

“Eeyup.” Radiant confirmed, map held open between her wings’ primaries. “Apparently they call it the Giant’s Ring.”

“Feels mystical. You ever been to a convergence point in the past Rad’?” She asked him.

“Nope.” The gray stallion shook his head. “Is this even one?”

“I could have sworn we’d mapped them though.” Scarface said.

“Not all of them. Not at all. We have clues about the position of a couple based on the direction the Event’s wave took on CCTV feeds but that’s about all.”

“A mage could locate them. You know… with mage sight.” Radiant pointed out.

“A mage we don’t have. I’m no expert lest you forgot.” Scarface retorted, arms crossed over his chest. “Mage sight is hard, trust me. I tried.”

The three of them then turned to look at Aleksei. The hippogriff was staring at the mystical stones and the vortex in front of them, seemingly deep in thought and completely still save for the intermittent fluttering of her wings.

“Alek?” Micha nudged her with a talon.

The Latvian blinked a few times before turning her head towards her friend, looking a bit confused.

“Kas? Oh sorry, something the matter?”

“You were kinda zoning out there.”

“Just thinking is all. This place feels weird.”

“No shit. You got a plan?”

“Maybe.” Aleksei fluttered her wings in hesitation. “You read what Mikhail did? I think I might figure out what’s what ‘bout this place if I do the same.”

Micha threw a look at the standing stones.

“Sounds reasonable… you be careful ‘kay?”

“Always.” She nodded, giving her friend a quick tap on the shoulder with her wing before sauntering over to the stones.

From up close, the feeling of magic emanating from the vortex was even more overwhelming. It sent tingles running all the way down her spine as if she was permanently gathering her magic there for a transformation, feeling like a cool blanket was draped over her back. The smell of ozone filled the nostrils above her beak, and her tongue felt like she was chewing on copper wire.

She was tempted for a fleeting second not to touch the vortex. That didn’t last, and so, after giving her companions on the edge of the crater a confident smirk, she plunged her claw inside.

The world went white.

To outside observers, the hippogriff suddenly dissolved into white particles that were immediately sucked up into the vortex before disappearing.

Radiant’s jaw may as well have hit the floor.

“We fucked up didn’t we?” Scarface finally said flatly.

“Like rookies.” Micha numbly replied, falling down on her haunches.





She was lifted up with a lurch the moment her talons touched the magic vortex. The ground slipped away from beneath her hind hooves before gradually shrinking away as the magic hauled her skyward. She didn’t get to see Belfast from the sky though, because her vision soon completely fogged up with a white haze.

And then she was underwater.

Her instincts willed her to shift form, but she could see the surface so instead she just kicked her hooves against the bottom of whatever pond she somehow landed in, propelling herself upward and breaking the surface in a spray of water.

Grass tickled her talons as she grasped the shore. She was in a large, perfectly flat meadow with a tiny little pond in its center next to a gnarly apple tree that shone with a white aura similar to that of the vortex she had just dived through. The area in her direct vicinity may have looked relatively normal, but what went on beyond was about as far from that as imaginable.

The sky above her was a swirling vortex of colors and magic devoid of sun, moon or stars, yet it somehow still cast light upon the land beneath it as the strands of colors that made it up twisted and turned, vying for control, some of them sometimes reaching down to scrape against the ground far away from her, like some giant nightmarish tentacles.

And her meadow was actually more of a plateau that overlooked this mysterious land. A misty blanket extended beyond its edge, masking most of the land save for the odd tree that peeked past the mist. With the ghastly shrieks and roars coming from beyond the mist, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to see what it hid.

Aleksei’s observations were cut short by the sound of hooves behind her. She whipped around to come face to face with… a mare? There was a herd behind her too, but none of them were as… unique as the equine that was approaching her.

Not a pony mare, mind, but an actual horse. And a gigantic one at that, the chestnut mare towered above Aleksei, easily four times her height at the withers. She was an odd breed too: tall and lithe like a courser, yet with enough muscles rippling beneath her coat to put a draft horse to shame.

She was also pregnant, and quite heavily so. Her belly bulging out below her frame.

Odder even was her braided, snow-white mane that framed the sides of her muzzle and highlighted the white mark she had on her forehead: three horses chasing each other in a circle of Celtic curls. And then were her ey-

The Latvian froze up when she crossed the equine’s gaze. Images, pictures, ideas jumped to the front of her mind, instantly formulating a sentence without even requiring words or languages.

‘Greetings mortal, welcome to the Otherworld. I am Epona, steed of Rhiannon, Goddess of all things equine and fertility.’

She lowered her massive muzzle down to Aleksei’s level, the hippogriff falling down to her haunches in sheer awe.

‘To what do I owe your presence in my realm?’
> Chapter 56: Ancient Divinity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Y-your realm?” Aleksei stuttered. “I- I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just touched the vortex and I appeared in the pond over here.” She pointed a talon towards where she had just appeared.

Distractedly, she noted how she wasn’t actually wet, somehow. What did she call this place? Otherworld?

“I don’t even know what this place is...” She admitted in a whisper.

Amused, Epona let out an equine snort that ruffled Aleksei’s head feathers. The gigantic mare folded her legs, laying down on her belly in front of Aleksei.

‘Do not be afraid, young mortal. I am no vindictive Goddess like some of my peers. Come lay down beside me, there is much we must talk about.”

	She didn’t dare refuse the divine’s invitation, scooting over and settling down on her belly by Epona’s side. Her sheer size and bulging belly made her all the more imposing from up-close, and Aleksei’s flak jacket and rifle did little to appease her worries.

What good would common weapons do against divine fury after all?

Epona didn’t seem to share her concerns. The mare simply bent her neck to take a few sips from the pond Aleksei had come from, its clear waters seemingly reinvigorating the Goddess as droplets ran down her muzzle.

‘I am curious, mortal. We Gods have been in slumber, for far longer than I care to remember. Yet now… the world has changed. I can feel a human’s soul inside you, yet you are not of my people. Where do you hail from? Speak your own tongue if you so desire, my realm does not concern itself with such intricacies as language.’

“I come from Latvia milady. From the Baltic.” Aleksei said in her native tongue.

‘A faraway place. Why have you journeyed to Eire then?’

“I’m a sailor. Traveling is what we do.”

There were many questions the goddess had for Aleksei, many of which concerned the Event. It was a little difficult gauging exactly how much Epona knew what with how she communicated, and attempting to guess what had happened to her pantheon was even harder, but the hippogriff managed to glean some tidbits of information on the subject just from the way the goddess phrased her questions.

To her at least, it sounded a lot as if ancient divinities like Epona had found themselves cut off from the supply of magic humans normally provided. Whether this happened when St Patrick converted Ireland or much later wasn’t too clear, but at some point they had to retreat to their realms and go into ‘hibernation’ to avoid simply fading away. The ‘when’ wasn’t particularly clear when it came to that, though Epona heavily hinted at the fact she was far from being the only divinity to have done that.

Hell, considering some passing comments she made about Aleksei hailing from the Baltic, chances were whatever divinities the Baltic tribes venerated before that culture was wiped out were in the same situation as Epona. She didn’t even know them herself, such was the damage Soviet occupation had done to their culture.

So other pantheons were ‘alive’ as well. She wouldn’t be too surprised if the giant mare beside her announced the Norse pantheon was a thing as well. That being said, she did clearly state that both the Irish and Roman pantheons had been reinvigorated by the arrival of the magic field after the Event. How did she even know about the Roman pantheon?

That, was apparently due to Epona having been integrated into Roman religion when they conquered the Celts. Yeah for syncretism?

‘An odd thing really… of all the altars and temples made in my honor, it had to be one of the oldest mortals like you would use to reach me...’Epona mused.

“By accident I’m afraid. I don’t mean to cause offense, but your existence has largely been passed off as myth in our time, to the point where I genuinely didn’t know the purpose of the...” She trailed off.

‘Passage tomb.’ Epona helpfully supplied. ‘Fret not, child. Even I must acknowledge the influence of time on memories, and you do not hail from my lands. Nevertheless, I thank you for answering my questions.’

The mare paused, lifting her head up to look at the herd of horses that had settled down around them. Her own foals, her children, all of them strong equines she had birthed herself. However… the herd was a far cry from what it was at its apex. Centuries spent in magic-deprived hibernation would do that…

Not anymore though. The foal inside her would not live with such a world, he would get to explore the whole while world as she did back when her existence was still acknowledged in the Empire. Her herd would grow again, and now that the Otherworld was absorbing this new magic to reactivate, things would change for the better.

And according to this mortal’s tales, she might even have intelligent followers more in her likeness.

“So what are you going to do? If I may ask...” Aleksei tried.

‘For now? Child, we are still far too weak to set out in the world. Powerful as that new magic may be, me and my children still need humans to believe in us, and with as few of them as you say there are, that may take time. I’m… worried about those demons you spoke of, but I’ll have to convene with other Gods to address the issue. They may have learned of things I have not.’She turned her gaze down on the hippogriff beside her. ‘You know, I could always use a priestess in my service. The world deserves to know the Gods of old are back in service.’

“I’ll have to decline.” Aleksei apologized. “However...”

‘Speak your request.’

“Well...” She squirmed. “Here’s the thing: I wasn’t always a… a mare. I used to be male before the Event, and I was pretty happy with that. In fact I’d very much like to be that again. I know I can’t be human anymore, but I just don’t think I can live as a female.”

‘So you wish I could make you a stallion then?’

Aleksei meekly nodded. She noted how the goddess’ otherwise gentle tone had become more stern at that last sentence.

“Can you?”

‘Can? Of course. Will? Absolutely not.’ Epona snorted in a very equine manner. ‘Young mare, I am a fertility Goddess, lest you forgot. Your transformation bestowed a wonderful boon upon you, a boon that you should not overlook. Motherhood is one of the most powerful things nature ever created.’

“Bu-”

‘Hush now.’ Epona shushed her. ‘You should consider yourself lucky. Had I been any other divinity you’d have likely been sent off with a geas just so you’d be willing to bear children. I won’t force you, but understand that making you male is not my role to fulfill. Instead...’

Epona’s eyes flashed once, and the pond suddenly turned into a mirror-like surface. The image of an enormous bay stallion appeared on the surface for a few seconds, before being replaced by… some kind of Celtic jewellry, a golden bracelet.

‘This is one of my first foals. Bayard. He was not among my herd when we went in hibernation, but I can feel he’s alive.”She snorted on the back of Aleksei’s neck. “Such is the power of motherhood. You’ll probably find him in the confines of the Black Forest if you so desire to seek him out. Beware though: dark legends are tied to this place, and you’d do well to be careful if you ever venture there.’

“Can Bayard make me male again?”

‘He cannot. But he will lead you to Maugris the Sorcerer.’She said the name with a hint of derision. ‘Maugris may not be a man of virtue, but I do not believe for a second that a coward like him would have accepted death. He’s far too slimy for that. Beware: he’ll drive a hard bargain and will probably try to trick you, but he’s the most reliable solution I can offer you if you wish to have your masculinity reestablished.’

“Thank you my lady.” Aleksei stood up, bowing her head low. “I trust you’ll expect a favor in return for this information?”

‘Quite.’ Epona bent down to nuzzle Aleksei’s mane feathers before motioning towards the pond – and the image of the golden bracelet-. ‘You told me the people of Eire are divided, that they’ve split in two factions. Bring me their leaders so that matters may be settled, I have no wish to see my people spill the blood of their own. You may take this artifact as a token of my favor, it will help you make your voice heard. It will also help you come back in this realm through your dreamscape if you ever need my advice again.’ She trailed off, looking towards the misty horizon that marked the border between her realm and the rest of the Otherworld. ‘The world has changed, and I must say I am flattered some humans have become more in my likeness. I may demand your presence by my side again in the future, I still have many questions in need of answers.’

Aleksei looked back towards the piece of jewelry in the pond, finding it wasn’t actually an image on the surface of the water, but an actual object floating just beneath the surface. It was just big enough to fit around her wrist, made from a couple strands of gold wound together like wires with a single pearl inserted between them.

The bracelet had a single latch near the pearl, bearing Epona’s symbol of three horses running one after another around a triskelion. 

“It was an honor milady.” Aleksei said, finally plunging her talons in the pond and grabbing the gift.

‘Until we meet again...’ She heard Epona’s benevolent voice say as the world faded to white.

An instant later, she was back near the vortex and the passage tomb. The bracelet was still in her talons, its golden surface eerily reflecting the light that came from the nearby magical vortex, coupled with the ever-so-subtle thrumming of magic emanating from its pearl.

She barely had time to pocket it before being bowled over by a gushing Radiant, the pegasus bursting into a rant about how they should have been more careful and how it should have been him in her stead.

“It’s… alright...” She awkwardly patted the Equestrian on his back as he kept hugging her midsection. “I’m fine.”

“What in the blazes happened?” Scarface asked as he came over.

“It’s a long story.”

“Fantastic, I always loved a good story.” The gargoyle said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.





They skipped visiting the IRA’s colony at the City Hall and instead headed right back to the harbor. If the discovery of the convergence point was one thing, that of Epona blew it right out of the water in terms of implications.

Paired with the fact she might actually be the solution to Ireland’s divisive problems, too. Aleksei had slipped the bracelet around her wrist. It gave off a magical vibe, though without the ‘evil’ feeling Dilip’s Congo Sword carried.

Most likely because the artifact wasn’t powered by the spite of millions of murdered tribesmen.

“And you say she wants to meet them?” Dilip prodded further.

She was back in his office with Micha. They had briefly broached the topic of O'Connell's farm – which to be honest did garner the Indian’s attention, if only briefly-, but it was the matter of the horse Goddess and her realm that got the Captain thinking.

Did the Hindu pantheon have a realm like that? Aleksei didn’t know.

“She does.” Micha nodded. “Says she doesn’t want her ‘people’ to spill their own blood.”

“There is more isn’t there?”

“Yes.” She rubbed the back of her neck, the Diamond Dog quite easily spotting her newly acquired bracelet. “One thing is rather personal and it will have to wait until things settle down, but she did give me this saying it will help make my voice heard.”

Dilip briefly raised his paw as if to reach for the piece of jewelry before he the canine reined in his instincts. The damn hound in the back of his mind always became rather hard to control whenever he was in the presence of precious metals and jewels, something that was particularly irritating considering his Chief Engineer was a dragon, and she was quite often seen snacking on such stuff.

He was tempted to try the drill bits as cigarettes honestly. Looked tasty.

“That sounds like a diplomatic enchantment to me.” He finally said. “Keep it, it’s best left in your talons considering you’re nearly always on recon duty. You think you can convince Finnegan and Codsworth to meet at the...”

“Passage tomb?”

“Right, the passage tomb. I don’t really care what Epona does to them, but if she feels confident in her ability to settle matters, then I won’t be heard arguing with a divine.”

“So what do we do?” Micha asked.

“Our main priority will remain repairing the fleet in as little time as possible so we may resume the crossing to America. I’ve already accepted both the Americans as passengers, but someone will have to tell them we’ll only drop them off in Savannah.”

“No further port of call in the US then?” Aleksei cocked her head.

“No. I had Jensen use satellite pictures for observations. It was mostly to locate possible oil slicks around platforms – and she didn’t find any thankfully-, but she went ahead and got a look at the supposed colonies the HPI told us about. Got one in Cuba and another in Mexico. That’s the ones we’ll go for right after Savannah. Mexico in particular, we need that refinery to resume itsproduction.” He drummed his digits against his desk before throwing a quick look at a spreadsheet on his computer.  “As for what’s going to happen here, I’m calling off any further recce in the countryside for now. Przemo, you may go out hunting and we’ll carry out the trade with the farmer, but I want to focus on the expedition to Londonderry for now.”

“And the locals?” Micha asked.

“We’ll keep helping them out. Same neutrality deal as before, but now we just need to convince them to head to the Giant’s Ring to sort out this mess. Which you’re supposed to do, Klavins.”

“Understood sir.” Aleksei nodded.

“Perfect, consider yourselves dismissed. If any of you has the time, drop by Roberto’s downstairs and tell him to start researching if he has anything on… similar structures to that passage tomb. You never know...”

The two hens stood up and left the office soon after, leaving Dilip to mull over all that was going on. With a frown on his muzzle, the dog stood up and went to get himself a fresh cup of Darjeeling in his kitchenette.

There was just so much going on… even now he could see through his cabin’s windows the pair of trawlers they were preparing for the upcoming expedition, with a couple sailors hard at work welding some .50 cal mounts on their decks just so they wouldn’t be defenseless.

Not much further, Artyom was using the docks to train a group of sailors in urban warfare and how to move as a (half-)coherent unit.

That actually wasn’t out of his own initiative. Dilip himself had given the order upon hearing of his sailors’ poor performance in the killhouse way back in Copenhagen. He didn’t need them to be effective, but a measure of tactical sense was necessary if they wanted to defend themselves properly. Nothing too complicated really, just the most basic group manoeuvres all military personnel the world over had to learn in basic training.

It was the veterans he relied on for actual combat performance. Artyom, Sri, Nikola – no, Scarface- and Bart were all reliable combatants in their own rights. Each of them had already proven they could be counted on to train and defend the rest of the crew, which should be enough when paired with all the other veterans that could be found on Fugro and Rhine. They still didn’t have enough of them to make up half a platoon, but some military personnel was better than none at all.

Ground warfare wasn’t the only thing they had scheduled training for either. He knew there were a couple sorties planned later that week with Rhine’s auxiliaries, for the hovercrafts and torpedo boats in particular. They might even squeeze in some ground vehicular combat and range training with the CV90, depending on how fast the welders worked on repairing Fugro.

And then he had to find some time to unload Amandine’s hold, or at least as much as possible. His ship couldn’t enter the dry-dock on a full load, and if that wasn’t enough her being in repairs would mean the vehicle bay would be inaccessible for the duration of the repairs.

Dilip paused before heading back to his computer.

If repairing his vehicles was part of the trade with O’Connell, then… there, bump it up a couple notches on the priority list. That task would need to be completed before his ship was put on the dry. He almost had the time to give a satisfied grin from having everything planned out before his computer rang out with a little tinny alarm.

‘Warning: crew training behind schedule. Refreshers needed: general alarm (3d), firefighting (4d), abandon ship (3d), first-aid (4d)...’ and the list went on.

	Dilip swore.





The Golden Tree had grown a little since his last visit, but not by much. It looked healthy as ever, with maybe a slightly more intense glow coming from the six trunks around it. By then, Rockhoof was pretty damn sure the Elements were in these, though he still was utterly clueless about the new one, the green Element.

“You have any idea what it’s supposed to be?” He asked Starswirl, the mage following shortly behind him in equine form.

“I know no more than you do.” He said. “Remember the Elements didn’t even have the same name from our generation to Twilight’s. They changed, and that was with Elements from the same tree. We’re working with a seed that’s hybridized with local magic. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“So how are we supposed to know, then?”

“By letting the tree mature. Ours was able to talk by summoning an illusion, so given enough time this one should be able to do the same.” Star told him.

“Makes me wonder how long that will take. I mean… it looks rather tall already.”

“That I may be able to guess. And at a glance, that tree still is a juvenile.”

“Really? Well I’ll be… I’ve seen adult trees shorter than that, if that thing still counts as young I wouldn’t be surprised if it grows to be as tall as a sequoia.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Star shrugged. “I could always cast a scanning spell on its roots, that would give a better appreciation of its growth, but we’re not here for that.”

Because the reason they had come to the tree this time, was to pay a visit to Morgane la Fay. Rock’s friend openly acknowledged the potentially dangerous nature of the visit, but it was something they had to do in order to better understand what was going on. That, and she was apparently the one responsible for the wards that prevented monsters from directly spawning in Broceliande.

Rock wouldn’t complain about it, really. The wards extended far enough to protect the castle, so it was actually reassuring that Meadow and Martin wouldn’t be jumped by a monster appearing inside the castle.

Speaking of which, the arrival of Miller and Emeric had been followed the next day by two more newcomers. Another unicorn stallion, and a doe. Neither were skilled workers, and they were still getting settled, but Rockhoof had already shared a couple ideas with Meadow regarding what task they may have them pick up. They could always use more hooves in the fields.

As for the two military ponies, Starswirl had basically commandeered the stallion, just so he could interrogate him on all the local history he had missed while he was entombed. Which was a lot, needless to say. Talk about a repeat of what they had to endure after they returned in Equestria… As for Miller, the pegasus mare mostly hung around Meadow, apparently not fully comfortable with her transformation. They had seen her use the battlements and the moat the one time for flight training, but she also seemed to keep her distances from Emeric.

And Meadow… Rock’s heart filled with warmth at the thought.

They had taken her potions.

He was going to be a father. The longevity potion would follow as soon as they foraged for the ingredients, but now he insisted he be the one to head into the forest to collect them. There was no way in Tartarus he was letting his mare head out in the forest with a foal inside her.

“You’re daydreaming.” Star interrupted his train of thoughts.

“Uh-what? Oh… right, sorry. The fay?”

“Morgane.”

“Yes, Morgane.” Rockhoof rolled his shoulders to readjust the ‘offering’ he was carrying.

A sample basket of alchemical ingredients Meadow had gathered for the occasion, including some taken from the piast’s head.

“You think the offering will work?”

“It will help at least.” Star shrugged.

“How reassuring… Tell me, what’s the name of her domain again?”

“The Vale of No Return.”

“As I thought… why did you have to go earn the scorn of a dark magic user?”

“In my defense, she wasn’t using dark magic at the time. Only took up that branch afterwards.” Starswirl chuckled.

“You know, if I didn’t know you any better I’d think you’re a terrible pony. Pushing mares to the darkest corners of magic.” Rockhoof rumbled in a low tone. “Where to?”

“After me!” Star exclaimed before trotting off past the Golden Tree and into a much darker area of the woods.

Darker would have been an understatement. If most of Broceliande was a bit brighter – though no less dangerous- than the Everfree, that section actually made him feel as if someone had draped a dark veil over his eyes. Gone were the floating sparks of magic and the singing birds, instead replaced by the cawing of crows gathered in the branches above them.

Humidity was high, and even then at the height of summer, Rock could feel the temperature drop a couple degrees. His breath came out in a mist that soon joined the fog banks floating between the gnarly tree trunks around the path.

These trees were nothing like those in the rest of the forest either. They were thin and gnarly, their branches twisting and crisscrossing to the point where even the most determined of lumberjacks couldn’t have made his way through. He knew he couldn’t.

Most of Broceliande was an enchanted forest. This? This was a cursed grove alright, and at this point he might as well call the fay living there a witch.

“Nasty place don’t you think?” Star chirped.

“Why so cheerful?”

“Eh, it looks worse than it actually is. Does set the mood nicely though, I can understand why the knights were always so wary.”

“Star...”

“Don’t you worry Rock. The only reason why it’s called the Vale of No Return is because of the enchantment Morgane put over the place. No unfaithful stallion may leave this place once they enter… unless they’re a mage of course. Knights can’t do magic, figures they’d get stuck. You know, for all their bluster about codes of honor, these guys weren’t actually very faithful.”

“So let me get this straight… you angered her, then she turned to black magic and made a place that’s specifically enchanted against unfaithfulness?” Rockhoof quirked a brow at his companion. “Buddy, what did you do to that lady?”

“Wasn’t me specifically. I swear. Believe it or not, but she just had really bad luck when it came to romance. Like… I’ve seen cursed lovers who had it worse.”

	Rockhoof just snorted. They kept on for a couple minutes in silence like that, before Star seemingly succumbed and decided to break the quiet.

“So I’ve been wondering...”

“’bout what?”

“Martin. Or what’s gonna become of him.”

“I’m pretty sure you said he should become Meadow’s apprentice. I mean you’re right, he’s a deer, that’s what they’re naturally good at.”

“Yes, but I talked with the kid. Barring the fact he wanted me to turn him into a squirrel-”

“A what?”

“A squirrel. Fairy tale stuff, I asked Emeric, makes sense in the context actually.” He said. “Anyway, I just realized I was looking at him from an Equestrian viewpoint.”

“And how does that change anything?”

“Rock, I want you to remember: Martin, Emeric, Miller, all these humans… they can still do human magic.”

The large stallion ground to a screeching halt in the middle of the path.

“Come again?”

Star shifted to his human form and knelt down in front of him.

“Human magic is tied to the soul. We don’t need a horn or any foci to practice it. Theoretically, any of them could learn the same magic I can do in human form. Though they’d need a staff like mine for that...”

“Any of them?”

“With proper training. Miller and Emeric are already too old for that, and they don’t have the attitude. But Martin? Kid’s got the spark, he’s got the passion… Meadow could make him the best bucking alchemist of the entire continent and I-”

“Stop.”

“Beg your pardon?” Star-Merlin quirked his head.

Pretty odd gesture coming from a wizened old wizard come to think of it.

“I’m not telling you you can’t take him as your apprentice. Far from it. But I remember how you and Celestia tended to get… carried away, in your teachings. I’ve seen how passionate he can be, but please Star, he’s just a fawn. If you decide to train him, let him have a life. Otherwise… he’s just gonna grow up and forever resent his missed fawnhood. Remember how many prized pupils Celestia – and you- broke just from overworking?”

“Ah… am I really that bad?”

“You have a reputation Star, both in Equestria and on this planet. If you let him he’s just gonna stay cooped up forever trying to please you. Think about it, when did you start magic? Kids gotta be kids pal.”

The wizard stood up and looked off down the path, before shifting back to equine form a second later.

“What if I ask Meadow to plan his lessons?”

“That will do.” Rock smiled. “Still, glad to know you like the kid.”

“He just grows on ponies like that.” Star shrugged after quickly adjusting his hat. The ghost motioned down the path with his hoof. “Shall we?”

Morgane’s place wasn’t much further down the path actually. A couple minutes after their little pause, the path dipped down in a narrow valley. Rocks slowly made themselves more prominent the further down they traveled, until eventually their path was joined by a small brook that dove inside the mouth of a cave.

Rock stopped just short of the entrance, idly taking note of how the forest had gone silent, save for the whistling of wind that came out of the cave, carrying with it a dusty smell that earned a cough out of him. The entrance was actually the most colorful thing around, with a couple fly agarics bringing hints of red against the dull gray and brown background, in addition to green magic sparks hovering in the air. Magic weighed heavily over them, a dull thrumming in their ears that subconsciously made Rockhoof wince at the malicious intent it was laced with.

Starswirl didn’t hesitate and headed inside without stopping, Rock following shortly a few steps behind after stopping to cast a wary glance around the area. He was pretty sure he had just felt that faithfulness enchantment Star mentioned ‘test his soul’, so to speak.

At least he knew he needn’t worry about that.

The insides of the cave were completely dark, and it was only thanks to Star’s ghostly glow that he managed to stay behind him. A minute later though, something odd occurred. One moment he was walking behind Star, and then he blinked. And he found himself elsewhere, right next to his companion.

They were still inside the cave, but gone was the darkness. A tunnel entrance was behind them, from which the brook’s waters flowed before they trickled down towards a large underground lake. Mushrooms, moss and lichen covered the shores of the lake like wheat in a field, giving the cave some warm ochre tones. Sunlight streamed in from a single hole in the ceiling, the few rays of light highlighting the many stalactites that hung high above them. This place was definitely deeper than Rock knew they were supposed to be.

Teleportation maybe? He hadn’t felt anything.

Right in the middle of the lake stood an island, a lone dark gray rock, connected to the shore by a rickety rope bridge. And at the summit of the island was a stone tower. Mossy, a bit dilapidated and with most of the ceramic shingles that covered the roof cracked or missing in places, but still standing. A thin waft of smoke floated up from the chimney. Warm, reddish light poured out of the single window above the door.

“There we are...” Star said, shifting to human form. “Morgane’s tower.”





Rhine’s trawlers never weren’t very big, that much Geert realized the moment she stepped on the one she was supposed to lead to Londonderry, one with a snow white paintjoband her callsign painted on her bow and stern.

Which wasn’t much of a surprise really. These were stern trawlers they had chosen specifically because they’d fit in the mothership’s barge slots. At twenty meters in length, they were far shorter than the kind of vessels she was used to… though to be fair they had an odd blend of cute and rugged that made them nice to look at.

Instead of having the more common bow type most vessels shared, they shared the same design Fugro had for her prow: a X-bow hull shape, otherwise known as an inverted bow. Essentially: an improved version of early 20th century’s tumblehome hulls. Instead of curving forward above the waterline (the usual design choice), the bow curved backwards, almost as if it was tucked inwards. As far as she’d heard, the intent was to improve handling in rough seas.

The fore section with the bow was where the superstructure was situated on the trawlers. A tiny thing really: they only had enough room under the wheelhouse to fit three double cabins plus the essential rooms: mess, galley, workshop, and a double shower for the whole crew. At least Geert could console herself with the fact the navigation instruments were modern, because they’d be doing that expedition with a complete crew of six. 

It didn’t take more than a second for the scarlet macaw to figure out this was going to be cramped, particularly considering their pilot would be Nikolaos (better known as Artemis as of late after a name change). Nothing like a large muscular minotaur to make cramped quarters even worse.

The trawler’s aft section was a more standard fare than its bow. A flat deck extended behind the superstructure, left open for deck work with a single yellow crane jib available to load cargo. A couple things also decorated the deck: a pair of hydraulic levers on either side to release the stabilizing fins when in open waters, two deck mounts for .50 cals, and two deck accesses near the stern: one for the small, normally unmanned engine room, and another to access the cargo hold that –  on paper- was supposed to fit 40 tons of assorted stuff.

Of course the trawlers wouldn’t be fishing vessels without their gear. To outsiders, the stern assembly might have looked like the spoiler on acar… except only if ricers had suddenly started mounting massive winches and drums on their Honda Civics.

“Daydreaming?” Ivan asked behind her, startling Geert a little.

“Nah, just taking in the sights.” Geert replied to the griffon hen, rolling her shoulder to adjust the strap on her seabag, to which she had attached a guitar case. “Got all your stuff?”

“Aye.” She nodded firmly. “From weapon to undies. Got ‘em all.”

“Hold on… you wear undies? I thought griffons were good in that department.” Geert smiled as she headed for the superstructure.

“Hygiene matters! Are you implying you’ve been going commando ever since you transformed?”

“Most of the time.” Geert flicked the large multicolored feathers that made up her tail. “Kinda hard to make something fit when you got enough tail feathers to make a peacock blush in shame. So I mostly don’t bother, tail holes are hard to sew.”

	They made their way inside, passing Mikhail and Diethelm on the way, both sailors idly playing cards in the galley while they waited for Artemis to run her system checks inside the wheelhouse.

“Mostly?” Ivan tilted her head when they reached their shared cabin.

In policy, Geert should have bunked with Artemis if only to match ranks, but she just preferred sleeping with someone she’d been sailing with for a while. Not that there would be much luxury inside: it was really just a tiny cabin with a pair of bunks beds, each with a little curtain for privacy, their red and white checkered pattern matching that of the bedsheets, all of them so new they still had a lavender scent stuck to them.

“Had to make an exception as of late...” Geert mumbled, suddenly speaking in a much more hushed tone. “Top bunk by the way.” She added, tossing her seabag on the bed.

It was better that way anyway, leave the bottom bunk to the quadruped for convenience. Geert was already tall before the Event at 1m86, but now she had to thank female parrots for being extra tall because she had shot up to 1m99, albeit trading strength for speed in the process.

She still hit her head on doorways at time.

“Why the exception then?”

“Well… at least now I know I’m fertile.”

“Oh...” Ivan blinked. “Can’t say I’m familiar, that has yet to happen to me. How’s it feel?”

“Gross.” Geert shuddered before shoving her flak jacket in a wall locker by the door, along with the P90 she had decided to use as her go-to weapon for the expedition. Her pistol remained in her hip holster.

Yeah, they had a couple of those. Almost nobody used them though, because bullpups didn’t get along with quadrupeds and Artyom didn’t know how to use them. They’d have remained shelved, had it not been for her asking Bart about them. Turns out, the Belgian could teach her.

“Care to elaborate?”

“What’s there to say?” She rolled her eyes, almost letting out some of the irritation she’d carefully bottled up. “I’m leaking yolk down there, and that’s probably going to last for two days more.”

“Yeesh, you’ve got my sympathy. But yolk? Isn’t that supposed to be blood?”

“Nee.” Geert shook her head. “’least not for Ornithians. Works on a seasonal basis, my… ovaries – feels weird to say that- prepare a yolk for fecundation. One per ovary so they’d come in clutches of two. They don’t solidify if they’re not fertilized, so when they’re past due, the yolk gets flushed out. And lemme tell ya… I had a girlfriend ‘fore it went to shit, and that volume here is way above human level of menstruation.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Aw come on!” Ivan laid down on her bunk, wings fanned out slightly. “You’re talking science when I’m talking practice. How’s it feel? Painful? What do you do?”

“Now ain’t you curious.”

“I just want to get a step up if that ever happens to me.”

“Which won’t happen unless you get a dick up your snatch.” Geert pointed out. “Unprotected. At which point I’d be certain you’re either an idiot, or you’re actually trying for kids. But eh, if you behave like a nun or become the queen of latex, you won’t ever reach menopause unlike me.” She looked up towards the ceiling. “At least I think Ornithians have menopause, the books didn’t go in detail on that.”

“Didn’t answer my question.” Ivan drawled, idly removing a bent feather from her wing and stuffing it in her pillow.

“You know, you’re awfully bold for a Rating speaking to an Officer.” Geert huffed. “Anyway, it’s not painful actually, so now I think my girlfriend was just being a rude bitch when that happened to her. It’s just… icky, and I had to pack a box o’ pads to stuff in my undies so I don’t ruin my coveralls, and that feels even worse than just leaking. Happy?” She said, subconsciously rubbing her thighs together.

“Happy.”

“Good, ‘cause I need to take the passage plan to Artemis.” She chirped, grabbing a USB key from her seabag. “You be good and get my stuff in the drawers, we’re gonna be underway soon. Remember to leave a padlock on the locker you put your gun into.”

“Sure thing, bos.” The Ukrainian replied.

Not an hour later, they declared they were ready over the VHF, signaling for one of the tugs to remove the anti-monster net and let the trawlers through. The duo – one for the expedition, the other a fishing decoy- quickly exited the repair yard before heading out of the harbor and into the bay outside.

For a second, Geert spotted the glint of a scope atop a building near the docks.

“Eh, looks like a certain Irishman knows we’re going fishing.” She commented.

“Good, now we just better hope my bro finds enough fish for both ships.” Artemis sniffed from behind the helm.

“He will. If he can’t manage to fill a trawler’s holds in all the time it takes us to explore the Derry, then...” She trailed off.

“We’re not fishermen.”

“Yeah, but nobody’s that bad.”

“Fair enough.” The cow admitted, turning the rudder slightly to aim the bow towards the next waypoint on the ECDIS and pushing down on the engine telegraph.

The hull rumbled slightly, the plucky white little trawler slowly picking up speed until it reached its maximum safe cruising speed of about 10 knots. Not fast in any manner, but something they could live with considering the range they could sail at that speed. They wouldn’t even need to refuel in Derry with the 25 tons of diesel they had in the double bottom tank.

Mikhail went out on the deck to drop the stabilizing fins the moment they passed the breakwaters marking the end of Belfast’s harbor, just about when Geert decided to radio Amandine to signal they were out of the port.

That was one of the good things with the trawlers. The fins kept them from rolling too much, and they also didn’t increase the draft past the three-meters mark. Low enough that they could cut through many sandbanks and mudflats along the way, drastically reducing the actual length of the trip down to just short of a hundred nautical miles, and that was with a short detour to see the Giant’s Causeway.

Because a bit of post-apocalyptic tourism never hurt anyone, right?

“So how long to Derry?” Artemis asked.

“’bout ten hours. We should get there by nightfall. Wanna take first watch?”

“Sure. Three hours cycle?”

“Will do.” Geert nodded.

She got up from her seat and headed for the ladder. Best use the time she had available to study the intel Roberto had provided on Derry.

And maybe catch a power nap. Those were always nice.
> Chapter 57: Lady Morgane of Broceliande
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amandine’s office was relatively quiet at this time of the day. A couple crewmembers would come from time to time to check the duty board for their next shift, or to pick up some paperwor; but barring that the ‘recce team’ was alone in the meeting room. Micha had left quickly to go look after Andy, the griffon’s seat in the meeting room soon occupied by Thanasis who came in with a wide yawn. The Greek sphinx was finally fully-rested after having had to lift Fugro’s engine, though he wasn’t quite up to snuff about what had happened.

“So how do we go about it?” Radiant finally asked after watching Aleksei turn her new bracelet in her talons for the past five minutes.

“Hell if I know...” The hippogriff shrugged. “We need to get Codsworth and Finnegan to the Giant’s Ring somehow, and they need to touch the vortex.”

“Well, isn’t the bracelet supposed to help? What was it Angelo called it again?” Thanasis asked.

“The Golden Band of Speechcraft.” Radiant filled in.

“Sounds corny.”

“Because it is.” Aleksei clicked her beak. “Dude’s a geek, what do you expect him to come up with?.”

“Eh, if the goddess told the truth then technically the name fits.”

“Still corny.” She clicked her beak.

She leaned back in her seat, glaring a hole in the ceiling. The artifact was probably useful, she just didn’t know how she was supposed to use it. Idly, she plucked a broken feather from her crest and used it to scratch behind her ear.

“What if we kidnapped Codsworth?” Thanasis supplied. “Hit him with a shovel and toss his body in the vortex.”

“You got a degree in dumb ideas or what?” Scarface deadpanned. “No, the problem with taking Codsworth away from Carrickfergus is that if he’s gone, then the place is completely defenseless.”

“They have weapons you know.” Aleksei pointed out.

“I wouldn’t count gardening tools from the local DYI store as ‘weapons’, no.” He shook his head softly, one hand running through his mane. “I’d say… just ask to dispatch an armed team to keep them safe while they’re negotiating with Epona, but the IRA might take that as siding with the Loyalists.”

“Not if we tell them why we’re doing it.” Radiant said. “I’d go first to the City Hall and tell them upfront.”

“What makes you so sure they will accept?”

The pegasus crossed his forehooves and leaned over the table, a frown on his muzzle.

“Okay, so maybe I’m basing this off of what usually happens on my home planet, but you told me Epona is a local deity?”

“More or less, yes.” Aleksei replied, making a so-so gesture with her claw.

“Then I bet the IRA won’t even hesitate when we offer to take them to her. They’ll think she’ll side with them over the...”

“Loyalists.” Scarface supplied. “But I’m not so sure about that. Epona is part of a very dated religion, and St Patrick is probably one of the biggest figures the Irish look up to for national unity.” He paused. “Don’t quote me on that though, just an assumption. They’re Christians, Catholics and Protestants. But not Pagans.”

“So you think they wouldn’t listen to her?” Thanasis said. “That doesn’t make sense! Sure the IRA is mostly Catholics, but it’s not like the Loyalists are Pagans either. They claim they’re the locals, the actual people of this island. In my books, they will think Epona is gonna side with them. What’s your take, boss?” The sphinx then turned his head towards Aleksei.

For a moment, she didn’t respond, still turning her bracelet in her claws pensively.

“I’ll side with you on that, kaķēns.” She finally said. “If this bracelet works as advertised, convincing Finnegan to dive in the vortex will be easy. We’re gonna start with him then.”

“And Codsworth?” Scarface crossed his arms, the Bulgarian not looking too convinced.

“If we can appease Finnegan and explain we’re not siding with the Loyalists, then I’ll ask the Captain to deploy a combat-ready team to protect them while the negotiations are taking place.” She said.

“That’s not what I meant. For all you know he might think you’re leading him into an ambush.” He fired right back.

Aleksei opened her beak to reply, but no word came out. She scowled and clicked her beak a few times.

“Idea.” Radiant piped in, raising his hoof. “Equestria used to do diplomacy a lot you know… and a lot of times that was as third party.”

“Well, explain.” She shrugged with her wings.

“What we need to do is provide security for both groups.” He went on. “We secure the venue so that they won’t be attacked, and we escort them there with the… what’s the name of the big army trucks again? The ones with eight wheels?”

“The Piranhas.” Scarface said.

“Yeah, Piranhas.” Radiant opined. “So, we use the tank at the vortex, and use the Piranhas to escort both parties there. That’s two of them, and we can still use the third one to stay behind and protect Carrickfergus.”

Aleksei blinked.

“That… is surprisingly well thought out. Good job.”

“Thanks!” Radiant beamed. “Everyone agrees?”

Thanasis and Scarface nodded in unison.

“Fantastic! So we can move on and do just that then!”

“I don’t think so. Not yet at least.” Aleksei said, raising her talons to halt him. “We’d need to deploy all armored vehicles at once. Any of you notice the problem with that?”

“Ah… not enough ponies?” Radiant deflated.

“If by ponies you mean people, then yes, we’re understaffed. Might have to wait until Geert gets back from the Derry to do that, and either way I’ll have to run this by the Captain for approval. If only for crewing matters.”

“Sounds a lot like we’ll be on standby for a while.” Scarface muttered.

“You are, Iwill have to sort out a lot of paperwork before we put that in action. You can go back to napping under vehicles in the repair bay.”

“I don’t nap on the job!”

That only earned him unconvinced looks from all three sailors around him, including Radiant.

“At least not when I’m behind schedule...” He mumbled before standing up. “Anyway…Gotta clock in some time at the workshop. Those engines ain’t gonna fix themselves, see ya.”

Thanasis echoed the same words, talking about how he had to go help with the bending press to get the new hull plates ready as he followed the gargoyle out of the office. That left only Aleksei and Radiant inside, with the hippogriff jotting down some notes about their future course of action.

“So...” Radiant began after a minute, nervously rubbing his forehooves together.

Aleksei just quirked a feathery brow at him.

“What’s next?” He asked.

“Paperwork for me. You… I suggest you report to Schmitt to help with the oil reconditioner. Last I heard they were preparing to assemble the full-scale model. You read the PDF I gave you on oil?”

“I did. Complicated stuff… But I was wondering… I only ever hang out with Angelo and Carlos. Maybe you’d want to hang around, once?” 

Across the table, he watched the light green hippogriff set down her pencil with a sigh. She tucked her mane feathers behind her ears – a gesture he saw her do a lot- before she stared him the eye.

“Alright, I think I need to put a stop to this.”

“To what?” Radiant gulped, both ears folding up against his skull.

“You do know I used to be male, right?”

“Yeah...” He shrugged with his wings. “Angelo told me, it’s not hard to figure out. How’s that a problem? Micha’s alright with her situation.”

“Radiant. Unlike Micha and Danny, I will not settle with being stuck as a female. As such, I don’t want a date with you. Sorry.” She explained in a firm tone.

He sagged in his seat.

“Not even for trying?”

“No. Even less so. Epona yesterday? I asked her if she could make me male again, and she gave me a quest.” Not exactly, but she pointed her in the right direction at least. “It may take time, but I will get my dick back.”

“Okay then...” Radiant sighed. “I’m sorry if it bothered you.”

“It’s fine.” Aleksei gave a small smile. “Better get it out now than to let it become awkward, right?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Aleksei opined.

“I’m pretty sure I heard somepony on Rhine say they didn’t like it, but that they were open for trying. Why don’t you, then?”

“That’s because they haven’t read the same books as I have.” She clicked her beak. “I’ve read plenty of them where a man – sorry, male-, turned into a female. In nearly every single story, if the male ever started romance as a female, that was the point of no return. Past that, they’d never want to be male again. Now look at Micha and Danny… and you get my point. Sure, they’re happy, but I was born a male, and I’ll be male again.”

“Uh...” Radiant blinked. “Never heard that before.”

“I like unpopular stories.” She stated simply. “It’s not gonna be easy, but my goal is set.”

“Okay then...” He shook his head briefly. “Regardless, I won’t bother you with that anymore, but my point still stand: I only hang out with Carlos and Angelo.”

“If it’s only as friends, then I’d be happy to join. Wanna watch movies maybe? Tells a lot about human culture.”

“I’d be delighted.” Radiant beamed.

“After dinner then. Now, I believe I said something about Schmitt needing some help.” She pointed a talon towards the door.

“Sure thing boss!” The pegasus exclaimed, giving her a mock salute with his wing before leaving.

Aleksei silently watched him depart. She knew her body would have loved to try out sex – curse the Event for making her a heterosexual female- but it was better that way. She sank down in her seat with a groan. That had been easy, but she damn well knew this wouldn’t be the only time she’d have to repel advances, and she’d have to keep a tight eye on how much she ate otherwise an accidentally activated heat-cycle might ruin her plans.

In another plane of existence, Epona smiled as she looked at Aleksei through her scrying pond.

Her bracelet wasn’t just a speechcraft enhancer.





It was much to Rock’s reluctance that Starswirl dragged the bulky Earth Pony across the bridge and right on Morgane’s doorstep, where the large door almost loomed above him from atop the steps that made up the porch, next to which he could see a single brass bell hanging from a mast.

Rock threw Star a glance, waiting for the ghost to give him an encouraging nod before he grabbed the rope below the bell in his teeth and shook it firmly. The bell rang only once, a loud gong that caused a ripple to reverberate across the underground lake’s surface.

He felt a chill run down his spine, and that wasn’t the kind that occurred whenever his ghost of a friend brushed too close to him.

He rolled his shoulders. Was the offering basket in full sight? Just maybe nudge the bow on the handle a bit…

Footsteps stopped him before he had time to tug on the ribbon with his teeth.

The door opened, its hinges creaking as the tower’s interior came into view, along with its occupant. It was one of the ladies Rock had seen on his first day on Earth, near the Golden Tree. The same one that reminded him of both a breezie and an alicorn. From up close, she looked more like a young maiden, except with an air about her that seemed… off. As if he was staring at a mirage, a fragile reflection on the water.

She towered above him, taller than Merlin even, with a thin frame and long limbs whose pale pearly flesh shone with an ethereal glow, covered by a wispy black dress with purple trim. The dress was completed by a pearl net wound through the curly black locks that ran all the way down to the small of her back, and a thin black veil that barely covered her face. It made her features hard to distinguish, but there was one thing it didn’t hide:

Her eyes.

Two crackling purple embers, devoid of a sclera or even pupils. They were just two powerful balls of purple magic that glared at the two visitors, radiating power and… contempt? That’s what it felt like to the Earth Pony, though she only addressed him a passing glance before swiveling her head towards his ghostly companion.

Oh, and she had a set of folded dragonfly wings on her back, the frail, tattered membranes trailing behind her like a cloak.

“How brave of you to turn up right on my doorstep.” She finally said sardonically in Latin. “Want me to finish you off, darling? I thought you’d be stuck in that tomb for a while longer at least.”

“The casket was nice, but the runes in my back itched a bit so I decided to go for a walk.” Merlin replied, calmly leaning on his staff.

“Seems to me like you forgot something in the process.” She put one hand on her hip, unwittingly showing Rockhoof her razor-sharp purple nails and pentagram sigils on the back of her hand.

Strangely enough, the one hand with the pentagram was as youthful as the rest of her body, whilst the other was shriveled up and covered in black inky runes, its skin probably more fitting of an old crone than the youthful maiden to which it was attached.

“Ah yes, silly me. I left my body under the tomb.” Merlin slapped himself on the cheek with a laugh. “To be fair it was a bit pruny after I overslept for so long.”

“Ahem, excuse me.” Rockhoof coughed. “I can’t quite follow. Language barrier, you know?”

Merlin twirled his staff in his hand before unceremoniously bonking his companion on the head in a shower of sparks.

“Better?” The wizard asked, still in Latin.

“Yeah, thanks. Still...” He rubbed his forehead with a hoof, his circlet would have slipped off if he didn’t braid it into his mane. “Ouch.”

“Anyway dear, where were we at?” He turned back towards Morgane.

“Your escape. And don’t call me dear...” She trailed off menacingly. “You’re on thin ice already.”

“I’d have thought spending a couple centuries sealed under a stone and, need I remind you, dying would have been enough to settle our disagreements.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t exorcise you the moment I saw you the other day in the clearing.” She said and snapped her fingers, a fountain of purple sparks erupting from them. “Now why you’d tempt fate and turn up on my doorstep, I’d very much like to know.”

“We have a couple questions, and an offering to make it worth your time milady.” Rock interjected, pointing a hoof at the basket filled with alchemical components.

Morgane was silent for a moment, her crackling eyes appraising the contents of the offering before ever so subtly dipping her chin.

“Get in. And don’t expect to be the only ones asking questions. What’s your name pony?”

“Rockhoof.” He supplied. “Former Pillar of Equestria…”

“And here’s a question I’ll have to ask.” She said, beckoning them inside with her hand. “There are some things you haven’t been telling me, Merlin.”

“In due time, but I’d rather we start with our own questions before we get to yours.” The ghost wizard insisted, flicking his hand to pull a little stool towards him as he sat down at a table.

Rock took a look at the room. It was pretty much what he’d expect from a witch’s lair, even bearing a measure of resemblance to Meadowbrook’s former hut back in Equestria. There was a copper pot boiling over an open fire, filling the room with the smell of burnt pine and herbal medicine. Light inside was provided by swarms of fireflies trapped inside of glass jars, their soft glow just enough to spot the many shelves and alcoves around the table that Morgane used to store parchments, pots of ingredients, and a couple artifacts.

A gnarly staff with a purple gem, its haft covered in pentagrams and runes.

A couple old and probably enchanted weapons that thrummed with power.

And a pole with a carved golden eagle tucked away in a corner of the room. Its haft was broken in half,  and the statue had a chipped wing, but the metallic surface still glowed with a magic green sheen, its vacant eyes staring imperiously at the Earth Pony. At its base, where it connected to the pole, Rockhoof took note of a little plate with the letters ‘SPQR’ and ‘Legio IX’ proudly engraved on it.

“I’d offer you a drink Merlin, but I think you’re past that point.” Morgane snarked before sitting down in front of the wizard, Rock quickly clambering on a stool to join them.

Brave as he may be, he was smart enough to know not to screw around with wizards at this point. If Morgane was intent on ignoring him, then he was all too happy to let her. He turned his head back towards his friend, watching the wizard twirl a strand of beard hair between his fingers for a few moments before finally looking the witch in the eyes, ghostly orbs meeting crackling purple embers.

“First thing first...”

“How me and Vivian survived I bet?” She cut him off. “Planar magic. That’s what. And a whole lot of passive enchantments.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“So I’m sure you missed it, but magic faded away from the entirety of Europe after a while. For humans that may not have been much of a problem, but there were tons of magical creatures and magic practitioners that were so far deep that no magic would have spelled a death sentence. A druid would have lived; but a fay like me? Not really. So we had to do something against that, and changing ideologies to make people believe magic was still a thing wasn’t possible anymore. Too late.

We held a conclave made up of mages hailing from all over the continent, and we noticed one thing. Divine realms all over weren’t affected by the… drought, so to speak. They were like anoasis in a desert, and I’m thus positive all Gods of old survived the magical drought. Regardless… we all decided we had to mimic that.

That proved difficult because, really, we didn’t have the knowledge to achieve the feat easily. Planes weren’t popular before that. Why create one when an isolated domain with good wards could do the same job just fine?”

Rockhoof raised a hoof.

“Sorry, not quite following. What’s a plane?”

“A magical realm, an artificial dimension that’s outside of reality, with a finite number of access points – as in, places where its own ley lines connect with that of the planet-. With divine planes, they’re usually formed by natural human magic pooling together in a reservoir of sorts. Gods follow shortly after, and they act like stewards of that reservoir, granting ‘miracles’ to their believers by using the pooled magic. It can be replicated by a mage, though within limits. We needed to make them as durable as divine realms, so size-wise, that was a cut down from country-size to...” She waved her arm around. “This cave network for me, for instance. The magic pool in here was costly to gather, but it was enough to let me survive all the time it took for that new magic to wash over the planet.”

“And how many mages did that?”

“As far as I know, most of the ones that would have died from the lack of magic. Some fled to lands where magic still flowed, over the Ocean or beyond the Mare Nostrum, but at least to me it was clear the drought would affect those lands too, eventually. No point delaying the inevitable.” She explained.

“You mentioned magical creatures.”

“I did.” She nodded. “The sapient ones – and magical plants too actually-, we could shelter in our planes. Some were taken in by the divines they were tied to as well; so that only left the truly feral ones. Enchantments would have to do. It’s integrated in the wards we put on the forest. At first it drew all ferals inside the wards, then it would seal them away until a magical surge occurred, implying we would either release them, or magic would come back.”

Morgane paused, casting a glance towards a stack of old rolled-up parchments.

“Awfully finicky mind, designing a ward that doesn’t disappear when it runs out of magic.”

“Did you put a teleportation protection on it?” Merlin quickly asked.

“Correct. That the matter? You’re keyed in it you know, you can ‘port around just fine.”

“That’s about the monsters from my planet, not him.” Rockhoof said. “Some demons crossed over to escape immortals where I’m from, and the goons they brought along had the brilliant idea of bringing their menagerie of monsters along.”

In a flash, Morgane’s staff had flown into her open hand, instantly pointed right at Merlin.

“Explain. Now.” She hissed.

“Now now...” The old wizard grimaced, hands raised. “I promise Equestria didn’t intend to do that. The demons just… learned of the convergence by accident.”

Her staff’s gem crackled, its tip pressing against Merlin’s beard and actually touching the ghost whose ethereal body rippled with painful-looking purple waves.

“Merlin...” She growled threateningly.

“That’s why we had to hybridize the Golden Tree! We’re trying to arm Earth to deal with the demons.”

The staff lowered, and the wizard let out a relieved breath. This was going to take a while, particularly when it came to telling his past lover he was technically a pony as well. ‘Hey Morgane, did you know you technically fucked a horse way back? A magic midget unicorn!’

He probably shouldn’t phrase it that way...





“Well this is boring.” Ivan complained.

“You know you could be snoozing below deck, don’t you?” Geert reminded.

The two of them were in the trawler’s wheelhouse, a much more cramped place than what they’d grown used to on Amandine. It still had most of the equipment Geert needed to sail properly, just arrayed in a different manner and with much less space to stretch her legs during her watch. The fishing vessel wasn’t even intended to operate with more than one person on the bridge, since all instruments were in arm’s reach of the pilot’s seat, making Ivan a bit redundant as her hemls-hen. Still, the atmosphere as a whole was rather cozy, with fake-wood furnishings, red leather seats and the A/C on full-blast. Might as well call it a nest at this point, what with the two hens inside.

So naturally, lacking an actual role to fulfill, the osprey griffon had settled down in the Captain’s seat behind Geert, half-sprawled half-seated as she watched her superior steer for a change whilst she distractedly fiddled with her tail in her talons.

“I already do cat naps often enough, thank you.” The griffon rolled her eyes.

Not that it was impossible to sleep. The engine made the little ship vibrate rather nicely. Add to that the gentle sway of the ship’s roll and the penumbra caused by the cloud cover that had rolled in as soon as they left Belfast’s Lough and… well, needless to say the feline half of her mind was very tempted to just curl up in the chair and snooze.

Except she’d already slept for the better half of the day, and napping just behind your superior as you’re talking to her was a bit brazen. So instead she opted for small talk.

“So is it you or Artemis that’s captaining the ship?”

“Artemis.” Geert chirped back. “I don’t have much experience with ships that size, even though I got the credentials to use them. Plus I don’t think she’d have been too happy if I took the ship away from her. She’s one of the boat pilots; that’s her job, not mine, to sail those.”

“Eh if you say so. What’s your take on her name change?”

“Easier on the mind to call her that than Nikolaos I guess?” The macaw shrugged, flicking her talons over the ECDIS screen to make sure they were on the right track.

Which they were, however odd it felt to be able to sail over mudflats because their draft was so low. She might be a bit too used to sailing on large ships like Amandine.

“So you would change your name?”

“Would you? Want me to call you Ivanka now?” Geert half-turned back towards the griffon.

“I’m… not sure. Not even sure Ivanka would fit anyway. I was thinking… Artemis went with what her mother would have called her if she’d been born female. So I was wondering what my name would have been.”

“Not Ivanka then?”

“No, that’s what my sister’s called.”

Geert did a double-take.

“Come again? Your mother decided to name her daughter and her son both variations of the same name? Is that even legal?!”

“Well they didn’t stop her so… Ja tak gadaju. I guess?” She shrugged with her wings before draping one over herself like a feathery blanket. “Maybe I should copy my aunts or babushka? What would you go with for yourself anyway?”

The macaw took a moment to respond, scratching a talon against the upper mandible of her beak in thought.

“Greet.” She finally replied, snapping her talons.

“That’s just an anagram of your current name.”

“And the consonance is close enough to my current name that it’s an easy change. Plus technically it’s short for Margaret in Dutch.”

Ivan groaned at that.

“See, there’s the problem with you. Too practical and sensible to worry about making it sound nice. It’s a name, not a piece of machinery. Back to me… Olga?”

“Too stereotypical.” Greet rolled her eyes. “And I’m not always sensible, mind. I have a sense of humor. I do dumb stuff sometimes.”

“Like what? Second try: Anna.”

“Wayyy too common pal. Remember how I told you I play baseball – or used to- when I’m home?”

“Yeah you did. What about it?” Ivan tapped a talon against her beak. “How about… Nastya? That original enough?”

“Better. But I’d still think about it for a while. So with this baseball… one day for April Fools, I waited ‘til all the team was ready then I left the locker room last. With a costume.”

“And what costume was that, then?” She quirked a brow at the parrot.

Greet stood up from her seat and meandered over to the sitting griffon, before leaning down calmly until she was face to face with her, her large black-and-white beak centimeters away from Ivan’s.

“I’m bat-man.”

And then she went back to her seat, quickly typing the course to the next waypoint on the autopilot, the ship turning ever so slightly to port.

Ivan blinked for a couple of seconds, before the translation finally clicked in the Ukrainian’s mind.

“Now that’s just silly.”

“Which is the point.”

They lapsed into silence after that, Ivan grabbing a piece of paper from the navtex’s fax machine to write down name ideas for herself. Artemis was actually a pretty cool name, so maybe she wanted in on the cool name wagon.

Unlike Greet, she genuinely felt like it should change, and she wouldn’t settle for a feminization or an anagram.

Meanwhile, the darkened cloud cover finally broke into rain, fat drops of water impacting the windows of the wheelhouse and forcing them to turn on the wipers and adjust the radar’s rain clutter. Wind might have been a problem, too, but it came from the west meaning Ireland itself was sheltering them from the worst of it.

They wouldn’t want to be on the Atlantic side of the island at that time though, not in as small a vessel as the trawler was. The ship didn’t have an actual name, just the callsign ‘RFFD’ (as in: Rhine Forest – Fishing – Delta) painted in black letters on her bow and stern.

And so, they sailed on for the next couple hours, headed on a North-westerly course towards the Derry. On their port side, the Irish shore slowly turned from the gently sloped hills found near Belfast to more steep craggy cliffs that were mostly covered in uneven meadows, barely worth anything for cultures and just enough to raise sheep that now gathered in gigantic white herds along the cliffside, looking very much like sentient clouds.

It wasn’t before they reached Rathlin Island that they changed course, turning West to pass between the small island and the ‘mainland’ (insofar the Ireland could ever be called such). Navigation wise this wasn’t a very dangerous place: admiralty notes on the area and vector charts depicted some large-scale, low-speed eddies that formed at certain points during the change of tide, but their strength was only enough to make them drop two knots in speed.

Annoying, but not actually threatening as long as they stayed clear of Rathlin Island where the shearing current could have pulled them towards the shore. With the extremely thick fog bank that surrounded the island, that probably would have ended poorly for them. Oddly enough, said fog bank only seemed to cover a one mile radius around Rathlin, not extending any further than that and forming a near-wall right where it ended.

If anything, what the pilot book told about the area’s history was more interesting, as Ivan read it aloud to Greet during their watch.

Maybe the griffon was just twisting it to make it sound worse than it was, maybe it was genuine, in any case the entertainment was there. Archaeological report described neolithic cult sites found on the island, a couple standing stones surrounding the remains of small dwellings, which meant intelligent life had long settled there.

Its past was grim. Times and again over the centuries, the island had violently traded hands from Scots to Irish and back, most of the times marking the change with a massacre where the previous inhabitants’ bodies would be hurled down the cliffs, and that wasn’t even counting Viking raid parties culling the population.

And on the mainland side, the entire coast had its cliffs littered with abandonned castles: Kinbane, Dunseverick, Dunluce, all of them completely ruined with their masonry and cobblestones now covered in moss and slowly crumbling down the steep cliffs that marked the area’s shoreline, their rugged dark stones glistening in the rain, still towering tens of meters above the water and bringing a dark vibe to the area that was only brightened up by the large flocks of seabirds that had made them their nest.

Props to Ivan, except for the accent she was a top notch storyteller. Greet could feel the goosebumps making her feathers bristle.

Grim premise aside, there was one thing that transcended everything in the region.

And no it wasn’t the Old Bushmills Distillery (though it wasn’t far off).

Giant’s Causeway. A vast array of hexagonal basalt columns that reached out into the sea, waves crashing against it in great sprays of foam and brine, the massive rock formation glistening like a dark lance thrust into the sea.

Afterwards, the shoreline evened out once they left County Antrim and entered County Londonderry. The tall cliffs slowly turned into just a rocky shore before even them were replaced by smooth sandy beaches with a couple seaside villages breaking up the otherwise flat horizon with their cottages. The cliffs were still there, but they had retreated a few hundred meters further inland, their presence now but a menacing shadow held back by the bright white sand that covered the beaches, finally disappearing from sight somewhere after Benone Beach when they suddenly stopped. In their stead, the land now turned into what amounted to a vast, dried-up sandbank that had become part of the mainland, its weed-covered dunes now making for great campsites according to intelligence.

That was about when Greet called the cabins below to tell them to get the anchor ready.

The voyage had taken them several hours, and hard as it was to tell with the thick cloud cover and the rain, night was about to fall. Greet and Artemis were both clear about it: they did not want to sail upstream of River Foyle by night. With the risk of monsters and potentially hostile locals, six crewmembers on the whole trawlers weren’t enough to tackle nocturnal fluvial warfare.

So they did the next best thing: anchor in the estuary. River Foyle actually formed a vast lough in its estuary, pretty much like River Lagan did outside Belfast’s harbor: a wide bay with several mudflats they didn’t have to worry about thanks to the trawler’s low draft, sheltered from the open seas by the same dried-up sandbank they’d just passed. They took a look at their map and veered off towards one of the prescribed anchorage points next to the former pilot transfer post.

Waves were minimal where they dropped the anchor, thanks in large part to the protection offered by the lough, only gently rocking the boat at this point. Up on the bridge, Greet sipped from a cup of coffee to the pitter-patter of rain hitting the bridge’s windows, the only source of light coming from a dull red lamp and the instrument screens as she watched Mikhail set up the .50 cals on their deck mounts for the night’s watch.

Behind her, she heard Artemis key in over the radio to tell the fleet in Belfast they were anchoring for the night. A couple minutes later, they heard another report from Artemis’ brother telling he was carrying on throughout the night with his fishing, before Alejandro on Amandine acknowledged the report.

“So what now?” Ivan asked.

“Mikhail’s on watch for the first four hours, then it’s Diethelm, then you.” Greet supplied.

“Yeah, but what about the ‘now’ now?”

“Dinner and entertainment.” Marta piped in, the hedgefog’s head popping out of the stairway down to the accomodation. “I made pasta.” The nurse added.

“And I brought my guitar.” Geert added.

“You play music?” Marta quirked her head, one ear flicking in curiosity.

“Jawel toch.” She shrugged. “Or did you miss me putting it in my cabin? I mean, I already liked music before, now it’s even better as a parrot.”

“Really?” Artemis turned around to face them. “How so?”

“That is...” Her voice twisted, suddenly sounding very male and… had they heard that somewhere? “Because we parrots are really good singers.” She finished.

Artemis snapped her fingers.

“Phil Collins!”

“Right on the mark, darling.” The scarlet macaw grinned cheekily, turning her arms into wings and giving a fake bow. “On scene tonight in your mess hall.”





Meadow had let Rockhoof and Starswirl go out to the fay lady on their own. The two stallions were more than enough on their own to handle anything the forest threw at them. Meanwhile, she still had much to do, and that involved keeping an eye on Martin.

Rock also didn’t like the idea of her going too deep in the woods. Granted, she could understand the reasoning, but for Faust’s sake, it had been days since the stallion impregnated her! The sole memory of the big Earth Pony acting all fussy with her in the morning was enough to make her roll her eyes.

She and Martin were just wandering through a sparsely forested thicket in sight of the castle, with the blue-furred mare making frequent stops to pick up some herbs as she told the fawn behind her about them. He seemed to like it, helping carry the basket and learning how to properly collect some of the simpler plants like fleaworts.

“You see, that’s the thing with fleawort.” She told him in French as the little fawn (who had now shed his tattered Spider Man t-shirt, leaving him naked save for the saddle-baskets on his back) carefully picked up some between his teeth before putting the wrinkly green leaves in his basket. “A lot of ponies assume because it’s so common you can’t do much with it except for basic remedies with the leaves. That’s the common mistake. Here, look...” She said, pulling out one of the plants and laying it down on the ground. “The leaves are great, but they’re even better when you give them to a proper alchemist. They make an excellent antiseptic if its paired with other plants. Like cloves, or even garlic.”

She paused to make sure he was following, seeing the fawn had fallen down on his haunches to look up to her with a cute scowl of concentration on his muzzle.

“Now, what they don’t tell you is you can also use the seeds and the roots. The roots you can use to help the sick breathe easier even in a simple broth. In potions, it even works great against fevers. You understand?”

“Yes madame Meadow!” He replied with a wide green.

“Good, good.” She nodded wisely, quickly stuffing the plant back in her saddlebags and motioning for him to follow. “The seeds are always a bit harder to collect. You only need their husk, but if you have them you can use them for potions to cure digestive illnesses. Did you ever eat something that made you feel bad afterwards?”

“There was the one time I ate all the cake mix...” He mumbled in a low tone.

“Well that can help then! But please don’t do that.”

“I won’t. Pinkie promise.” He swore, making a cutting motion over his chest with his hoof.

“Ah ah, careful now.” Meadow waggled her hoof. “Pinkie promises are important stuff. You don’t swear on it unless you're sure, 100% sure, all-of-the-sure that you’re not gonna break it.”

“But what if I do?” He asked, idly scratching a nearby tree with one of his stubby antlers.

A cold wintery breeze swept through the woods, sending shudders through both their spines. For a second, the warm summer afternoon dimmed to the light of a graveyard in autumn.

“You don’t… or else...” A bubbly feminine voice whispered in their ears in an oddly sepulchral tone.

“Any other question?” Meadow quirked an eyebrow.

“No!” He quickly answered.

She just chuckled.

This thicket was actually rather pleasant to meander through. The oaks weren’t as old as the large gnarly things found deeper in the forest, meaning plenty of bushes, berries and plants could grow between them with moderate sunlight filtering through the canopy, the leaves throwing a green halo over the area. A warm summer breeze swept between the trunks, gently ruffling Meadow’s mane in its typical beehive style as she cast a glance back towards where she could see the shimmering waters of the castle’s moat.

She breathed in. The area was the epitome of life’s growth. Birds flicked between the branches, singing their beautiful songs. The scent of dirt, leaves and sap hung heavy in the air, mixing nicely with the sharp smells that wafted up from her herbs basket.

A stick cracked behind her, and the mare immediately rounded up on her hooves.

The White Stag.

Somehow it had popped up behind them. Martin looked at it, the fawn completely transfixed at the sight of the much taller creature. Meadow’s impression was a bit more cautious as the animal slowly walked out of the bushes, head held high to present its huge antlers, staring imperiously at Meadow.

She had to give it to the creature, it knew how to look the part. The rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy above them only enhanced the naturally regal glow of its white fur.

It stopped just in front of Martin, looking down its muzzle at the little fawn.

For a scant second, Meadow felt the air stand still, the breeze falling, the birds silent.

Then, the white stag bent down, touching a spotbetween Martin’s nascent antlers with its snout. There was a little flash, and then it finally galloped off to disappear behind a row of ferns, likely teleporting to another forest.

Meadow rushed over to Martin, only to see him blearily rub at the now snow-white spot of fur between his antlers.

“Well… that happened.” She blinked.
> Chapter 58: Hunting Season
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morgane had been silent for a couple minutes, silently turning her staff in her hands and running her sharp nails over the shaft. Rockhoof didn’t dare speak up, he just swapped between staring at Merlin or the fae, the hairs on the back of his mane bristing in anticipation.

At least his friend didn’t seem too worried.

“That’s a lot to digest...” Morgane finally uttered before she snapped her fingers, a wine carafe appearing on the table. She just twisted her fingers again, and a glob of red wine floated up and into her open mouth. “And here I thought I was up to date on my knowledge.”

“It does seem the world changed more than either of us thought it would.” Merlin admitted. “Yet there are things you know more about than me.”

“Alright then...” She trailed off to swallow another glob of wine. “We’ll bargain.”

Merlin’s eyes twinkled like falling stars at the acceptance, and Rock was pretty sure the crackling embers Morgane had for eyes took on a paler hue as she leaned back in her chair.

“I need you to clear the wards around Trecesson castle. I claim it as part of my territory.”

“Do you even have the Lord’s authorization?” She quirked an eyebrow, idly brushing back a wild strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear.

Knife-like ears that jutted out of her skull at an angle, their thin rosy tips drooping down in a simulacrum of antennae. She really was the human equivalent of a breezie.

“He does.” Rockhoof piped in. “I, Lord Rockhoof of the Mighty Helm, Pillar of Strength, Keeper of Equestrian Tales and husband to Mage Meadowbrook, hereby claim the castle of Trecesson as my domain. It is thus within my rights as its lord to permit Merlin the Enchanter, also known to me as Starswirl the Bearded, to serve as my court mage.”

Morgane stared for a few seconds, fingers drumming against the table in quick stacatto.

“I’m impressed. You’re not the complete musclehead I assumed you were.”

“I know my court procedures.” He sniffed. “Don’t like them, but I memorized them.”

“Very well then… I shall lift the wards so you may put up your own. What for if I may ask? I’d think my set is pretty decent already.”

“I like to do my own work, and my wanting my own spot is tied to my second request.” Merlin told her. “I need my own plane of existence. For research, which could be helped with-”

“My own notes, yes.” She cut him off. “Figures you’d want them.”

Once more, she snapped her fingers and a couple sealed scrolls along with a dusty tome lifted themselves off the nearby shelves. They glowed with a silvery light for a second, before a copy of each appeared out of thin air. She floated them over to Merlin, gingerly accepting them as he wrapped them in a more conventional unicorn telekinetic field.

Even though he still was in human form, but the ghost wizard always had that nonchalant disregard for established rules.

“These aren’t free. I want you to tell me everything you learn about the Golden Tree and these… Elements. What you described is near divine-tier in power, no single magician has the right to hoard that kind of knowledge.”

“I will, don’t fret about it.” He reassured her. “And I believe the interactions between Equus-type and Earth-type magic will extend further than just the tree and the Elements.”

“Of course they will.” She scoffed. “But you first must focus on what you brought here. These Demons… they’re not the kind we’re used to here on Earth. They’ll have to be dealt with.”

“That might take time.”

“Everything does.” Morgane scowled. “Now, be aware, I’ll have to warn other mages of what you told me.”

“There are others? Beside the Lady of the Lake I mean...” Rockhoof asked.

“As of now, she’s the only one I’m actively aware of and in touch with. I’ve sent out all my familiars to the former dwellings of mages I knew of before we went into ‘hibernation’, so to speak. They have yet to return.” She took a sip of her wine. “Not that I expect them to. Not only do they need to get to the location, they also need to find their realms, and last I checked the likes of Maugris and other druids were very good at hiding.”

“So Maugris is still alive...” Merlin muttered.

“Of course he is.” Morgane chuckled. “Damn coward kept being a slimy maggot in Frankish courts for centuries up until he managed to garner the ire of Charlemagne himself. Gave all his artifacts away to his cousin and then he ran off in the woods. Pretty sure he enchanted himself a thicket in the Black Forest.”

“So he’s actually among those who stayed in Europe?” He snorted. “Color me surprised. Thought he’d run for the hills soon as he felt the magic dwindling.”

“No choice of his own, I can assure you. It’s rather funny actually.” Morgane smiled, taking another sip of her wine and even snapping her fingers to conjure her guests two glasses as well. “Baba took a liking to him.”

“Baba? What kind of a name is that? A granny?” Rockhoof quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Shush friend, Baba Yaga is not to be spoken of lightly.” Merlin chastised him, switching back to English without a thought. “She’s of a far more ancient make than any other mage, old enough to probably precede even alicorns had she been born in Equestria, and dangerous. To the point where many in the lands she roams beyond the eastern plains have come to know her as a harbinger of fate.” He said gravely. “Baba Yaga isn’t just a crone… she is the crone and as the epitome of her… caste, few can claim they ever got in her good graces. She’s that temperamental.”

The wizard then turned his attention back towards Morgane, the fay who had now taken to looking over her old wrinkled hand in fake interest.

“Which is exactly why I find it hard to believe she’d like...” His beard bristled in disbelief. “Maugris. Preposterous I say!”

“Join the line, you’re not the only one thinking that.” She snarked. “Been centuries I had to mull over that and I still can’t believe it. The only thing I can respect about that con-artist is that Oriande raised him.” She shrugged. “Either way, Baba wouldn’t let her protege run off like that, and the damn fool had garnered quite a following of small-fry over the yea-”

“Morgane.” Merlin warned.

“Alright alright, he had a coven of witches and a whole grove of druids following him around. He must have realized escaping both Baba’s attention and his followers’ just wasn’t possible at one point; so he hunkered down just as most of the others headed south and sailed up the Nile to go where magic was still strong. That’s about what happened, give or take a few details.” She finished, downing the rest of her carafe in one go before waving her hand to dispel her own inebriated state.

Merlin just looked at her for a few seconds with a calculating stare before standing up with a sigh. He had an inkling of an idea he’d have to ask the Lady of the Lake for more of those ‘details’ she so chose to omit. And that would be yet another pain in the flank.

He blinked.

Fantastic. Now he was using pony-speak in human form. That couldn’t possibly lead to anything except for embarrassment among his apparently-not-dead peers.

“Well, thanks for all Morgane. Hope from now on we can leave the past behind.” He finally said.

“It will never be fully forgotten, but consider yourself in the green for now.” The fay scowled.

She lifted her staff slightly, and the door opened for the two guests to leave.

“Thank you for your hospitality milady.” Rockhoof inclined his head before the Earth Pony left.

Merlin stayed behind for a second, throwing her a knowing glance.

“I might need your help sometime in the future.”

“Otherworld?”

“I need to see what became of all the Divines, so they’re the start. Plus… our monsters might not mesh very well with those brought by the demons. Or worse even, they might get along.”

“I’ll help then.” He nodded, taking it as his cue to leave.

Just before he closed the door though, Morgane decided to fire off one last comment.

“You know, you being half-horse kinda does explain a lot of things, stud.” She smirked.

Merlin gaped for a second, accidentally reverting to equine-form at the comment. Morgane just waved her staff again, and the unicorn ghost found himself staring at the door’s hinges, back on the porch with Rock.

“Something wrong pal?” Rockhoof asked, waving his hoof in front of the mage’s eyes to get his attention.

Starswirl blinked.

“I… nevermind. Just was a bit confused there. Females are weird.” 





The trawler team in Derry didn’t waste their time sleeping in. As soon as dawn rose, Greet felt the prodding of Ivan’s talons on her shoulder waking her up. The scarlet macaw rolled over in her bed, peering through the porthole at the pink morning sky above the green countryside of the bay they were anchored in.

“How was watch?”

“Boring, and filled with coffee.” Ivan yawned. “Need me for the upstream passage? ‘cause right now I kinda could use a power nap.”

“Nah, you’re good.” Geert clicked her beak before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Sleep all you want, I’ll come wake you up when you’re needed.”

“Dyakuyu, boss.” The osprey griffon nodded.

Behind her, Greet heard the griffon shrug off her coveralls and slide in her bed, the little privacy curtain’s rings rattling as she pulled it shut. She didn’t pay it too much mind, just blearily blinking for a second or two as she let her mind ‘boot up’, talons scratching her ass and beak clicking a few times.

Right then, she was just clad in a tank top and her undies, with the corners of her lady pads showing out of the bottom. Her crest and tail feathers were a mess, something that sent the parrot instincts inside her reeling. Not anything she wasn’t already familiar with, if anything by now she was pretty well aware of how fussy her instincts made her when it came to her appearance. Plus the attraction to garish colors of course. It wasn’t magpie levels of going for anything shiny (they left that to the dragons), but Ornithians would eat up anything kitsch and garish as far as fashion went.

She only had to look at her coveralls hung on a peg by the door to prove that. Granted, they still were the same orange high-vis coveralls they all wore on Amandine, but the article of clothing had gone through a lot of changes in the last few months.

Gone was the baggy outlook, now that she’d spent a lot of her evenings going over it and redoing the seams. The fire-resistant fabric now hugged her frame as tightly as it could without going into uncomfortable territory, perfectly highlighting her curves. She had also tightened the sleeves so she’d be able to turn her arms into wings whenever necessary, the only other alternative being to rip off the sleeves altogether.

A hole with an elastic around it had been made to let her tail feathers through, which she could adjust whenever necessary to either tuck them inside (for safety reasons) or to deploy an extra flap of fabric to protect her tail feathers from sparks and splashes.

When not in use, that same flap folded up in a bright blue sash around her waist.

Beyond just that, anytime she did any sewing used thick multicolored threads that stood out sharply against the orange fabric. She had also sewed a ‘harness’ of sorts above the coveralls, both for looks and utility. Granted, it wasn’t strictly necessary because she could also have managed by putting on an actual harness instead of having one integrated onto her clothes, but her instincts were hopelessly giddy when she’d taken to sewing several green and red webbing straps onto her coveralls, complete with MOLLE hardpoints for any pouch she felt like taking.

Which at the time meant a pistol holster on one hip and a mag pouch on the other for her Five-Seven. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t use the chest hardpoints, since she was supposed to fit her flak jacket above that. A slight design oversight.

Still, all in all… had she been human she’d have likely tossed out the coveralls just for looking like a rainbow had puked on her. As a parrot though? She loved it, and the other Ornithians in the fleet pretty much shared her opinion of the design, having even asked her how she did it.

Greet quickly went through her morning rituals after that. Quick pad swap in the undercarriage, a couple minutes to brush her feathers and get rid of the extra feather dust, tie up her crest with an elastic band while leaving a few bangs to frame her face… It didn’t take her long before she finally put on her coveralls and retrieved her pistol from her locker. By the time she slipped out of the cabin, she could already hear the snores coming from Ivan’s bunk behind her.

The trawler’s inner layout was as straightforward as they got. Outside her cabin was a narrow passageway, with cabins on both sides. On one end of the passageway was the watertight door that led outside to the deck, with a ladder occupying the other end. Belowdeck would just lead to Mikhail and Diethelm’s cabin (weirdly enough the only two males on the crew), with maybe an emergency hatch that could lead to the cargo hold. Abovedeck would, quite obviously, lead her to the wheelhouse.

But not just yet. With a yawn, she hobbled over to the galley, momentarily regretting having shed her walking cane despite her hip having healed already. Maybe she could replace it with a sword-cane? Or just a cool sword, a sabre?

The galley, set directly across from the mess hall in the passageway, was as cramped as it could get on a fishing vessel. That was most likely due to being used both as a pantry and as a kitchen. Her feet talons clicked when they met the floor grating inside, the smell of bologna from yesterday’s dinner filling her nostrils, along with a hint of… charred toast?

The kitchen part of the galley was built in a U-shape, with most of the appliances ranging from the electric stove to the dishwasher placed inside casings with a suspension that kept them level even when the ship rolled. Pots, pans and utensils hung above, swaying slowly in tandem to the trawler’s motions.

Moving past that, Greet went for the pantry, absentmindedly grabbing herself a pack of trail mix and dried fruits from a cupboard before making her way out, across the passageway, and into the mess hall, where she could smell the breakfast coffee brewing.

The mess wasn’t a very complicated compartment either, consisting essentially of a long table with two benches, all of them solidly anchored to the floor. A single porthole provided an exterior view, set just above the counter where they had put the coffee machine and a small TV.

Greet idly noted the food already on the table as she sat down with her breakfast, talons reaching for the jug of coffee someone had so kindly left for her.

“Not fully awake are you?” Artemis commented.

She startled, only now noticing the huge minotaur cow she’d just sat down next to. Greet may be tall as a female parrot, but the hulking mass of muscles beside her was at least a full head taller, and with far more bulk to her frame.

“I really need that coffee I guess...” She mumbled.

“Ain’t that true.” Artemis chuckled, taking a bite of her own breakfast – a huge veggie sandwich-. “Take your time, I ain’t weighing the anchor ‘til you’re fully awake.”

“Aight...” Greet muttered, blearily taking a long sip of her coffee – hard as it was not to spill anything with a beak-. “Thanks I guess? You got the...”

“Passage plan, yes.” The minotaur pulled out a couple folded drawings from her breast pocket. “Just get your breakfast, then we’ll review it. Nice singing yesterday by the way.”

“I aim to please.” Greet shrugged, taking a pause from her coffee to basically dump some trail mix down her throat.

Nuts and dried fruits sure pleased her taste buds at least, even when half-scalded by hot coffee.

It was only about an hour later that the two of them left the mess hall, having had enough time to both let the Dutch parrot wake up fully, and to prep what they were going to do as soon as they resumed their passage to Londonderry. And that was exactly what they did.

Mikhail and Marta went on deck weigh anchor, the little trawler’s hull rumbling when Artemis turned on the engines, switching them from battery power to generator power. On the radio, Greet warned the fleet in Belfast they were resuming their expedition, her message soon followed by an acknowledgment from Alejandro.

And on that note, they pushed the engine telegraph to full ahead and on went the trawler. Deeper inside the lough, and straight into the River Foyle’s mouth.

Had they been using a seagoing, full-size vessel like Amandine or Rhine Forest, then she suspected the passage would have felt narrow and constricting. With the trawler though? Her little size was ideal to maneuver the bends and mudflats that popped along the way with plenty of space to spare.

Londonderry wasn’t anywhere as big or as heavily industrialized as Belfast, and it was far less hilly too. Instead, the terrain gently sloped down around them, green meadows ending right on the gravelly banks of the river where the former inhabitants had erected dozens of little piers.

Given that they sailed in during the low tide, most of these piers were completely out of the water, their mussel-covered posts rising out of the mud banks the tide had unveiled. There, many little boats lay overturned in the muck, their hulls now covered in rotting algae that mixed with the smell of the tide, a nauseating, salty stench Geert commonly associated with fishing terminals. Flocks of seagulls were there, using the now useless boats as perches while they searched the muck for food. At one point, Greet even spotted a flock landing on a stranded buoy lying buried halfway deep in the mud.

They sailed past the harbor terminals closest to the estuary. That wasn’t the place they needed, as Roberto had provided them with a map of the town indicating where the police stations they were supposed to loot were situated. And that meant they were heading as far upstream as they could.

The harbor terminal faded away behind them, soon replaced by green countryside and isolated suburbs for the better part of an hour. It wasn’t until they sailed under a tall bridge that they reached ‘the Derry’ proper. The town was a lot more low-rise than Belfast, with smaller buildings that seemingly centered around a small isolated hill on the west bank.

It made sense, in a way. If Derry had been founded as early as most European towns, then along a river with an easily defensible position in the form of a hill was as ideal as it got when it came to a founding spot. Paris being one famous example with several such hills along the Seine.

Greet’s eyes caught a little detail as she surveyed the horizon.

There was a smoke column, rising up above the city center.

“You seeing this?” She nudged Artemis.

“And I don’t like it.” The minotaur scowled. “That looks like it’s a bit too close to our mooring point.”

“I’ll get my gun and flak vest.” Greet said after a minute of watching the smoke.

A couple minutes later, she was back in the wheelhouse, armed, right on time to see Artemis pull in alongside a quay. They couldn’t go any further upstream, their route blocked by the Peace Bridge in front of them, supposedly a symbol of unity between the politically opposed communities that lived on either banks of the river.
It was there that they spotted where the smoke was actually coming from.
The guild hall.
Originally, it was supposed to be a gathering hall for the city council, built in the late 19th century using a  blend of red sandstone for the corners and around windows, with brown-gray masonry making up the bulk of the building. Paired with a neo-gothic architecture, what photos they had of the building prior to the Event showed a fairly unique building that stood out from the rest with its sharp arches, stained glass windows, and a small clock tower that was like a miniature version of Big Ben.
But now?
It was like war had swept through the area. The smoke came from the smoldering remains of a fire that left the hall an empty husk of a building, with black charred marks around its empty windows. Most of the roof had collapsed, with its clock tower the worse off as the sailors in the trawler could see its collapsed remains on the plaza next to the building.
“The fuck happened here?” Ivan wondered aloud, the griffon having just been woken up by Geert.
“Don’t know… but we’re gonna try to find out.” Greet replied.
“That’s gonna delay the police station.” Artemis pointed out.
“Not for long hopefully.” She replied, checking the time. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, and it’s still early. As long as we leave by sunset it should be fine, we’ll be safer at sea.”
“Your call.” Artemis shrugged. “Just take Mikhail along, I’ll keep an eye out from here.”
“Will do.”





Andy was giddy. Finally mommy and daddy were going to take her hunting! The little griffon cub kneaded her mattress in joy at the thought, tail lashing behind her.

Hunting! Finally!

Mommy just didn’t let her hunt what she wanted. She said the birds in the harbor were bad for her. So maybe she’d show her what birds were good? The cub wondered. Yeah, that made sense, she thought, nodding sagely at her own reasoning. Mommy knew the good birds from the bad ones.

And then she’d show them her moves! She’d trained in her cabin, with Sami’s help. The little dolphin plush with the yellow cybernetic harness was a great training buddy, and she was pretty sure she had the pouncing skill of the bestest best predators now! Ever!

Just to prove her point to herself, she turned around and leaped at the plush toy. The cotton-filled dolphin stood no chance against a hen of her skill, she fluttered her little wings and somersaulted (which to an outside observer would have looked like rolling around and flailing wildly) above him in an expert motion, hooking her talons under his fins before bringing down her beak for the final blow.

She halted just before she hit his belly. Sami was her friend, and you didn’t hurt friends. He wouldn’t pardon her if she did that, and he was a gift from daddy one. Andy stopped for a brief second to wonder… she did miss him, very much so, but every time she started crying when she remembered him, daddy two was there to comfort her. He told her stories. It was a bit hard to understand because he liked to use big words, but he was pretty cool, and she liked the name he called her.

	Kotka. 

In a rather odd leap of logic, Andy wasn’t actually that bothered by Micha and Vadim adopting her. They looked just like her and they took care of her, just like mommy and daddy one before. And they promised that they always would, too.

“Hey Sami, you think daddy would be mad I like daddy two?” She asked, in a nearly unintelligible mess of Polish, kid-speak and some random words in other tongues she’d heard around the ship.

She called it her secret-speak.

The plush dolphin’s vacant eyes stared blankly into her twinkling pupils.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She hugged the plush, rolling onto her back in her bed. “I can love them both, so when I find them again I’ll have two daddies and mommies!” She chirped at the ceiling. “Now that’s pretty awesome. Double the birthday gifts.”

Usually Vadim and Micha would make sure there was always someone keeping an eye on her during the day, be it themselves or even Rahul when they weren’t available. The dog cook was pretty fun too, she liked looking over his shoulder when he prepared the meals, though she had a hard time understanding what he was saying. She just couldn’t understand English, and the Indian’s accent didn’t help.
But she liked the cooking. He let her have a taste sometimes.
Today was an exception to the usual. They had brought her back to her cabin after breakfast and told her to stay put until they got the truck ready. Fifteen minutes already and she just couldn’t wait!
What were they going to hunt? Her instincts filled her mind with ideas already.
A deer? A hog? Big game… bigger than she was… but soo appetizing.
A hare would be rather tasty as well, she mused, drumming her talons against her beak, but they were a bit small.
She’d ask Sami what he’d prefer, but he was a dolphin so of course he’d say fish.
There was a rasp on her door, and Micha poked her head through. Her new mommy wasn’t wearing her orange coveralls that day, wearing instead a lighter version of the woodland armor they usually wore (actually a version that let flyers use their wings), and a pair of thin khaki shorts. She liked it, mommy always wore so much clothes she could barely see her fur and feathers.
“We’re ready sweetie, let’s get you dressed alright?” She said in Polish.
Andy glared a hole in her bed, her tiny wings fluffing up slightly.
“I don’ like clothes.” She grumbled.
Why did she need them anyway? She was a griffon! She had a warm, natural coatto protect and cover her. Clothes were for boring humans, and she wasn’t one anymore.
“Yes you do young lady.” Micha insisted sternly. “They’re important for protection, and everyone needs some for decency.”
The older griffon pulled open a drawer under her bed and took hold of a fresh set of clothes they’d made the little griffon.
Measuring her for a set of coveralls had been hard enough, and Andy had a nasty habit of undressing as soon as she was back in her cabin. That ‘undressing’ part even included literally ripping off the clothes using her talons until her caretakers put a stop to that.
That they even had made her her own gloves and safety boots was nothing short of a miracle, Micha thought as she held up the former.
“Remember Andy, the clothes protect you from being dirty. It’s important to be clean. Particularly when you use your talons to cook.” The Pole insisted as she started dressing up the reluctant kid.
A simple black t-shirt and short combo. That had been hard enough to adjust just so they’d leave velcro holes to fit the young griffon’s wings and tail. At least Andy was wise enough to stay put.
“Alright girl, that’s it.” Micha finally said when she made sure the little griffon had tied her shoelaces. “Now let’s go to Vadim, ‘kay? He’s waiting. Hop on.” She pointed a thumb talon at her back.
That at least, Andy was happy to comply with. She loved riding around on the two bigger griffons’ backs. The place between their wings was just so comfy and fluffy.
They took one of the Defender 90’s. Vadim drove them off the ramp and out of the harbor at a sedate pace, just so the little griffon in the back could have the time to take a look at her surroundings. In the passenger seat, Micha held a map open in her lap, pointing Vadim in the right direction. He drove them North of town, beyond Cave Hill, towards the reservoirs that would normally provide freshwater to habitations in Belfast’s periphery.
“That the place?” Vadim asked. He eased up on the gas pedal, seeing the truck approach an intersection where the main asphalt road crossed paths with a forest track.
Not really a proper road by itself either really, it was just two parallel ruts in the dirt that were already starting to become overgrown. At a nod of his mate, the Ukrainian yanked on the wheel and their Landy took a turn, deeper in the pine grove that apparently surrounded the reservoir.
They passed a rundown pump station in a small clearing, surrounded by a rusty chain link fence, its grass-covered roof now starting to sprout little saplings. Vadim only addressed it a passing glance before steering the truck further in the forest, keeping it at a slow pace lest he hit something with the undercarriage. Out of the open window, the engine’s noise was just a low purr with the occasional whine of the turbo whenever he gave a little more gas to push them past a bump in the road.
Puddles of water that had accumulated in the ruts splashed against the body, spraying mud stains on the wheel arches. All around them, the pines’ trunks rose up, a maze of ramrod straight, naturally-formed lampposts whose sap permeated the air with its sharp scent. Needles covered the ground, an orange bedding only broken up wherever there was enough of a gap in the canopy to let light through, allowing the odd green-colored blotch of ferns and moss in select places, such as the sides of the road.
In the back, Andy was twisting and turning at every sound, beak nearly squashed against the windows in an attempt to spot wildlife.
Eventually, they reached the spot Micha had planned for. The reservoir itself. On one bank, loggers had cut down an area of the forest prior to the Event, leaving behind a mix of thin rotting stumps, heath and shrubbery. Judging by the piled logs they’d passed along the path, they had left them there to dry and hadn’t had the time to collect them.
On the bank of the reservoir proper, a lone flagpole stood next to the near-sunken remains of a plastic pontoon, its tattered windsock flapping feebly in the breeze.
“And there we are… our spot.” Micha uttered, folding up her map and pointing a talon at a hunting tower.
“What we hunt?” Andy impatiently asked, half-climbing over the back of mommy’s seat.
“It’s a surprise kotka.”
	They all exited the Defender, with the two adults both grabbing their weapons on the way out. Vadim was just using the usual heavily-modified FNC – only there for defense if they actually came across some monsters-, while Micha had taken her bolt-action rifle.
Expertly, she pulled the rifle out of its sheath and inspected the action, her talons smoothly caressing the wooden stock before she slid in a .308 mag with a satisfied smirk on her beak. It then went over her back in a sling carry, safely tucked between her wings.
What followed… basically crushed Andy’s fantasies of hunting. Micha checked the wind to make sure they wouldn’t be telegraphing their scent, and then they just piled up inside the tower, with Micha’s hunting rifle propped up on its bipod.
And they waited.
It was just… so boring! She’d always imagined they’d be flying over the forest and swooping down like true masters of the sky. Not just… waiting until an animal walked over. For the first few minutes she had eagerly looked out of the tower, expecting a deer or something to pop in any minute.
Except they didn’t.
Mommy and daddy were huddled together comfortably, patiently observing their surroundings with their wings draped over each other’s back. Soon enough, she reluctantly joined them, with Micha giving her an affectionate nip with her beak.
On the bright side, the adults’ fluff was quite the cozy spot she was all too eager to profit off of as she let herself sink deeper between them whilst Micha began telling her about the ins and outs of proper hunting, pulling out a small picture of a deer and a hog.
She told the cub about how you had to keep a sharp eye out for the trails game usually followed, one of which she’d noticed crossed the open area they were looking at. Game usually kept to the same trails to avoid obstacles, so it was only a matter of time until one popped up.
Next up, scent was a big thing. You always had to make sure the wind was blowing the right way, otherwise you’d be revealing your presence to animals before they could even see you, and in their case they’d make a wide detour around their tower.
Then, Micha started telling her about how you were supposed to go for the kill. She drew a couple circles on the picture, telling her about where to aim for (the heart and lungs ideally, by aiming just behind the fore legs), and where not to aim for (as in: avoid head and gut shot at all costs). It was all very important and she stressed that game should be killed in a clean and humane way. She firmly explained that while spine shots were good at immobilizing game, they were just cruel and should be avoided whenever possible.
As for gut shots, they just spoiled the meat and forced you to wait until the wounded animal bedded down before you tracked it, a matter of hours. Not the kind of stuff you aimed for if you could help it.
“But why matter?” Andy wondered aloud, genuinely confused. “Is just animal.”
Maybe with the exception of the Everfree deer they’d been told about, but she’d never mistake them for animals. If it talks back, then it’s not food. Easy.
“You have to respect the animal Andy.” Micha explained. “They’re creatures of God like you and me, and their death makes it possible for us to survive off their flesh. They’re fantastic, beautiful creatures. A deer can effortlessly wade through any forestry where any other sentient creature would break a leg and be heard miles away from all the branches they’re breaking. What’s there not to respect in that?”
She paused for a second, quickly surveying the woods with sharp raptor eyes before turning back towards the cub.
“And when you fully appreciate the animal, when you respect it, then you won’t want it to suffer. And that is what draws the line between true hunters and mere poachers. Never forget the finality of taking a life. There is no backtracking, no excuses, so don’t take it lightly. Ever. Okay kotka?”
	Andy nodded meekly.
“Fajnie, you think on that until they show up.”
And she got plenty of time to do just that. Truth to be told, by hunting standards it was actually quite quick. Within an hour or two, they spotted a rustling in the shrubbery and Micha quietly got behind her rifle. Out of the brush, two gazelles strutted in the open field, much to Vadim’s surprise.
They were zoo escapees Micha had spotted while on recce with Aleksei. She figured they wouldn’t go far, and she’d been right. The two African animals likely wouldn’t survive the Irish winter without their caretakers, so she had no qualms about harvesting them for meat.
Still, she wondered where the bigger animals of the zoo had gone. The giraffes she knew were hanging around a park near the City Hall but they’d lost track of all the zebras and elephants.
She mentally shrugged. Maybe they’d just starved to death in their enclosures. A shame really.
The crosshairs on her scope lined up with the first one, barely swaying around the target. She had already ranged everything around the stand, so that was a… a 200-meter shot. Feasible. Her talons flicked over her scope, raising the sight to the appropriate range before she finally flicked off the safety. She threw a quick look at the windsock behind her to gauge the wind.
The gazelles stopped, grazing on a tiny bush next to a stump. She could see them in all their glory now, from their white bellies, down to the golden-brown fur, stubby tail and spirally horns. They were beautiful. Slender, elegant creatures with thin limbs.
Behind her, Andy was as still as a pointer dog that had just found a quarry.
Her first shot flew true. The crack of a gunshot shattered the silence, the stock kicked back against her shoulder, and her sharp eyes spotted a thin spray of blood when the bullet exited on the opposite side of the gazelle. Heart shot. The gazelle jumped up in the air and took off like a bullet. She wouldn’t stray far.
In a motion she’d practiced dozens of times by now, her talons cycled the bolt, a spent casing clattering on the floor of the hunting stand. She was lucky, the gazelles had been bred in captivity. The second one stood transfixed for a couple seconds – long enough for her to reload- before remembering she was supposed to run.
Micha had to give it to the animal, she was very agile. Not quite enough though, as with a sharp crack, Micha’s second shot caught her right in the spine. Her hind legs instantly fell limp and she careened into a fern bush.
She winced. That was exactly what she’d just told Andy not to do. Her wings unfurled, better finish her off quickly so she wouldn’t suffer too much. She was out of the stand and flying towards her quarry within seconds, Vadim following after her with a maneuver that, had she been less worried about her kill, she’d have found quite amusing.
The gray falcon/cougar griffon was essentially ‘towing’ Andy through the air, the cub hanging on to his tail with her talons, wings wide open. She didn’t know when the two figured they could do that, but that was definitely worthy of a photo.
Back to the hunt. She scanned the ground, quickly spotting where her heart-shot gazelle had collapsed, dead. The other was still struggling in vain in her fern, desperately pawing at the ground with her fore hooves, the scent of blood and game heavy in the air. Truth to be told, Micha didn’t know what came over to her right then. Usually she was pretty good at keeping her instincts at bay, but seeing her quarry right then…
She stooped, her bald eagle wings angling down in a shallow dive as a red haze overcame her senses. Before she knew it, she landed in a sprint next to the downed gazelle, the animal throwing her a terrified look. Griffon-Micha didn’t care, she just ran over and plunged her beak in her throat, ignorant of Vadim and Andy landing just behind her.
By the time she was fully aware again, half of the carcass had been devoured already, and she was suckling the marrow from one of the gazelle’s hind legs, utterly drenched in blood.
She blinked.
Next to her, Vadim blinked, equally as befuddled as she was.
Andy gave a mental shrug before snapping a bit of flesh off the carcass with her beak. The meat was so fresh it was still twitching, and it tasted heavenly. Better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.
“Well… that just happened...” Vadim mumbled, eyeing his blood drenched plumage distastefully.
They made up for the accidentally-devoured half gazelle later that day by adding a couple hares to their bounty, caught in a nearby glade and killed with Vadim’s assault rifle this time (.308 having… unsatisfactory results when applied to small game). They agreed not to speak of that little incident after washing off all the blood with the water jerry can they kept in the back of the truck.
As for Andy, carefree as she was about the incident, she was a bit worried at the cautious glances mommy and daddy gave the packed meat in the back of the truck. Why were they so worried? It was natural for griffons to behave like that when hunting, even if it was with mommy’s weird-boring style.
Vadim didn’t share the cub’s giddiness, his mind racing and going back to the couple paragraphs he’d read about griffon instincts in the Equestrian books. He may have scoffed when Gust warned him about it.
He was scoffing no more. Feral griffons suddenly made a lot more sense.
> Chapter 59: Celtic Diplomacy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greet, Ivan and Mikhail carefully skirted the edges of the guild hall. The entire smoldering ruin of a building looked ripped straight from a war movie, vaguely echoing pictures of London after the Blitz. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air, another symptom of the chaos that had mysteriously happened prior to their arrival.

Despite all that, she forced herself to look past all the damage and focus on anything that may tell them what happened there. She could spot some bullet holes all over the pavement of the plaza that surrounded the hall, as if someone had shot down at it, some of them next to scorch marks that looked very much like lightning had struck down. Defenders firing from the upper floors then? With a couple hedgefogs? It would make sense, the building looked viable to set up a budding colony. By the looks of it, it had been used as such, though not fully developed. She could see the remains of barricades here and there, and a row of wrecked vehicles on one side of the building.

There were also blood stains in places, including a bigger one, probably a place where someone had been left to bleed out. The corpse or casualty had been removed at some point, a crimson trail pointing them past the city’s former medieval walls, towards a castle-like building.

“Eh Greet!” Ivan called. “Found a couple things over here.”

The scarlet macaw spared a last look towards some charred sandbags before she walked over to her subordinate who was picking at some stones among the remains of what used to be the clock tower. The griffon struggled lifting a couple of them off of…

Greet jerked back. That was a corpse alright, or more of a charred husk. The smell of burnt flesh was making her queasy. At a glance it looked like a hedgefog, curled up cradling what used to be a lever-action rifle.

Apparently the parrot was the one having it the worst with the smell because neither Mikhail nor Ivan seemed overly bothered by it. Carnivores…

“Looks like a colony that was attacked, but by what then?” She wondered aloud.

“Got your answer already.” Mikhail replied automatically, the purple dragon jabbing his thumb-claw towards…

A summoning circle. Demonic. Of course. The bloody thing was partly hidden under some rubble, but it was clear as crystal that it had been the cause of the attack. Greet sighed.

Whatever it was that had popped out of the circle, it had been enough to wipe out the colony. Most likely by accident if the standards of where those things popped up were anything to go by. So what did that leave her?

Judging by the lever-action the dead hedgefog wielded, that colony hadn’t looted the police station’s weapons. So that still left them with their main objective.

And they had a blood trail, non-monstrous in origin, heading towards the castle. Or tower. It was a bit small to be a proper castle.

And no idea as to who had actually won the altercation. Was it a draw? Did the monster flee? What happened? Greet rubbed her beak in frustration, the smell of smoke, blood and burnt flesh not helping her mood. She didn’t even know if the fire had been an accident caused by the defenders (not impossible with hedgefog lightning), or if the monster was actually something that could breathe fire.

Not that she recalled any that could do that off the top of her head anyway.

“Say Artemis...” She grabbed her walkie-talkie and called the trawler. “Do we have a bestiary on board? Over.”

“Negative. Want me to ask for a .pdf  via satellite? Over.”

“Yes please.” She chirped. “And try to find anything that can set stuff on fire in there. I’m taking a look at that castle-dash-tower behind the city walls. Got a trail leading there. Over.”

“Will do, just be careful. Out.”

Careful? Greet scoffed mentally as she paused to cock the charging handle on her P90. She always was careful. It’s just that sometimes it wasn’t enough. Like with the timberwolves in Zeebrugge. Her hip throbbed in pain at the memory. 

No way she was getting a repeat of that.

As far as Londonderry went, the Guild Hall (at least what was left of it) was situated on the outer side of the old ramparts. They weren’t very high by European standards – Derry was just a small town after all-, their short size made all the more apparent by the taller buildings that had sprouted on either side of them over the years.

But at least they had kept them. Many other cities had gotten rid of their ancient fortifications for the sake of room and mass transit. Derry though? To the sailors it looked like the city council had preserved everything, down to the cannon positions and gatehouses.

If anything, the only change they had made to the defensive structure was widening the gatehouses to let cars through, which unfortunately included removing the doors. Greet’s taloned feet clicked against the pavement as she walked past and took a turn towards the ‘castle’, Ivan and Mikhail just a few steps behind. It really wasn’t much of one, probably more of a gunpowder storage, an armory or a garrison; just an old gray squarish tower with small windows, crenels and machicolations at the top.

The blood trail she was following stopped right in front of it, where they had replaced the lower floors with a modern lobby and lettering that said: ‘Tower Museum: Derry’s History’.

A local museum then. As good a use for that kind of building as she could think of. Some steel blinds blocked off the entrance, not that she needed a way in: there was a torn piece of paper duct taped right next to the entrance where she could also see some skid marks on the pavement.

“So they didn’t fall back inside the tower...” Ivan commented aloud.

“Looks to me like they fled.” Greet sniffed before snatching the piece of paper and throwing it a look.

“So what does it say?” Mikhail inquired.

“Hold on...” She raised a talon. “Let me read that aloud…



	Soph,

	You probably saw the ruins… sorry you had to see that. We got jumped by a sea serpent this evening, damn thing came out of nowhere. Lou was on watch in the tower and he tried to do his best, but the bloody thing collapsed it and caused a fire with the generators.

	I don’t think he made it. Too much fire, even if he survived the fall.

	The serpent managed to hurt Frank too. Poor guy was bleeding out on our doorstep outside the barricade and then a friggin’ ZEPPELIN came out of nowhere. With ALIENS in it. I wish I was kidding.

	Anyway, they (a pair of unicorn: a pink one with hair like toothpaste and a GREAT AND WONDERFUL SORCERESS) 

	Finn: the capital letters are important, trust us. Try to loot some ear defenders before you catch up, gonna need them.”



“They sound surprisingly laid back for a group that just lost their new home.” Mikhail interrupted.

“Shush I’m reading.” Greet squawked back. “And the letter is covered in booze anyway.



	… they jumped right off the airship and drove it away. Like, Harry Potter levels of magic and shit. The serpent is hurt, but if it’s hiding in the river we can’t risk staying. Not with the Hall in that state. So… you probably guessed it but we’re on the move.

	The Aliens (a couple Equestrians as they call themselves, plus extras) are gonna help us with that. We salvaged Lou’s truck to haul some stuff, and they’ll follow with their airship.

	Finn: Yeah I asked. The ponies are Equestrians but the non-ponies aren’t from the same country. They say they’re from the Infernal Lands. Weird name, but what can I say about a place with Gargoyles and Centaurs, right?

	We managed to get some of your stuff from the ruins, so it’s not completely desperate, but it will be hard. Now, we got some ideas about a better place in County Donegal. Try and catch up, we’re going to...”



“To…?” Mikhail trailed off inquisitively.

“I don’t know. I think that Soph girl already came by and took that part of the message.” Greet sighed, sticking the paper back on the wall. “Least that tells us they have survivors, and they’re making a new colony. Somewhere.”

“You think we’re gonna go after them?”

“We? Absoluut niet! Leave that to the locals, we’re not going to scour an entire county just looking for a colony.” Greet firmly said. “We’ll just have to tell Finnegan and Codsworth back in Belfast that there is another group on the loose in County Donegal and leave it at that.”

“That leaves the sea serpent then.”

“That it does...” Geert nodded. “And we didn’t bump into it on the way in.”

“...which means it’s upstream of us.” The dragon completed.

“Let’s warn Artemis. We’d better be ready for when it turns up.” Greet said, a grin creeping up on her beak.

Ivan stared wide-eyed at her superior.

“Zachekay – err, hold on I mean. You’re not worried?”

“With two .50 cals? And a grenade launcher?” Greet scoffed.

“Oh… sushi tonight?”

“For you catbird, I use the vegetarian menu, remember?”





Aleksei cast a wide look over all the safety measures they had levied to secure the Giant’s Ring.

The CV90 had been moved into position atop the berm at the edge of the crater, its engine shut down. For now, the IFV was immobile, but she knew Sri and Artyom were inside, respectively as Gunner and Commander, ready to act if anything threatened the venue. From time to time, she could even see the commander’s periscope move a bit, probably when the Russian threw a glance at what the thermal optics were showing.

Less obvious but no less dangerous were the two machine gun nests they had hidden on opposite ends of the circle, both camouflaged underneath some nets and bushes. An extra precaution as a well-hidden backup. They fully expected anything that showed up to be too focused on the big Swedish IFV to realize there was more to the defensive perimeter than met the eye.

Beside her, a Pegasus landed with a soft thud.

“They coming?” She asked, not turning away from the monolith that occupied the center of the crater.

“Eeyup.” The Equestrian nodded firmly. “Spotted them leaving the city hall. Two piranhas, as planned.”

“Good… good.” She muttered under her breath.

It turned out that her ‘Golden Band of Speechcraft’ made it easier to convince the colony leaders than she’d expected. Much easier. It didn’t seem to force them into agreeing with her, but it did seem like it had made the two of them much more receptive to her ideas and far less entrenched in their positions. She was even surprised by the fact Codsworth had met her with Father Smith, and the hedgefog hadn’t even objected to the pagan nature of her solution.

The caveat to the artifact being that using it even once felt like she had shifted back and forth between hippogriff and seapony forms half a dozen times. Plus she’d also tried using it on other occasions for more petty stuff… and then it just didn’t work, instead sending her vibes of disapproval. Aleksei had an inkling of an idea Epona hadn’t told her every little detail about the bracelet.

She still didn’t take it off. The Celtic goddess didn’t strike her as untrustworthy, so if people could live with Chinese listening devices on their person she could live with one tied to a fertility goddess.

Eventually, her ears flicked as they finally caught the loud thrumming of the Piranha’s engines on either side of her. Good, the drivers were keeping to the plan. There were two ‘accesses’ on opposite sides of the crater where the berm at its lip sloped down enough to let a vehicle through. Both Piranhas picked one, backing up against the entrances before they finally lowered their rear ramps.

Codsworth was the first to emerge. The constable was still wearing his uniform, but he had left his weapons behind as had been agreed upon. She could see he had made some efforts to be more ‘presentable’ by brushing his mane and tail, but it was clear his colony’s limitations didn’t allow him to turn up with a fresh set of clothes and proper grooming.

At first he looked confident enough, but he faltered the moment his eyes landed on the magical vortex that rose up from the passage tomb. Seeing that, Aleksei stretched out her wings and flew over. She’d best assuage his worries before he chickened out.

“Good morning constable.” She greeted him. “I take it if you’re here, then our security team is keeping an eye on your companions in Carrickfergus?”

“Ah… Yes, they are. Thank you Miss Klavins...”

She winced internally at the ‘miss’. Don’t dwell on it, you got a quest to sort that particular issue out later anyway.

“I’m just...” He continued.

“Don’t worry about the vortex. I went through and back once, it’s safe.” She put her talons on his shoulder to reassure him.

“I’m just afraid. You said it’s a Celtic goddess, so won’t she completely side with...” He jerked his head towards the opposite side of the crater. “Him?”

Finnegan had just exited his own Piranha. The IRA sniper had come dressed for the event, his camouflage fatigues replaced by a black-cotton-trousers-and-white-shirt combo above which he was wearing a more militaristic bottle green jacket. Judging by how well it fit the dragon as he strode towards them, he had the seamstress in his colony help with the suit (Miss Hawkins if she recalled? They were scheduled to pick her up as passenger when they left). She could see the extra touches here and there: some fittings to better adapt to his wings, the revamped combat boots and their glossy black leather, and the heightened collar that framed his longer-than-human neck.

Contrarily to Codsworth, he was also groomed to near perfection. His scales shone in the sunlight like miniature emeralds, a clear change from how he usually dulled them with soot to better blend in.

And of course he’d respected the rule about no weapons.

“I must remind you constable: you are a unicorn, and Epona is a mare. The conclusion may not actually be as foregone as you think it is, just remember to play your cards right.” She patted him on the back. “Come now, best not keep a goddess waiting.”

Aleksei ushered the pony over to the magic vortex, soon joined by Finnegan near the passage tomb. She greeted him with a nod.

“Well, here we are gentlemen.” The Latvian said. “Hopefully this will lead to a solution that’s favorable to all survivors in the Belfast area.”

“It sure will. Eire deserves this peace.” Finnegan grinned.

Without further ado, the dragon strode over to the vortex and passed through to the Otherworld. She saw him disappear as soon as his claws touched the white magic that raged around the passage tomb. Codsworth was a bit more hesitant, but he did go through as well once she gave him an encouraging smile. His own form faded away seconds later.

“You’re not going?” Radiant questioned, landing behind her.

“Why would I? I’m not Irish, why would they need input from someone that was born on the other side of the continent?” She explained. “Epona only asked me to bring them to her, not to manage the negotiations. Leave meddling to politicians.”

“Oh… that makes sense then...” The gray pegasus blinked. “What now?”

“Now...” Aleksei settled down on her haunches and pulled out a book from under her coveralls. “We wait.”





Following the discovery of what happened to the Guild Hall, Greet’s little team had made their way back to the ship and swapped Mikhail for Artemis and Marta, if only so that the dragon (their best fighter) would keep an eye on the ship with Diethelm in case the sea serpent decided to show up.

After that they had finally made their way towards their actual goal, which was the Strand Road Police station, just a few minutes’ walk away from the quays.

“That’s a police station?” Ivan squawked out incredulously, the Ukrainian griffon not believing her eyes.

A dark gray stone wall some two or three meters tall surrounded the entire station, and if that wasn’t enough it was then topped by a chain link fence –two extra meters in height- which was also topped by a row of razor wire. Adding to that, the wall was positively bristling with CCTV cameras in all places; along the wall, on masts, watching the gates. She couldn’t find a point in the security perimeter that wasn’t watched by at least two cameras.

	What kind of seriously fucked criminality justified that level of fortifications outside of the Middle East, she had no idea of.

More than just the perimeter, were the gates blocking access to the police station’s compound. There was a recessed part in the rampart, with twice the surveillance cameras and a complete army-style checkpoint setup. A hulking black sliding gate barred the entrance, protected by multiple bulletproof-glass screens for officers to take cover behind, anti-ramming ramps, and enough spotlights to open a tanning salon.

“You know… seeing that, I kind of understand why some would call Britain a police state.” Artemis mused aloud.

“Yeah… don’t see that kind of shit in Vlissingen or Groningen, I can tell ya.” Greet shook her head ruefully. “Regardless, how do we get the door open?”

“You know we can fly now, right?” Ivan deadpanned.

“You try and fly back out carrying a loaded gun crate, I’ll watch.” She snarked right back. “Arte….” She stopped. “...Mis?”

The tall minotaur cow had confidently made her way over to the gate. She pressed an open palm against the smooth dark metal, feeling its cool texture past the fur that covered her hand. Now… she’d managed it once. She just had to replicate it, in practice now.

Minotaur strength boost.

She closed her eyes and slowed her breath to focus. It was as she had mentioned to her brother: minotaurs were already strong, but they could channel magic into their muscles to go even beyond that point. She’d tried it once in Belfast, on an old, dilapidated Scania truck she’d found in a shed in the repair yard. An eight-wheeler flatbed, about as heavy in tons as it had wheels.

Might as well have been heavy as a feather with the boost.

She found the trickle of power inside her. Mentally, she wrapped her fingers around it and pulled.

From an outside perspective, her whole body became wrapped in a white-blue aura. Underneath her white and black spotted fur, her muscles rippled and bulged, stretching the fabric of her coveralls to its limits. She opened her eyes, now two shining orbs of power.

Artemis pulled back her arm.

She hit the door. Once. An open-palmed strike.

The air rang with the sound of a thunderclap, and the entire team watched the metal ripple as the impact spread out in a shockwave. They heard the groaning of strained steel before, with a crack, the stones that held the gate upright crumbled. Slowly, as if in slow motion, the now loose gate tilted back before hitting the ground with an eardrum shattering ‘clang!’.

Greet’s beak nearly hit the floor, Ivan mimicking the gesture half a second later.

“Godver… what the Hell was that?!” She finally managed to ask.

“Minotaur strength boost...” Artemis replied. She flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulder after the energy dissipated, her muscles slowly returning back to their original size. “I was a bit worried at first, but the magic also improves my durability so that I can withstand the impacts.”

“Gee, and here I thought you got the short end of the stick.” Greet gave a little kick at the now-destroyed door.

Bad idea. She winced when the prehensile talons in her foot sent a tremor of pain running up her leg.

“Eh, I’m only beginning to train that stuff. Don’t underestimate us minotaurs.” Artemis smiled. “Now… the armory?” She jerked her head towards the station proper.

There were a couple buildings inside the compound like a little shed and a gatehouse, but their little size was overshadowed by the main building, a titanic office building of dull red bricks that was surrounded by a couple of the PSNI’s armored riot-control Land Rovers, along with the cars of whatever officers had been on duty at the time of the Event.

Greet suspected the set of garage doors she spotted at the bottom of the building would lead them to the motor pool and maybe even where they parked all impounded vehicles, but they instead settled for walking over to the grimy glass doors of the station’s lobby, with Artemis acting the role of an ever-helpful skeleton key whenever a door refused to open.

Funny thing really: in most cases where the door was reinforced or made of metal, the hinges or even the wall around the door were more likely to yield to the minotaur’s strength than the door itself. Marta took the lead inside the lobby, managing to locate a floor plan of the building and pointing them towards a staircase that led to the cellars. As expected, the place where the armory had been built.

Marta led them down, the hedgefog plucking one of her quills and lighting it up with the blue crackle of her own lightning magic to serve as a makeshift flashlight. The crisp white painted halls with their squeaky floors and dust-covered furniture soon traded place with concrete prefab with apparent piping, cobwebs that were starting to cover the ceiling, and the pale faint glow of evacuation lights. Dust rose up in the air as they made their way down the stairs, past the locker rooms, past the garages where they could see a couple patrol Vauxhalls ready to be taken out into the streets, and down inside the most secure parts of the police station. Its armory.

Artemis made short work of the grill door barring the way, its magnetic locks far from enough to halt the minotaur in her march towards the weapons hidden inside.

They didn’t have much trouble getting the guns. With any door in the way being more of a nuisance than an actual obstacle, they soon found themselves breaking open the weapon lockers and unloading their contents in military crates they found in a nearby workshop. Glock 17’s were the first thing they took, the typical polymer police-grade pistol. Joining that pile afterwards were some Remington 870 shotguns, G36 rifles and even a couple old G3 and L1A1 battle rifles (for the stopping power 7.62 rounds provided). Marta even found grenade-launchers.

Granted, they were just the shoulder-fired M79 thumper stuff meant to fire tear gas and rubber balls at rioters, but Greet was more or less certain the weapons could accept the same ammunition they used in underbarrel M203 launchers. Which meant high explosive and frag rounds.

“That all?” Ivan wiped some sweat that was clogging up the feathers on her forehead after pulling yet another crate back in the hallway.

“Weapons? Yes.” Greet confirmed. “That leaves… Armor, I think. Could you go check out their locker room to get some? Plus some K9 armor if you can find any. It’s always useful for ponies.”

“Will do boss...” Ivan puffed. “Mind if I take a breather?”

“You go ahead girl.” Greet jabbed a thumb-claw towards a door the Ukrainian hadn’t noticed yet. “I’ll be checking the evidence room with Marta. You got any trouble, Artemis is loading up a trailer in the garage.”

“A trailer? I mean… it works but can’t we just hotwire a car?”

“You know how to?”

“I- I mean… NO!” She sputtered, only for her superior to give her a cheeky grin.

“Kidding. Go ahead if you feel like it, but I’m not sure how their batteries fared after being left in the garage so long. Plus it’s just a short walk back to the quays. Artemis can pull the trailer.”

And with that the scarlet macaw rounded on her feet and disappeared past the evidence room’s door.





“C’mon lil’ snake… I’m just a tasty snack completely unaware of the danger...” Mikhail muttered under his breath.

Except that was kind of a lie. The purple dragon was lying in ambush with his back to a building on the quays, a .50 cal in front of him and his gun in his lap, a grenade already loaded in the underbarrel launcher.

Now he just had to wait.

“You know, calling it won’t make it come any faster.” Diethelm slowly mumbled next to him.

“Wha- you talkin’ Ukrainian now?”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you were sayin’ you know.” The German appaloosa unicorn said.

“Okay… so maybe that was a bit obvious.” The dragon acknowledged. “But still… we’ve been waitin’ here...”

“Dreißig minuten. Thirty minutes.” Diethelm filled in. “Got a problem with that?”

“The serpent? Nah. It’s just I could really use a nap right now, and I can’t do that as long as it lives. So… COME OUT AND FIGHT YOU DUMB PUDDLE SNAKE!” He stood up yelling, claws around his maw.

“Puddle snake? Original, much?” His companion gave him an unimpressed look.

“Aw shut it.” Mikhail sat back down. “Just tryin’ to move away from the f-word. Keepin’ it fresh and original, ya know?”

“Well, I rate it 3/10.” Diethelm snorted.

“Only a three? C’mon, like you got any better in store. English ain’t very original with insults.”

The pony quirked an eyebrow at that before standing up.

“C’ME HERE YOU WATERLOGGED SCALY DILDO, WE AIN’T GOT ALL DAY!” He sat back down. “So?”

“4.5...” The dragon made a so-so gesture with his claw/hand. “But I like the dildo analogy, got some potential. By the way, chamber a round.” He said, motioning towards the pony’s C8 carbine.

“I got a round in the chamber.” He protested.

“Bet?”

“Bet what?”

“One hull cleanin’ of the trawler when we get back.”

“For a bullet in the chamber?”

“Sounds like you’re not very confident. Chicken?” The dragon snarked.

“I ain’t no chicken.” The unicorn bristled.

“If you’re no chicken, you’ll rack that handle.” Mikhail tauntingly poked the unicorn in the snout with his claw. “So?”

“Deal.” He scowled defiantly, igniting his horn with magic.

The rifle came off his back, right between the two of them. He pulled the cocking handle once.

No bullet came out.

“I so fucking hate you...” Diethelm sighed, letting himself fall down on his belly.

Before the dragon could come up with a witty remark to flaunt in his face, both heard a growling noise coming from where they’d moored the trawler, followed by the waters of the River Foyle churning.

“’bout damn time...” Mikhail rolled his eyes, leveling his grenade launcher at the threat.

To be fair, the message left behind at the tower was correct in saying that the Equestrians had injured the sea serpent. Mikhail could quite clearly see the patch of charred and broken scale just below its jaws.

The serpent itself looked – at least in his profane eyes- like a mix between an anaconda on steroids and a Chinese dragon. It towered above them, easily as tall as a three-story building when it rose up on its tail, and with a body about a meter wide at most, covered in aquamarine blue scales with a white underbelly.

Its head sported a mane that looked like seaweed, swept backwards, its texture and color just like that of its whiskers, one of which had been burned off by the Equestrian’s spells.

Mikhail also took note of the two arms the monster was gifted with, their size worthy of a T-Rex’s, each ending in four-fingered webbed claws.

Its head swung around for a second, scanning the ground and briefly examining the new arrival in its territory in the form of the trawler, white milky eyes cautiously surveying the ship. That caution soon turned into pure fury as soon as it spotted the two sailors.

The serpent roared, opening its maw wide to reveal rows upon rows of serrated teeth, spittle flying in all directions, some even landing on them. Mikhail distastefully wiped off the goop, silently thanking the monster for offering him such a nice shot.

He let the shot on his M203 fly, feeling the kick of the underslung launcher bump against his shoulder as the telltale ‘thump’  was heard. Unfortunately, he may have misjudged his drop a little because instead of flying right into the waiting mouth, the grenade impacted it at the shoulder. Not that it lessened the effect by much, because the shrapnel ripped right past its thin scales and dug deep in its flesh.

Mikhail weathered the explosion effortlessly, with Diethelm taking shelter from the blast just behind the dragon.

“Not enough.” He ground out, dropping the rifle – the M203 now empty- to take control of the .50 cal. The shrapnel had gouged a large hole in the sea serpent, but it still stood tall, one of its tiny arms rendered useless.

His claws depressed the butterfly trigger, and the machine gun began to sing its deadly anthem, a loud booming staccato that made his lungs shake every time a round was sent downrange. By his side, he also took note of the noticeably quieter 5.56 fire courtesy of Diethelm’s carbine.

Mikhail was no fool. He had studied the Equestrian Bestiary, and he damn well knew how tough these creatures could be.

However it was a bit odd to see it behaving like that. Their entry specified sea serpents should be intelligent, talking creatures. With demonic influence though, all bets were off.

And the sigil on the side of the serpent’s mouth was more than enough proof for that.

.50 cal rounds were more than enough to blow through the scales, each ripping small holes in the flesh and tearing through the tough muscles of the creature that. Just. Would. Not. DIE! 10 rounds, 20, 30, 40, he dumped half the belt downrange and still it would not fall.

It wasn’t until the gun clicked empty that he stopped, glaring at the monster rising out of the river’s waters. There was blood all over the quays and in the river, a dark red slick that flowed from the myriad of open wounds the bullets had torn in the monster’s front and back, fist-sized holes, some with bone shards emerging out of them.

The serpent’s gaze crossed his, and in an instant he swore he saw a flicker of intelligence in them as the pupils broke through the savage milky surface before once more being swallowed up by savage fury. And he saw pain, sorrow, a sentient creature reduced to a mere beast by whatever torture had been committed upon it. Then, slowly, it crumpled on the quays, still alive, but broken beyond repair, wheezing in pain.

“Svyata maty, probach mene...” He muttered in his native tongue.

Solemnly, he grabbed a fresh belt of ammo he had piled behind him, watching the dying creature stare at them as life fled its body.

“Mikhail?”

“It must be finished off...” The dragon scowled.

He swore he could see the monster’s eyes fixate on the still-smoking barrel as he took the time to line up the last shot with its forehead.

The .50 cal rang one last time.

The white milky eyes were vacant.





It was only after three hours of wait that Codsworth and Finnegan finally emerged out of the vortex in a flash of light. The dragon and the pony stood there for a couple seconds, a little dazed, before they made their way over to Aleksei.

She herself decided it was time to cut short the ‘lesson’ she was giving Radiant on all the sensors and digital tech they used to monitor Amandine’s machinery. She tucked the tablet she’d been using under one wing before standing up calmly and wiping some of the grass stains on the underside of her coveralls.

“So how did it go?” She asked them.

“It went… well.” Finnegan frowned. “The Morrigan and the Dagda were there. The solution isn’t exactly what ah wanted, but it’s somethin’ ah can settle with in the fo’seeable future.”

“Which is?” She prodded.

“Britain and Ireland are no more.” Codsworth told her. “Epona and the other Gods made that clear. We are far too small as colonies to lay claim in the name of, or maintain allegiances to countries that no longer exist. Instead… we’ve established rules. Rules that will work for any colonies founded within the borders of the Celtic Nations.”

“All colonies are considered separate, fully sovereign entities.” Finnegan continued. “Any feud or conflict can and will be taken to the nearest passage tomb or access to the Otherworld, so that the Gods may act as neutral arbiters, and record keepers.”

“That’s… great I guess? A bit vague. Did you agree on anything concrete?”

“We did.” Codsworth nodded.

The unicorn pulled out a rolled-up scroll from under his uniform.

“This here map marks the borders of our two colonies, as well as the first clauses of agreement between us. Finnegan is to provide guards and patrols in Carrickfergus, while we shall provide fishing, freshwater, and, most importantly, power, from Kilroot.”

“Among other things. We didn’t go very far in so little time, but the system can be expanded upon anytime we feel necessary by visitin’ the Otherworld.” Finnegan said, crossing his arms over his chest. “For instance neither o’ us laid claim on O’Connell’s farm. For one, it’s too far, and for second the guy might actually wish to go to Epona and declare himself his own colony.”

Aleksei glanced alternatively between the two. She could see neither was entirely happy with the outcome, but it looked like they would stick with the agreement.

“So… no risk of either of you going to war against the other?”

“Ne’er.” Finnegan swore, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Epona was very clear on that and made us swear an oath on it. Any declared, legitimate colony within the Celtic Nations will be met with divine punishment should they dare go to war against their brethren. Now ah don’t know ‘bout you, but if a Goddess that ah can see in the flesh makes me swear on her name, ah ain’t tempted to go back on me words.”

“Likewise.” Codsworth snorted. “This… is a weird fate for Ireland. Not as a united country anymore, but as a confederation of settlements.”

“This is a weird time to live in for the world as a whole. Get in line.” Aleksei threw him an unimpressed look. “Still, you should focus on what’s at hand. As long as you both keep your end of the deal, then everything should work out, right?”

“Yeah… right.” Codsworth sighed. “Still, I wish we didn’t have to resort to paganism to get to that… Feels like regressing.”

“You think what you want of it.” Finnegan snorted. “Least o’ all we won’t be killin' each other in the future. If preventing death needs me to soil St Patrick’s memory, then let it be so. There’s one God ah can’t see, and another dozen that ah just did. Pretty simple if you ask me.” He then turned towards Aleksei. “We might need some technical expertise though, for a couple of things.”

“Which we will provide. Just state the stuff, and I’ll tell it to the Captain.” Aleksei sighed, pulling out a notebook.

“Okay, so here it is...”





There was a noticeable layer of dust in the air the moment Greet and Marta stepped inside the evidence room, each particle highlighted by their lights as they swept the shelves. And there were a lot of them. Rows upon rows of shelving units lined up one after another until they disappeared in the murky darkness beyond her light’s reach, each and every one of them covered with manila envelopes, zipper bags and cardboard boxes of all sizes and makes.

Greet’s talons scraped against the bleached cinder blocks that made up the walls, flicking a switch just by the door. The neons above her remained dark.

Worth a shot.

The room was silent, save for the sound of the two’s footsteps as they headed deeper inside, eyeing the contents of the shelves. Greet could see a couple interesting things here and there: stolen electronics, stack of counterfeited cash, lost bicycles, drugs. And mold. A lot of mold, dark fungus gnawing at the foundations of the building. Left on its own it was highly likely it would keep weakening the structure until it made it collapse in the coming months or years.

A minute later they found the confiscated weapons. A lot of them, likely snatched from the hands of various IRA cells all over the county. Marta pointed at a couple smuggled kalashnikovs, a crate of old rusty Lee Enfields and Webleys, all probably very interesting if only for their ruggedness, but lacking the non-NATO ammo with them to be of much use. Except for one Marta picked up in curiosity.

An oddity. It was an old bolt-action rifle, scoped, and with a bright yellowish wood for its stock. The stamps along the barrel sparked their curiosity, because it sported writings both in Kanji and Latin script pointing towards the Royal Navy’s reserve corps, and the ammo boxes they found with it pointed to it coming from Japan, of all places. Moreso if the ammo was any tell then it came from pre-WW1 Japan.

Marta decided to keep it. A nice hunting rifle to add to Rhine’s arsenal. If Amandine could have a Sako to hunt gazelles then they could have that…

Arisaka was it?

Greet was about to tell Marta they’d explored enough and should go back to the garage with Artemis when she felt something. A soft pull, comparable to what she’d felt when she first saw the Congo Sword, only more pleasant. She put down the Nagant revolver she’d been inspecting and moved on, deeper in the room. Her flashlight highlighted something golden, protected behind some translucent plastic sheets that hung from the ceiling.

She pushed them aside, in passing catching a mouthful of cobwebs as the house spiders skittered away on their tiny spindly legs. The scarlet macaw let out an irritated squawk.

That squawk, however, died down once she got a look at what the plastic screens were hiding. The art theft section, and extras. Framed paintings, statues, engravings, all of them stashed there waiting for their rightful owners to be found. The magic she could feel was actually coming from a couple cardboard boxes deeper inside.

“Dank u wel meneer Sinterklaas… Marta get over here I found something.” She grinned widely, hefting up a gilded golden shield from which she could feel magic radiate, its rubies casting a faint red glow around it.

She’d just found the Celtic collection, and it was loaded with artefacts. Cloak buckles, brooches, miscellaneous jewelry, chalices, all of them apparently retrieved when the PSNI arrested a couple burglars after a heist in an archaeological museum. She even found a shortsword in the lot, its nature as an artefact evident when she pulled it out of its scabbard and the pure-iron blade gleamed with an orange-hued light.

It was even a bit odd really, because she knew the thing should look older than that, yet it was pristine, as if the magic in the air had knitted it back together to the state it had been when its smith put the pommel in place – a bead of amber in this case-.

Greet inspected the tag hanging from the scabbard. It read: ‘Chieftain Sword, Dùn Duchathair, County Galway, est. 4-5 century AD’.

	She twirled the blade in her talons and grinned.
> Chapter 60: Who's Luna?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the skies above Brittany, the sun was rising. Rockhoof watched the pinkish cottony clouds drift by above the castle from the confines of the kitchen, one bowl of porridge tucked between his hoof and his chest.

A bowl for him that is. To anypony normal-sized it was more of a salad dish.

In the courtyard, he could see Meadow examining the contents of a vegetable-filled cart. Their first ‘harvest’ of the season taken straight from her gardens, thanks in no small part to their Earth-pony magic helping things along. Normally the fields outside the castle should follow after a couple more weeks. They were a bit slower to grow the further they were from the castle, what with being less influenced by their magic.

“So how are you going to make them last the winter, dear?” He asked her in French.

“I’m just going to can them I think. That might take a while, but we got help alright?” She smiled, nodding her head towards Martin.

She had to give it to the little fawn currently eating his breakfast behind Rock, he sure was full of energy. Even the day prior he had stuck along with Meadow to help her harvest all those vegetables, and his help alone probably made the whole thing twice as fast, the young deer zipping back and forth between the plants and the cart so fast he was basically a blur.

Cute as it was to see him scarf down his porridge (quite messily as a matter of fact), Rock still was a bit… well, not so much worried as concerned by the mark the White Stag had left on the fawn. And who wouldn’t really? The creature was the closest to King Bramble of Thicket (the long-lived leader of all Deer that lived in the Everfree) there was in the area, and as far as he understood its mark painted Martin as his successor.

At least that’s the way he understood it. So much for letting the kid have an actual childhood…

His train of thought was brought to a halt when Meadowbrook waved a hoof in front of his muzzle.

“Thinking again?” She smiled.

“Sorry honey.” His ears stuck to his head and he scratched his ginger beard with the tip of his hoof. “There’s just so much in play, I’m trying to see how it’s going to unfold. So much for simplicity...”

“Almost feels like a curse don’t you think?” She chuckled.

“And you find it funny?”

“Maybe?” The mare nuzzled him. “Or maybe it’s just a bit of cynicism and me getting kooky from the pregnancy.”

“What, already?” He nuzzled her back. “Celestia help my soul, if it’s getting to you so soon I’m terrified at how it’s going to be when you’re all swollen up and stuck inside this winter.”

“Oh shush!” She playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You’re a big stallion, deal with it. Anyway, you know where...”

“Where’s Star? Eeyup...” He jerked his head towards the other side of the courtyard, right where there was a lone octogonal tower rising above the corner of the rampart with its pointy roof. “He’s officially our court mage now, so I gave him that tower for… you know, his lab. Wizards love towers. Been stuck in there for a while casting wards and enchanting the place with the stuff he got from Morgane.”

And they sure had felt it when he did. Not only did the ghost wizard drop a powerful lodestone covered in runes in the middle of the courtyard as the main array for the wards, but now even the tower’s walls were covered in the magical sigils.

The first time he’d turned on the runes felt like chewing on copper wire – something which thankfully didn’t last more than a minute-. The lodestone had started glowing like a second sun before firing up a dome-shaped shield around the castle and the outbuildings.

That, according to the wizard, was the emergency ‘siege’ shield. Starswirl said it was a more practical re-imagination of a spell invented by Celestia’s last Captain of the Guard before she abdicated. He didn’t keep it on at all times though, instead switching to more ‘common’ anti-scrying and anti-teleportation (among other things) ward arrays when Rock asked him to tone it down a bit. Apparently Star had even added an early warning system keyed to him so the Earth Pony would know if a monster or any ill-willed creature ever got close to the castle.

He didn’t tell him what he was doing inside though. So beyond the obvious plane of existence he was near-certain the wizard had put in there (because why else would he ask Morgane for instructions?), he had no idea what was going on in that tower.

Not that he worried about it. Starswirl was past the time where he’d get into hazardous and potentially volatile experiments. At least Rock assumed he was.

Regardless of whether or not the mage was being reckless like a Sparkle, his musings were brought to a grinding halt when he heard the clopping of hooves coming down the stairs behind him. He turned around to come face to face with Miles. The purple mare yawned, stopping in the doorway to rub her eyes sleepily.

“Mornin’...” She mumbled, distractedly scratching her ear with a wing as she trotted over to the open fire.

Incidentally that simple act lifted enough of her UCP poncho to reveal the thundercloud mark on her rump. A weather Pegasus then? That was something Rock could value quite a lot in a colony, particularly with the amount of fields he had already planted.

“Morning lieutenant.” Rock replied, easily switching from French to English for the American. “I trust you slept well?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “The beds ‘round here sure beat those at the academy. Eh, sorry, but is there any coffee?”

“No, but we got some chicory on the top shelf if you want.” Meadow piped in, jabbing a hoof towards the back of the kitchen. “Where’s Emeric?”

“In his room.” She supplied. “Writing. We had a chat yesterday, and he had a bit of an idea to get some running water and electricity in the pipes. Nothing you should trouble yourself about though.” She added as an afterthought.

Saying that she paused as she came in front of the cupboards… which were actually deceptively tall for a little quadruped pony. As a human she could just have reached up with her arms and reached the jar just fine…

But now? She grumbled loudly, pulled a drawer open and used it to climb on top of the counter before propping herself up even higher on the cupboards using her forehooves. And…

	‘Well, what now?’ She grumpily thought. Her muzzle was in front of the yellow plastic jar of instant chicory yet it wasn’t like she had any free limbs to take it.

“Use your wings.” Meadowbrook supplied when she saw the mare struggle with her new anatomy. “Pegasi can use their primaries to grab stuff.”

“Oh...” Miles turned her head towards her back to look at the appendages with newfound interest. “Really?”

“Well only as long as you’re not using them to fly, but don’t ask us, we’re not really expert ourselves.” She smiled. “Earth pony, you know. We use our mouth.”

Miles hopped off the counter with the jar tucked between two primaries – an odd sensation if she ever had any, like having an extra large hand growing out of her back- and walked over to the open fire to toss a log in and rekindle the dying embers.

“Your mouth? Isn’t that...” She hesitated. “Un-hygienic? No offense.”

“None taken.” Rock shrugged. “We get that all the time from creatures that have hands. Most ponies are fine with that and, really, it’s intended to. You can pick stuff up with your hooves if you want, but your mouth is always more dexterous. You’ve never tried?”

“I… sorry but that feels a bit weird.” She lifted a hoof to stare at its frog. “Emeric and I… we haven’t really had the time to familiarize ourselves with those bodies. Hell, I’m still in shock whenever I use the toilet, so I’m not up to the point where I’d use my mouth to handle stuff yet. Wouldn’t I get sick from that?”

“Not really no.” Meadow shook her head. “Ponies have been doing that for millennia where we’re from and we rarely if ever get sick from it. You’ll get used to it in no time, believe me.”

“I think I’ll stick to the wings, but thanks anyway.” Miles winced.

Though if how hard it was to lift a pot of water to hang it over the fire was anything to tell, she may not have a choice in the matter. So much for being a civilized man…

Mare. Her mind corrected. Might also be why lifting stuff was that much harder, in addition to just being so damn small.

“So what’s happening today anyway? More farming?”

“We need to build up the stores for this winter.” Rock confirmed with a nod. “But I’m also waiting for Star-”

“Merlin.” Miles corrected before serving herself a bowl of hot porridge.

Figuring out how to eat cleanly was a bit weird, but she managed it by holding the bowl in her forehooves and using a wooden spoon tucked between her wing’s primaries.

“Same pony, different names.” He huffed. “Anyway, I’m waiting for the wizard to get out of his tower so we can finally go and visit that hmm… Lady of the Lake I think he said? It’s about an artifact apparently.”

Miles almost spilled her breakfast at the remark.

“He wants EXCALIBUR?!” She exclaimed.

Martin perked up the moment he heard the last word in her sentence. The little fawn rushed over to them with a fanboyish smile.

“Are you talking about King Arthur miss?” He asked in French.

“En quelque sorte, petit.”Miles sighed before she turned her head towards Rock and Meadow. “Excalibur is one of the most legendary swords in human culture.”She explained.“According to legends, it was given to King Arthur of Britain by the Lady of the Lake in exchange for a boon. Its sheer power helped him unite the Britons under his rule and form a lasting kingdom. At the end of the story however, he’s wounded and asks one of his servants to throw the sword back in the lake.”

“So it’s powerful?”

“It’s the best!” Martin blurted out.

“As he said.” Miles shrugged, ruffling the fawn’s fur between his antlers with a wing. “Nobody knows for sure what it does though, too much conflicting tales about it. Only that it’s really powerful, if not physically, then symbolically.”

“It’s both, trust me on that.” Merlin popped in behind her, this time in equine form.

	For what it was worth, there was no use hiding his equine nature from humans anymore. At least for now it didn’t seem to hurt his reputation with them. Even Martin didn’t seem to mind seeing him as a ghostly Starswirl the Bearded.

“So you do intend to get it.” Meadow stated.

“That is correct.” He nodded. “And I’ll try to merge it with the Golden Tree. That should give it a boost and tie it with the Elements. Exactly the kind of power needed to fight the demons.”

“Fine then.” Rockhoof stood up. “We doing this today?”

“Preferably, yes.”

“I’m coming then.” Miles abruptly said.

“Really? What for?” Starswirl quirked an eyebrow. “I mean… it’s fine if you do, but I’d rather have you military ponies stay here and watch the castle while we’re gone. Plus Vivian’s domain is most likely guarded by the same type of piast that tried to make a snack out of you. Are you sure you want to come along?”

Rockhoof raised his hoof before she could respond.

“I’ll go further on my friend’s concerns, lady. Right here you were having a hard time just reaching for a jar and lifting a pot. I’m all fine and willing to let you come along, but if it’s going to be dangerous I need you to be in fighting shape. Can you do that? Can you go there with us knowing you might get a repeat of what happened a few days prior with the piast?”

“Won’t happen again.” Miles scowled. “And we found weapons in the castle by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, there was this gun locker in the wine cellar. It’s not military grade, but me and Emeric found some lever-action hunting rifles in there. It’s not military-grade, but judging by the caliber it packs a lot more punch than regular 5.56 service rifles.” She told them between two spoonfuls of her breakfast.

Saying that she lifted her head up from her bowl, only to find blank faces staring at her.

“Modern weapons then?” Meadowbrook awkwardly smiled.

“Yes...” Miles winced. “Modern weapons. So?”

“Fine, you may come.” Rock relented. “Just make sure Emeric stays here to guard the place. I know there are wards, but on principle alone I want someone on guard duty.”

“That’s a deal.” The Pegasus mare beamed before a whistle told her her chicory coffee was ready.





What followed the accords between the two colonies in Belfast genuinely made Aleksei feel as if things were speeding up. It was as if she’d barely got the time to blink before the Captains ordered a couple technicians to be dispatched to either colonies to help them develop properly.

Not to do the work themselves of course. They were only supposed to teach them how to go about things. Basic welding, how to operate and maintain the infrastructure they had been left with. It seemed like at any moment of the day you’d find a sailor giving a briefing in either Carrickfergus or Belfast proper. The former in particular was important because that colony was needed to provide water and electricity to the whole region. They needed to be able to operate Kilroot’s power station.

On the bright side, said station supposedly could keep running a couple months at a slow burn, long enough for the fleet to cycle around and bring back some coal for trading, and that was without accounting for the fuel bunkers also present on site.

Come to think of it, as far as Aleksei knew Schmitt was basically done with the fuel reconditioner, so maybe they could sell them one and make Carrickfergus a fuel hotspot? Granted their own model wasn’t small by any stretch of imagination (the result only just managing to fit on the trailer of a 40-ton lorry), but it was meant to process large, maritime-scale volumes of spoiled fuel.

If anything, the only real problem with the system so far was that it produced fairly large amounts of slop water and mud, and that it could only process diesel and HFO.

As for water and sewage, the colonies had decided not to rely on underground piping. With as few inhabitants as they were around Belfast’s Lough, maintaining and running all the infrastucture was far too manpower intensive (‘man’ being such an antiquated term these days). Instead, they retrofitted a couple trucks in the confines of Amandine’s vehicle bay. Water tankers fitted with pumps and basic purification systems would ferry water from the reservoirs up in the hills to the colonies, and a sewage truck would evacuate waste from the colonies’ septic tanks to an agreed-upon water treatment plant in a town halfway between Carrickfergus and Belfast.

Whiteabbey if memory served, it was one of the first agreed-upon conditions the leaders had signed in the Otherworld with Epona.

Admittedly, Scarface wasn’t entirely happy with having to retrofit additional vehicles. The gargoyle had already spent the better part of a week working on O’Connell’s vehicles, but Aleksei had to remind him it was either working on vehicles, or crafting new engine parts in the shoreside workshop.

Said workshop was working overtime at the moment. All damaged plates and beams had already been removed from Fugro’s hull, so now the offshore support vessel was just laying in dock with her flanks open, waiting for her engine to be reinserted through the side. They had replaced her damaged shaft and stern thruster already though, so progress was being made.

The engine was the only thing holding back the repairs, and that was due to the intricate engineering found in Fugro’s Rolls Royce made propulsion scheme. Most of the man-hours they sank in shop time went to machining tiny components, sensors, and all sorts of delicate machinery at this point. Hull plates and beams? Those had been ready for a while now, piled up in a corner of the hangar next to pallets of paint cans and antifouling.

That even included the hull plates they’d need to fix Amandine, mind.

Too bad they couldn’t weld them in place if they wanted to be able to put Fugro’s engine back.

As for O’Connell, the isolated farmer had made good on his end of the bargain. The same day they gave him his vehicles back, their own team came back with a load of live chickens that were supposed to fill two coops that now occupied Amandine’s main deck (as per request from the kitchen staff), as well as a couple slaughtered heads of cattle. Two cows and half a dozen sheep were thus shared between the three ships. Quite the large supply, particularly considered it was supplemented by the spoils of Micha’s hunt.

And with a sizable portion of the fleet being on a vegetarian diet, all that meat might last them longer than expected.

One day later, the two trawlers they’d dispatched finally came back under a drizzly sky. Ted’s team had actually managed to fill up their boat’s hold with fish (a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one), further adding to their growing food supply. At this rate, the only way for them to ever go hungry in the coming months would be a collective freezer breakdown across the entire fleet.

But frozen fish was a trifle in comparison to the cargo Greet and Artemis unloaded off their own trawler. Fugro’s crewmembers would now have weapons of their own, and Captain Skinner immediately moved on to planning some training for that. Nobody tried to stop him, since them being armed would mean Rhine and Amandine’s crews would get some relief from guard duty.

As for the extras… to say Dilip was elated at the news of more artifacts would have been quite the understatement.

“Alright, what did you find?” Dilip asked, arms crossed.

They were safely installed inside Amandine’s armory, with the crates containing the Celtic artifacts piled up in the middle of the room. Except for Bart and Artyom who seemed to be working on a project of sorts, Greet was alone with the Captain, the dog examining the loot with a critical look.

“Well sir…” She started, glancing down at a clipboard that held the cargo manifest. “All you’ll find in those crates is magical in nature, though most of it I have yet to figure out how precisely. But I can say I have one conclusion about artifacts already.” She stated, flipping the manifest over to show him a couple pictures. “These were in the same box I found this all in.”

He threw a glance at the picture. To him it looked like the same kind of picture cops would take whenever they seized something, except… all the items in the pics looked old. They were rusty, covered in patina, chipped, or even outright damaged.

The Diamond Dog’s eyes flicked towards the Celtic shortsword his Fourth Officer had taken to wearing on her hip. It was pristine, as if bought straight from a blacksmith at a medieval fair.

“They’re self-repairing?”

“I believe they are. To an extent. This calls for a demonstration.” She turned towards Bart and Artyom. “Oi Bart, mag ik een hamer? Gooi maar.”

Her unicorn subordinate tossed her a hammer which she deftly caught, twirling it in her talons before she turned back towards the Captain.

“Observe.”

Pulling her sword from its scabbard, she brought the hammer down on it. Hard. As expected, its head hit the blade sideways and bent it out of shape. But then, the whole sword shone with a faint aura, and much to the pariah dog’s surprise, the blade straightened back to its original shape.

The only hint that it ever happened was the amber bead embedded in the pommel. Its glow was slightly dimmer than before.

“Any damage an artifact sustains, it can repair so long as it can draw magic from its surroundings. In the case of mine it’s rather practical since it’s not actually made out of steel.” The scarlet macaw stated, slowly sheathing the sword. “I tested it on a couple items in there. Works for all of them. So… I believe the same goes for your own sword, even though it’s nowhere near as ancient.”

Dilip’s digits drifted towards his belt. Recently he had taken to wearing the Congo Sword more often because he spent so much time touring the docks to inspect workstations. Most sailors were a bit… unnerved, by the evil aura the sword gave off. He was used to it by now.

And now that he thought about it he never had to do anything to maintain it. No oiling the blade, no cleaning the scabbard, nothing.

“That’s an interesting property…” The Indian muttered, looking off in the distance. “You think we can replicate it?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.” Greet shook her head. “I’m still trying to catalog what all these artifacts can do. I mostly know what my sword can do since I tried it out before we set out from Derry… but the rest isn’t going to be as easy.”

“And what can it do if I may ask? Just so I know what mine can. I’ve yet to unsheathe it in anger.”

“Well...” The parrot rubbed the back of her neck.





She was back next to the smoldering ruins of the Guild Hall. They had already loaded everything they needed on board of the trawler, and now they were just waiting for her to come aboard.
Not yet though…
Greet pulled out her newest acquisition from its scabbard. The fading lights of the sunset made its orange aura even more perceptible, oddly enough making it look as if the sword was made from the same amber as the bead in its pommel.
She turned the blade slightly, only then noticing the tiny runes that had been engraved on both sides. She could see a Celtic Triskelion at the base, but the rest of the runes she could not recognize.
“Hey Greet, we’re running late and I wanna be out of here before it gets dark if you don’t mind.” Artemis interrupted her observations, the minotaur cow looking at her expectantly with her hands on her hips.
“Sure, hold on a sec...” She replied.
That sword was just begging to be used. She could feel the thrumming power that radiated from it, ready to be released at a moment’s notice. So she did the exact same thing she’d do to turn her arms into wings.
She ‘pulled’ on it with her mind.
Her sword ignited, suddenly completely encapsulated in writhing flames that hugged the blade.
Greet smirked and turned towards where the sea serpent’s mangled carcass had fallen.
She took a swing. The flames around the blade lanced out like a whip, whistling through the air before hitting the dead monster’s flesh with a sharp ‘thwack’, effortlessly cutting through the hard scales with a sizzle. 
The flames faded as soon as she released her mental grip on the sword.





“And that’s about it sir. It’s a fire whip sword, as far as I tried.”

“And you say to do that you...”

“It’s finicky.” She crossed her arms over her chest and clicked her beak. “I had to mentally grasp around the sword to activate it’s magic, same as us parrots do to turn our arms into wings. Don’t know how it would work out with yours, sir.”

“I’ll look into it when I can spare the time, but thank you for the advice.” He replied. “As for the artifacts, keep the crates in the armory until you can catalog which are safe and which aren’t. We’ll figure out which of those we can sell to the HPI later...” He trailed off.
Greet watched the Diamond Dog stop, as if something had just now dawned on him. His ears flicked a couple times, and then he slapped himself on the muzzle with an annoyed groan.
“Something the matter, sir?”
“Yes, yes something’s wrong.” He growled. “We forgot to plan for an armory on Fugro.”
She blinked.
“Oh…”





Inside of Rhine’s synthesis lab, two sailors were gathered around a centrifuge, a centaur and a hippogriff. The white machine with a plastic dome-shaped casing whirred for a couple more seconds before the red LED on its display finally turned green with a little ‘ting’.

“So, that’s it?” Asha tentatively said. “It’s ready?”

“Normally, yes. That last step should have activated all the ingredients in the potion.” Camille confirmed, the hippogriff propped up with her forelimbs on the counter. “So… shall we open it?”

She hesitated, her talon hovering above the button that would release the latch and reveal the vials inside. They had dumped so many ingredients from their hydroponics into that project, and now that last step would reveal whether or not the potion was viable. The lower mandible of her beak trembled in anticipation.

Weeks of reviewing the brewing process and adapting it to modern lab equipment. Weeks of letting the plants reach full maturity in the hydroponics and telling wounded sailors like Carlos and Boris they needed to wait.

And now she was going to see whether or not that wall all for naught. She closed her eyes and pressed the button. The lid popped open.

Camille cracked an eye open.

Air escaped her beak’s nostrils in a relieved trill.

The little plastic vials attached to the rotor inside the centrifuge each glowed faintly, marking the brewing process as successful. Three quarters of the batch was just their own version of the first-aid variant of health potions – and they were successful, with a nice pinkish glow to the vials-, but what mattered was the bigger healthcare-grade vials. There were just a couple of them, since they lacked the ingredients to make more, but they all emitted a rich golden glow, as if the vials were filled with magic honey.

She picked one up, carefully evaluating the consistency.

“So what do you think Asha?” Camille mused.

“Looks good ma’am.” The centaur nodded. “Seems like the whole batch was a success.”

“Yeah… the whole four vials.” Camille grumbled.

“It’s the Poison Joke’s fault. I swear I used every trick in the book to make it grow faster, I promise, but it just grows too slowly.” Asha said. “But maybe...”

“Maybe what?”

“There are two species that are ahem… ‘gifted’ with alchemical skills last I checked.” The centaur said, making quotations marks with her fingers. “We aren’t, so any potion we make will be less powerful and forces us to use more potent ingredients. Ingredients like the Poison Joke that, in turn, grow fairly slowly. If we could just find one zebrican or a deer, then I could switch out the Poison Joke in favor of an ingredient that grows faster, even though it isn’t as powerful. Like some Faustian Orchid.”

“Worth a shot… though I have no clue as to where we might find one that would even be trained in basic lab safety and chemistry. I mean… look at yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your nationality Asha. No offense, but if someone asked me I’d have assumed African people in general would have turned into zebricans. At least some of them. Yet we got Congolese and Liberians on this ship, and the result was centaurs, abyssinians, and even a sphinx.” She listed off on her talons. “So which nationality is supposed to turn into zebras, I have no idea.”

“Well, maybe that’s because I’m from Matadi and there are no zebras in Liberia.” She tapped a red-skinned finger against her chin. “As far as I know, all zebras in Congo live in the Katanga province in the south, so maybe zebricans would share a similar geographic range? I’m not sure. Either way, it’s pretty far inland so I don’t think we have high chances to find one...”

“And to make matters worse we have yet to meet one deer.” Camille sighed. “Guess we’re stuck with the Poison Joke recipe for now. Okay, I’ll take two vials to Amandine so they can fix up their wounded, tidy up the lab somewhat and bring the other two to the med bay for storage, okay?”

“Of course. And… ma’am?”

“Yes Asha?”

“The priest in Carrickfergus?”

“I haven’t forgotten about him if that’s what you’re saying. But those potions were hard to acquire to begin with, so I’ll have to… leave it to the Captain to decide.”

“She won’t agree.”

“I’d be surprised if she did, indeed.” Camille reluctantly acknowledged. “Father Smith’s life is in no danger after all. He’s just… crippled for life with a bad leg and a damaged nervous system that gives him tremors.” The hippogriff pinched her own beak. “Putain, je déteste ce genre de situations.”

“You do know I can speak French, right?” Asha said.

“Well, now I do.”





“That’s actually a pretty decent infirmary.” Lilian said.

Lilian, as in the pink dragon that served as Fugro’s shipboard doctor. With her own ship (and by extension her own medical ward) in dry-dock, Vadim had decided to invite her on Amandine just so she could help him treat the ship’s wounded.

Yeah, because Vadim wasn’t too enthused about sticking a needle in his shipmate’s eye, regardless of whether or not it was supposed to repair all the damaged tissue in there. As he repeatedly told everyone: he was not an actual doctor, just an Officer who somehow wound up with an ever-increasing list of medical skills.

As for the infirmary, it sure had changed ever since Amandine reappeared in May. Even in their first port of call in Zeebrugge he had started adding equipment to the formerly simple room. It had started with added beds, more scanning equipment, basic chemistry stuff (as he had soon found how to make aspirin, the process being actually rather simple), and even an ever-growing medical library.

The latter occupied a significant portion of the room, around his desk, ranging from veterinarian books he had looted from a nearby library, to medical textbooks and encyclopedias, miscellaneous notes on how to use all the equipment he had crammed in there and, most importantly, all his shared notes and research on post-Event species.

“Took a while to get to that point.” Vadim told the dragon.

He moved over to the corner of the room where he’d put a safe for the ‘sensitive’ stuff, quickly typing the code on the keypad.

“Camille dropped this off earlier.” He said, pulling out a foam form holding a handful of shiny vials. The new health potions.

“Yeah, she said her cadet was done getting the ingredients. Didn’t know she’d be so quick in making them.”

“Well, there sure is a need for them.” The griffon replied, taking a vial of healthcare-variant between his talons to examine the golden liquid inside. “I got two patients who could really use that, but I’m not sure I’m skilled enough to do it. One needs the potions delivered via intraosseous infusion to his scapula and I’ve never done that. The other… well, I think I can do it but I could use your advice before I dig in.”

And she was all too happy to provide some. They had two wounded waiting for healthcare-grade potions: Carlos, with his blinded eye from the Gothenburg incident; and Boris, who still had a broken scapula from being shot.

By his own mate. Griffon pair-bonding was such a weird thing.

Carlos and Danny were the first to come in, followed a minute later by Boris, the Russian being helped inside by Anton.

That made Vadim pause in thought at the sight, a vial of xilocaine clutched in his talons. The pair was mated alright, only an idiot wouldn’t see how close they stayed to each other, the intertwined tails and the furtive glances either kept throwing towards the other. But them being mated wasn’t really much of a problem.

That they worked on different ships was. The only reason Anton was on Amandine in the first place was because she’d promised she’d take care of him while he was injured. And as soon as Lilian gave him his intraosseousshot of potion, that excuse would be gone.

Vadim didn’t think he could go long without seeing Micha, so why should he expect the two newly-mated griffons to do any better?

With those thoughts swirling in his head, he moved on towards the bed where Carlos had laid down. The sulfur-crested cockatoo had already taken off his eyepatch, revealing the blind eye beneath it in all its milky-white glory.

“Impatient to get your eye back?” He asked, casually.

“You don’t say. The pirate look is cool, but I’d rather have my depth perception back.” Carlos squawked back. “So...”

“Not gonna be easy, no.” Vadim shook his head as he pushed a stool over to his bedside. “Think you can stay calm as I jab a needle in your eye?”

The edges of Carlos’ beak creased with a wince and he threw Danny a look, the golden parakeet holding his claw for comfort.

“Not like there is an alternative eh?” He chuckled awkwardly. “Can I at least get a painkiller?”

“That’s an anesthetic.” Vadim replied, hefting up his xylocaine. “Injected via needle, sorry.”

This wasn’t actually as hard as Carlos made it out to be. With Danny holding his hand for comfort on the opposite side of the bed, he barely even felt the needle enter his eyeball and deliver the anesthetic. By the time Vadim prepped the second, more important vial of healthcare-grade potion, he could only feel numbness on that side of his face.

Vadim finally got to see the potion working its magic as soon as he released the golden fluid inside his shipmate’s body. Even before he removed his syringe’s needle, the tissue started glowing and knitting itself back together properly. Damaged nerve endings, blinded eye and all the scar tissue slowly disappeared over the course of a few minutes. He could even see the first hints of new down feathers grow around his eye as soon as the skin was healthy again.

He also took note of the secondary effect behind the variant of the potion. It needed so much energy it sapped patients of their strength. Carlos fell asleep not long after the glow of the potion faded away, exhausted by its effects.

Behind him, the same thing happened to Boris, though his injection turned out to be quite a bit more painful than Carlos’. At least both should be fine now. Carlos still technically had an injured arm, but his eyesight would be alright.

“Okay...” Vadim tossed the used needle in a disposal basket and glanced alternatively between Danny and Anton. “They’re probably going to be hungry when they wake up. Make sure they eat as much as they need to and stay hydrated. If they feel any strain where their injuries used to be, then let Boris rest or have Carlos put his eyepatch back on. And if there is any prolonged drowsiness or exhaustion, you come right back, understood?”

He waited until he was sure both fully understood what to look for before he finally left the infirmary. He needed to talk to the Captains. Both Gerig and Prateek that is. That ‘mated griffons’ issue needed to be solved before it actually became a problem.





Meanwhile in Sandra’s cabin, the batpony was just finished with setting up the new evening playlists for WSU radio. She wanted to make sure there was a measure of variety in the music, whilst still keeping to classics that wouldn’t turn away potential listeners. So far her plan was to create themed playlists she’d play during evenings, and a main playlist that would fill the downtime between broadcasts during the day.

That seemed to work. At least the handful of listeners she was in active contact with didn’t seem to mind overly much. Hell, her Wednesday Country playlist was done with the advice of that DJ Grizzly guy in Montana.

The only thing she regretted was that since the radio was supposed to be international, she was kind of forced to stick to English songs and refuse suggestions that didn’t match that criteria. Maybe if she put them in a novelty playlist, once a week?

Regardless, her other computer pinged before she had the time to decide on that specific topic. That meant a certain algorithm she’d set up to decode the messages in the radio log was done. About damn time too, it had been weeks already since Aleksei had handed over the files to her.

The purple batpony swiveled her chair to face the PC and used her wingtip to click on the file. Apparently the algorithm had managed to sort out the frequencies into multiple messages layered over each other.

She clicked on the first one.

Bad idea. That must have been the noise made by the magic wave because the thrumming that reverberated through her headset almost made her black out from the sheer pain it inflicted on her sensitive ears. She filed it as just that and was about to move on to the next when she was interrupted by a knock on her door.

She checked the time. Nope. Still too early for her date with Johann.

“It’s open.” She called loudly.

“Hey there Sandra.” Aleksei poked her head through the door. “You alright there? I heard you cry out like a second ago.”

“No worries, just a little sound fuckup.” Sandra winced as she took off her headset. “By the way, I’m done with the radio log, miss ‘priestess of Epona’.”

“Priestess now? I recall pretty damn clearly I specified I would not be her priestess, so unless she went back on her words I’m not.”

“Oh shush...” Sandra rolled her eyes. “I’m just teasing you ‘cause my ears are still ringing. Aren’t you happy the work is done?”

“Well yeah. I am.” The Latvian said. “So what did you find?”

“Beyond pure painful noise?” She rubbed her aching ear with a hoof. “My algorithm found something else. Wanna listen?”

“Sure, just play it.”

She clicked on the second file she had obtained. Her screen filled up with the image of a traffic cone before starting to replay the file. For the first few seconds they didn’t hear anything and she even turned up the volume somewhat, but then they caught some static.

Beside her, Aleksei leaned in closer to the screen.

“… are you sure this is the right thing Luna?” A regal feminine voice said, barely audible above what they assumed to be a maelstrom of magic.

“We have no choice sister…” Another voice, younger but seemingly more… rigid? Said. “They would all die otherwise. It MUST be done. You know what will happen if we don’t do anything. Humans don’t deserve that fate.”

“They won’t like it. They’ll hate us even.” The first voice uttered slowly. “Sister… we’re basically destroying their entire civilization.”

“The alternative is much worse. They will rebuild, they will live on, just… in a different manner.”

“I’m still not sure...”

“Sister, we need you, we need the power of the sun to help in this endeavor. This is bigger than anything any creature has ever tried to accomplish. You’re the last one we need to make it possible. We don’t have much time left.”

“But should we… Luna, they have a right to know what we did to them.”

“And we will tell them. On our terms. I went ahead, Sunset is ready to go as soon as the spell array is cast, but if don’t do it NOW this will all be for naught. Please… just step in the runic circle.” The second voice insisted. “Countless mages and academies the world over dumped their resources into this, the entire microcosm of immortals await in their own runic circles, ready to cast. To save a race they may not ever see with their own eyes, on a planet they’ll never visit. You’re the last piece on the board that needs to move. I know it’s hard sister, but I beg of you, just help us cast the spell, then we’ll make sure Sunset tells them the truth so they may judge us fairly.”

There was a pause, and the maelstrom in the background built up in pitch. Aleksei could practically feel the urgency in the words of that ‘Luna’.

A clopping sound rang out above the background noise, much like the one ponies did when they stomped their hooves.

“I’ll do it Luna. Let’s save humanity.”

She thought she heard that ‘sister’ walk over to Luna. Then whatever they may have said became unintelligible because of the noise. It sounded like they had actually cast their spell.

A clicking sound signaled the end of the audio file, but Aleksei didn’t notice.

“We gotta tell the Captain.”
> Chapter 61: Party Time
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was it for Fugro. She was fixed. Hours earlier, they had seen the engineering crews take the freshly manufactured parts out of the workshop and over to the damaged vessel. The process was lengthy, but before the day was done the new engine had been fitted, all parts replaced, and the hole in the hull they’d used to remove the engine in the first place was patched up and painted over. It had only taken the welding teams half a day before they handed the job over to a team to paint the hull with a new coat of antifouling.

Barring a few electronics and sensors, she was as ready to set out as a ship could get, and that included turning some of her lower compartments into a proper armory and ammo stowage, now that they actually remembered to do it.

To Dilip this meant one thing: Amandine would get her turn in drydock within a day or two. Add a week’s worth of fixing up her hull to that, and they’d be out of Belfast and at sea sailing towards America at long last.

“So tell me Edgar, what does your crew think of the solution they wound up with for Ireland?” The Indian dog asked the Scot on the other side of his desk. “Just... surveying the opinions in the fleet mind, while we wait for Raimund. You’ve got Brits and Irishmen on your crew, after all.”

For a second Fugro’s Captain stood still, gathering his thoughts with a mug of tea in one hand (not that he was much of a fan himself, Dilip just tended to offer some to all visitors).

“They’re... underwhelmed I think? Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that a peaceful solution was found, but nobody actually ‘won’. Except Epona and the rest of the Celtic Pantheon, I guess? And even then I’m not sure how that will play out in the long run.”

“Sounds to me like she offered a nice outcome.” Dilip mused. “I mean, it’s their ancestral pantheon, right?”

“Maybe a bit too ancestral Dilip.” The hedgefog made a face. “Saint Patrick is a big thing on this island, and even though these guys don’t seem to overtly mind rejecting Christianism as long as they get peace – and I really wish I could hear what that priest in Carrickfergus thinks about the outcome- what is there to guarantee that future returnees and colonies elsewhere on the island will think the same way? I mean... Christ, Lilian won’t tell it outright but I can literally see the smoke escaping her nostrils whenever someone mentions it.”

“Ah yes... your medic?”

“Yeah, she’s a Dubliner.” Skinner explained. “She’s reliable. Ex-army medic, worked with ISAF backing up EOD teams in Afghanistan. Makes it all the more of a pity when I have to tell her to settle down.”

“That bad uh?”

“Only in private. We have a bit of a policy to keep our own discourses internal. Looks more professional. But she ain’t happy. If anything it’s good because she’s the only one that’s truly unhappy about it, of all the Irish and Brits on board. We sort of have an agreement.”

“Which is?”

“That it’s no use debating whether or not they should have allegiances to either the UK or Ireland when the Event wiped the slate clean anyway.” He took a sip of his tea. “It’s more about rebuilding from scratch, and we can all agree that a third-party deity will work well to settle matters between settlements, pun intended.”

“Not very secular though.” Dilip pointed out.

“Could be worse, though I wish we knew more about Epona’s actual agenda.” Skinner shrugged before he downed the rest of his tea. “Anyway, what’s the matter today? Problems lodging your crew when Amandine’s drydocked?”

“Nah, I can count on Raimund for that, she’s got a couple accommodation containers stowed on Rhine. It’s all there in the papers. What we’re here for is something my radio operator just found... and a crew

transfer order but that’s beside the point.”

“A crew transfer that’s got my attention Dilip.” They suddenly heard Raimund say, the pink filly making her way inside of the office, having just opened the door with her telekinesis. “What’s the matter with that?” She asked, plopping down in one of the seats next to his desk.

“Remember Anton? There might be a problem with her.” Dilip started. “She... ahem...” He coughed. “Paired with the crewmember she was there to take care of.”

“And how’s that a problem?” The pink filly quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like just a fling to me.”

“Forgot the particularity with griffons, have you?” Edgar chuckled.

Funnily enough as he said that one could see some tiny electric arcs run down the length of the hedgefog’s quills.

“Okay, fine. Then Edgar, care to tell me the one detail I forgot about the one race among... hold on... the other two dozen I already have to remember?” She drawled, throwing Fugro’s Captain a mildly annoyed look.

Now, in her previous body, the drawl with a german accent might have worked. As a tiny pink filly unicorn with baby blue eyes? It was more of a cute gimmick.

“Pair bonding is what you forgot. And apparently according to his Third Officer...” He jabbed a thumb towards Dilip. “It’s stronger than ye think. As in... probably shouldn’t separate them stronger.”

“’Probably shouldn’t separate them’?” She repeated sarcastically, making air quotes with her hooves. “The hell is that about?”

“It’s mostly an assumption, but Edgar is right. I want to nip that problem in the bud before it can become one, and if possible without alienating these two. Show the griffons in the fleet we’re eager to do stuff that goes with their interests.” Dilip asserted as diplomatically as he could.

“And let’s admit I agree. What’s your suggestion? ‘cause I’m all willing to transfer Anton over to your crew, but that leaves me one sailor short in my engineering department.”

“I’m not exactly bursting with spares you know. Lest you forgot, of us three, your crew is by far the largest.” Dilip said, calmly pouring himself a fresh cup of tea.

He made a point of ignoring the gnaw marks on his spoon. Diamond Dog or not, he’d better get rid of that newfound habit of chewing on cutlery. Maybe he should start keeping a jewelry stash like the dragons, that might settle the mineral part of his diet. Or just use drill bits as if they were cigarettes.

“The American.” Skinner then decided to pipe in.

“What American?”

“The one in Carrickfergus we’re supposed to take as passenger, the mechanic that is.” The Scot said, turning towards Dilip. “I read the report on it yesterday, or did you really forget that soon?”

“I have a lot on my mind, that’s true. He wants passage to America like the seamstress that’s with Finnegan, right? I remember I put it off for now. I sent a message that we’d get them across for sure, but it’s no use bringing them aboard for now while we’re still in dry-dock. What of that guy?”

“He’s a mechanic.” Edgar said. “Not the exact skill set you need Raimund, but maybe you could bring him aboard and coax him into joining?”

“You want me to blackmail him into my crew.” She stared at him flatly.

“Heavens no! How’d that get into yer head lassie?!” He exclaimed. “Be ethical about it, have a chat with
the lad, convince him the right way. I’m not asking you to fookin’ press-gang him.”

“Alright alright...” She raised a hoof to placate him. “Let’s try that. I’ll fill in the transfer order for Anton tomorrow. Still...” She raised her eyes towards the ceiling. “That little detail does pose a big problem with griffons, and it might only get worse in the long run. You really sure they can’t be separated?”

“Can’t tell.” Dilip shrugged. “We may have books on the subjects, but they’re rather laconic on that specific topic. We’re going in blind, and I don’t think we’ll actually figure a way out of it until much later. I’m just erring on the safe side, for all we know we might not be able to sail in a convoy in the future.”

“Gee, how helpful.” Raimund said sardonically.

“That’s advice gladly given, Lorelei.” The Diamond Dog winked at her.

“Lore-what now?” Edgar blinked.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Just a little nickname I caught her subordinates using.”

“Ain’t that a song from Scorpions?”

“It is.” Raimund sighed. “It’s also a landmark where I’m from along a bend of the Rhine. Don’t know how they found it, but it was my callsign when I was in the sea scouts.”

“Cute.” Dilip chuckled. “In my opinion it’s a better fit than Raimund. Gerig isn’t outwardly shocking as a last name, but there’s a bit of charm to ‘Captain Lorelei, siren of the Rhineland’ don’t you think?”

“Says Captain Raj.” She grumbled.

“Come again?” The dog tilted his head sideways.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you haven’t heard it. We all have a nickname our crewmen say when we have our back turned.” She rolled her eyes. “I listen to the grapevine you know. In your case? Buddy you’re so Briticized for an Indian they’ve taken to call you after the British Raj.”

“I’m not Briticized.” Dilip calmly said, taking a sip of his tea.

The two other Captains just gave him a flat look. A guy from Mumbai, living most of the time in Aberdeen, not speaking Engrish and drinking tea daily? Yeah, good luck pretending the contrary.

Before either Raimund or Edgar could come up with a retort to the Indian’s protest, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Sandra poked her head in, the little batpony giving them an awkward, fang-revealing smile.

“Ah, good to see you Miss Jensen, we were waiting for you.” Dilip politely smiled. “I heard you were finished deciphering our radio log.”

“Aye sir.” She nodded, shuffling inside the office, followed a few steps behind by a more confident but not any less concerned-looking Aleksei. “And I cobbled together an algorithm to make it a bit easier on us in the future. But...”

“There’s some concerning stuff you should know.” Aleksei said.

“About the demons?” Edgar quirked an eyebrow, idly fiddling with one of his quills.

“I wish it were that simple, Captain.” The Third Engineer said. “Before we get to it, I have Radiant waiting in the hallway. He knows a little more about what we’re about to disc-”

“Send him in, and please take a seat.” Dilip motioned with his paw, a frown marring his muzzle. “Is it that concerning?”

“Quite.” Aleksei nodded. “Do you remember how Doctor Sidereal heavily implied she wasn’t told the truth about the Event?”

“I do.” Dilip nodded.

“Well here’s the thing: we have a hint as to what may have actually happened. At least I think we do.” Sandra jumped in, opening her wing to reveal her smartphone.

With a quick show of wing dexterity, she laid it down on Dilip’s desk and hit a button that replayed the audio file she’d obtained. As soon as the file stopped playing, Dilip sank back in his seat, a pensive look on his features, before he turned his head ever so slightly in Radiant’s direction.

The Equestrian pegasus shrank a little under the Diamond Dog’s piercing gaze.

“So who did we just hear?”

“Former Crown Princesses of Equestria Luna and Celestia. They used to rule Equestria before they handed over the reins to Celestia’s prized student, Princess Twilight.” He explained. “The two single most powerful ponies in all of Equestria.”

“Really?”

“Celestia and Luna are alicorns, Captain. The most powerful type of pony, and immortal too. They’d been ruling for over a thousand years prior to abdicating.” Radiant took a breath. “Captain, you have to understand. They’re so powerful they literally control the motion of the sun and the moon around my home planet, and ponies regularly swear on them like they’re goddesses. I know I do.”

“And they released a powerful spell at the exact moment the Event occurred...” Dilip mumbled. “Did they cause the Event?”

“They haven’t, that much we’re certain.” Sandra asserted. “I have a second audio file with the frequencies of the magic wave that has swept the planet. I compared it to the background static, and it’s a match on the harmonics. What they did is something else.”

“Which apparently saved us all from dying at a great cost.” Edgar said. “Cadet Radiant, do you know who this... Sunset may be that they referred to?”

“I do not, sir.” The grey pegasus shook his head. “It could be anypony, but not so high-profile that any random Equestrian who have heard of her... him... I don’t even know.”

“This does explain one thing though.” This time it was Lorelei’s turn to speak up, all creatures in the room turning to look at the pink filly as she straightened up in her seat. “Why they wouldn’t tell regular relief teams like Sidereal’s what actually happened. They know it would anger most survivors, so they decided to only give the intel to one carefully selected colony that wouldn’t turn on them when they told the truth. And, going by what the Abyssinian royalty told us, that colony is Alexandria.”

“Which makes it all the more logical to head to Egypt once we’re done in America.” Dilip nodded. “Sir, what do you mean by ‘done in America’?” Aleksei questioned.

“Good question Klavins.” The Diamond Dog smiled, standing up and walking over to the window where he stared off towards the open ocean in the distance, beyond the harbor and Belfast’s lough. “What I mean by that is the Americas as a whole, not just the United States. We do need to deliver the cargo to Savannah, but we also need to survey the colonies we bought intel on from the HPI, Cuba, Mexico, Quebec, even Brazil. As soon as we’re done with that, expect us to head for the Mediterranean and get to the bottom of this.”





Miles was concerned. She always considered herself to be a rather keen observer. Even when she was young, her father had always done his best to encourage that aspect of her personality. The large bear of a guy kept pointing out the little details wherever they went hiking. And by wherever, she meant it. From North Dakota to California, no national park was spared, and always her dad had stories to share and tips about the nature to give her. He loved nature like that.

In fact, she was pretty sure even as a kid she could notice the longing in the man’s eyes. He used to serve in the Army’s Corps of Engineers up until his career took him elsewhere in a more secluded office job. But he still was an outdoors man, and that torch sure as Hell had been passed over to Miles.

So it came to no surprise that she’d notice some of the oddities that happened around Broceliande. Granted, it was no North American forest, but some points were still valid.

For one there were a lot more animals in there than normal. And they were... odd. Hard as it was to spot them before they disappeared in the foliage, she could still see that the squirrels were just a little bit bigger than they should, that the rabbits had more prominent ears, or that the deer had some sort of green, faintly glowing vine pattern beneath their fur – they didn’t look sick or hurt though-. Broceliande was having an effect on the wildlife, as if it was... amplifying it? Yes, amplifying.

The second thing she noted was the sheer growth rate of the forest. It didn’t seem too obvious around the castle because of Merlin’s wards keeping the forest at bay, but once they went past them and neared what used to be the outskirts of the forest, it was abundantly clear. All the magic in the air was making the forest grow at a blistering rate. Bushes and saplings had already reclaimed most of the fields and meadows closest to the forest, turning the former French bocage in a maze of shrubbery and thick vegetation Rockhoof had to repeatedly slice through with his shovel.

She’d read that Broceliande used to cover the entire peninsula of Brittany at some point in the past. At this rate and with so little civilization to contest it, it would reach that point in no time at all. Soon, all the roads and villages and farms so painstakingly built prior to the Event would be overturned by the spreading roots, covered and swallowed up under layers upon layers of vines, leaves and young trees. As if the towns in the area weren’t rundown enough. If people didn’t start reappearing in droves soon the entire region might slip back into the medieval age.

They’d just passed Paimpont minutes ago, the village that was supposed to be at the center of the forest. And it was like a scene ripped straight from post-apocalyptic art: vines creeping up the walls, cracked asphalt from where saplings were already sprouting here and there, reclaiming the little stone and wood houses that made up the village, with a herd of deer grazing between the deteriorating houses.

In front of her, Rockhoof grunted as he uprooted yet another sapling as if it were nothing.

Compared to her, the stallion was downright massive, a hulking wall of rippling muscles barely hidden

underneath a coat of sky-blue fur that wasn’t too unpleasant-look- Bad thought. She shook her head firmly, a very equine snort escaping her nostrils in frustration.

Damn those hormones for playing against her better senses.

He was already taken anyway.

“Gosh-darn-it brain, stop make me attracted to stallions!” she internally screamed to herself.

She tried to focus her attention on something else. Like... the shrubbery. Those nettles sure looked interesting.

“Excuse me lady Miles?”

Thank-fucking-god, a distraction! It was Merlin, the wizard trailing behind her in his equine form. “Yes, what’s the matter?” she replied with a polite smile, shaking her head slightly to get her mane out of her eyes.

She might need a rubber band for that later on.

“I’m rather curious about your weapon.” he asked, pointing a hoof at the rifle she carried in a sling attached to her backpack.

Normally it was only supposed to be the standard MOLLE daypack. Now? With her new size it was more akin to a fully-fledged rucksack. At least the chest and hip straps made it possible for a quadruped to use it half-comfortably. It didn’t even hinder her wings too much, though it tangled a bit in her poncho at times.

As for her rifle, it was... a bit primitive to be fair. It was just a simple scoped lever-action with the ever-classic bullet holder attached to its wood stock. Stylish, certainly powerful (the bloody thing spat .45-70), but also a bit of an antique.

In all honesty? She damn well knew she’d better brace right and not rely on her wings to take the recoil when she dared to pull the trigger, otherwise Merlin would have to put out some serious healing spells.

“It’s a basic weapon in this day and age, really. The design is more than a century old.” She fanned out her wings in an approximation of a shrug.

“But how does it work?” Merlin pressed on. “I mean no offense really, but Equestria is nowhere nearly as advanced as humans in terms of personal weapons, single shot breech loaders are at the apex of our technology. We rely a bit too much on magic for that.”

“Gee Star, never thought you of all ponies would ever admit to it. Been listening to Earth Pony activists, have you?” Rock chimed in with a little chuckle.

“They do have a point, though they could use a little bit more tact in how they say it. Us using magic all the time does seem to hinder the engineering research.”

“So you admit we’re using it as a crutch at times?”

“All species use crutches.” The wizard replied. “It just impacts us in different manners across Equus. I mean... look at minotaurs, they’re so strong they barely ever use machinery yet their engineering skills still surpass ours in certain areas. That’s what makes human civilization so fascinating: they have no such crutch to use, so in a way they tell me how far we could be if we didn’t have magic. Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked... about your gun, miss Miles?”

“’fraid the gun will have to wait for when we’re back at the castle, friend.” Rock interrupted, parting the bushes in front of them with a forehoof. “Because we’re here.”

Miles gaped at the sight. Beyond the edge of the forest, was a lake that made her think she’d just stepped into a fairy tale (and yes, she was aware Merlin the bloody Enchanter was literally in hoof’s reach).

Ahead of them, a little grass-covered slope gently led down to the shore, almost reaching inside the lake as if it were its own miniature peninsula. Cattails marked the border between the realm of land and that of water, their brown sausage-shaped heads gently swaying in the same wind that rustled her wing feathers. Without even noticing it, she spread them up slightly to let the breeze flow over her primaries, a gentle caress that brought the lake’s muddy smell with it, yet cool enough to assuage the heat she had built up hiking through all that forestry.

As for the lake itself...

Maybe it was because the morning was still relatively young, maybe it was the magic she could feel in the air, but thin fog banks roiled over the mirror-like surface of the water, completely unperturbed.

There weren’t any insects causing ripples in the water, no fish to catch them, not even a single mallard or a heron nesting in the reeds.

It was quiet.

And beyond the lake, almost perfectly lined up with a slate stone shaped like a ramp that dipped in the water... was a castle.

Comper Castle. It had fared far worse from the Event than Trecesson, or maybe it had always been that way – the military academy didn’t leave her with enough time to enjoy local tourism-, but it was... dilapidated. Its ramparts had partially collapsed in the lake, the stones now covered in green algae with vines creeping up the sides of the ruins, edging their way in the skeletal structure of the former keep, its empty windows eerily reminiscent of a skull’s eye sockets.

The sight was made all the more chilling by the fog that almost managed to hide the ruins behind its misty veil. A chill reverberated through her spine, all the way down to her tail. The surrounding forest suddenly felt a lot more oppressive. A green wall that towered above her menacingly, branches reaching for her yet she knew the green embrace was safe from the lak-

“That’s quite enough Vivian.” Starswirl said firmly.

Miles blinked. Once. Twice. Her flight instinct relented its grip on her mind, wings folding up along her flanks. It was as if a veil had been lifted off her eyes. The fog was gone, the castle still a ruin but not the skull-like shadow she had first imagined. The lake wasn’t silent anymore, and she could finally hear the frogs croak and the ducks quack, signs that it was actually teeming with life.

She sighed in relief, turning towards the wizard to thank him for dispelling the illusion.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Standing midair above the lakeshore was none other than the Lady of the Lake, staring imperiously at Starswirl whilst the wizard, still in his equine form, stared right back at her confidently, horn ablaze with magic. And forming a semicircle around the fay, like diligent bodyguards, were a good half-dozen piasts, easily twice as big as the one that had attacked her a few days prior, their silver scales glistening from the myriad of tiny droplets that trickled down along their coils.

And the Lady of the Lake...

She was every bit the regal maiden legends depicted her as. A set of shiny dragonfly wings sprouting out of her back kept her up in the air, each and every little flap letting sparkles float down to the water below her. Her skin made it very clear that she was far from human despite the humanoid shape: its blue translucent hue was enough to tell that, as if her flesh was actually water under a moonlit sky.

And in that reflection, her eyes were the stars, white pearls that shone through the aurora of a veil that her braided hair represented.

Vivian was only wearing a simple dress to preserve her dignity, its thin white fabric doing very little to hide her ample curves, so much so that it left most of her breasts bare as it traveled down, past her midriff before fanning out in petal-like flaps around her hips.

Really, Miles was rather chagrined her transformation had impacted her to the point where she couldn’t feel attraction towards the nubile form she had right in front of her eyes. Now about Rock...

	Bad brain! Bad!

In the Lady’s hand was a staff, a simple yet elegant glass baton whose apparent fragility bellied the power she could feel radiating from it.

“And who are you, to stride up to my door, dispel my illusions and so brazenly call me by my first name, stranger? I can feel none of you are regular ponies, your minds resonate too much like humanity...” She said in Latin.

Miles didn’t understand a word of it, but she sure didn’t like the icy inflection she put on that last word.

“Oh but I’m no stranger...” Starswirl grinned cheekily. “As a matter of fact you know me very well, Lady Vivian.”

And on that comment Starswirl turned into Merlin with a flourish, his ghostly robes and beard billowing in a fake wind. Upon seeing him, Vivian’s imperious stance immediately shifted to... irritation maybe? Her traits were inhuman, far too angular on her oval face and edging more on the elvish side of things, with the typical knife-ears that drooped slightly at their tips. Antennae maybe?

A fae in every sense of the word.

Still, her reaction was mild in comparison to her piasts. The lake serpents reared up on their coils, loudly hissing at the Enchanter before Vivian stopped them by mutely raising her hand.

“You have a lot of nerve, showing up here.” She said after a minute. “Morgane sent her raven ahead of you, but I didn’t think you’d actually be so brazen as to actually come here.”

“Haven’t I made amends already?” Merlin said, spreading out his arms. “If Morgane could let this unfortunate series of events be water under the bridge, then shouldn’t you? She was the one I wronged, not you.”

Vivian closed her wings and gracefully landed on the water’s surface, dainty feet shining with a white aura that kept her above the surface. She walked over to Merlin, her gait as elegant and soft as her figure before she jabbed a finger against the ghost’s throat.

“I am the water under the bridge, wizard. Morgane may forgive you, and you’re lucky I respect her enough to stick with her decision, but never shall your actions be forgotten” She ground out.

“Then let it be so.” Merlin smiled, unfazed. “How much did Morgane’s message tell you?”

“Enough to get my attention. Not enough to sate my curiosity. I trust this is about Excalibur?”

“Yes... it is tied to Arthur’s sword.” Merlin gave a slow nod. “Do you want the whole story?”

For one long, excruciating minute, Vivian gauged him, staring him straight in the eye with a scowl before she finally lowered her staff, dismissing her piasts with a wave of her hand. They sank down beneath the lake’s water, though not before throwing one last hiss at the two ponies and the ghost wizard.

“Let’s take it inside.” She turned on her heels.

The trio watched her walk off towards her lake, striding over its surface as if it were solid until she reached the center. Then, without the sound of a drop hitting the water, she sank.

Miles just stared.

“I have no idea what just happened.” She finally said.

She really didn’t. Verbal Latin wasn’t a part of modern curriculums.

“Lovers feud, Star’s ex changed her mind, she wants us to come inside to explain. Come on, we need that Ex-halibut.” Rockhoof grumbled.





Sandra awoke with a groan. She’d just finished writing the script for her next podcast when somebody entered her cabin. Was it Aleksei? No, not her... she was pretty sure whoever did that paralyzed her before she got the time to turn around. So... a sphinx then? With their breath attack?

But why?

She was blindfolded, though that did little to stop the bat pony from surveying her surroundings with a bit of echolocation. Not that she was that good at it (much of her training time being dedicated to mastering her radio-detecting ears), but she could still ‘hear’ that she was in a room with a pony on either side of her and a crowd forming a larger circle around them at a distance, speaking in hushed tones.

As for the room, she could hear that they were on a slightly raised dais, each corner marked by pillars. The echoes coming from them were a bit scrambled, so she assumed they must have been heavily sculpted.

In contrast, some walls and the floor gave a far more muted echo. Curtains and carpets maybe? They tended to absorb sound like that.

She didn’t get the chance to listen further than that, probably because the batpony’s ears swiveling around on top of her head made it clear that she was actually awake. The crowd’s tone increased a bit in pitch, and on a whim she decided to stand up on her hooves.

“There we go. I see the new hires are awake...” Was that Artyom? What in the blazes is going on? “Nala, you may remove the blindfolds.”

The cloth band on her eyes was wrapped in a telekinetic grasp, before being smoothly lifted off her head, finally revealing her surroundings to her eyes. Judging by the dim light that streamed from the huge glass dome above them, it was late in the evening, so she hadn’t been asleep for long.

They were in a palace, for lack of a better word. Rich carpets and gilded decorations were all around the place inside of the ballroom/aula she’d been brought to, a warm mix of gold and blood red.

On either side of her were Bart and Radiant, both ponies already fully alert, though Bart didn’t look the least bit worried as he surveyed the crowd around them. A crowd that was made up of a mix of sailors from the fleet (mostly Amandine) and local colonists both from Carrickfergus and the IRA. None of them were armed, unless Guinness counted as deadly because they looked more like they were dressed for party than for war.

The only exception to that was Artyom, as the dragon slowly walked up to the dais the three ponies were on with a predatory gait, Nala – Amandine’s Chief Steward, a sphinx lionness- following a few paces behind.

With a wave of his claw, the crowd went silent and he threw them a smile that revealed the sharp white fangs in his maw.

Artyom was wearing his usual VDV beret, but he now also wore a blue-and-white striped tank top along with a pair of camo pants, a bottle of vodka tucked in one of the cargo pockets.

“Ladies and gentlemen... or whatever we all should be called now...” He chuckled. “Tonight, I welcome you all to the Merchant hotel – my thanks to Third Engineer Klavins for suggesting the venue-. We have much to celebrate.” He spread out his arms in fake flourish, eliciting a cheer from the crowd. He let them quiet down a bit before he continued, pulling out his vodka.

“Today... is the second of August. VDV day where I’m from, if you were wondering why I’m dressed like this. To a guy like me? It’s just to drink, celebrate, and piss in fountains.” He laughed, taking a first swig from the bottle. “Just endure the old veteran in me, I promise I won’t go into a nostalgic rant.”

The crowd laughed.

“For second, we’re celebrating the end of the repairs on Fugro! Can I get a cheer for all them mechanics and welders who did an excellent job?”

The crowd whooped. Artyom raised his bottle higher.

“We’re celebrating peace in Ireland! To Lady Epona! To the end of strife!”

They roared and cheered, a dragon from the IRA even released a gout of fire up in the air.

“We’re celebrating the trade agreement, between us sailors and you paddies! To prosperity!”

Another cheer.

“And finally! Ladies and gentlemen... I must confess... I’m a traditional.” He smiled, making a mock bow. “And there’s a tradition I quite like. You see, us sailors of Amandine have three new additions to our crew.” He waved a claw towards Bart, Radiant and Sandra. “Now, we’ve all gotten to know them ever since they first stepped on board. And they’re great, don’t get me wrong.” He paused to take another swig of vodka. “But they haven’t been properly... introduced to us all yet. You know, I’m one to believe you ain’t really part of a crew ‘til you’ve been proper hazed. Now who here agrees with me?”

All around them, the crowd whooped, roared and whistled at the blue dragon’s words.

“Fantastic...” He drawled after a long swig that downed half of his bottle before raising it one last time. “Now I say we get this party started. Just spare a thought for all the folks guarding the premises from monsters ‘fore we get this going and forget. And I say… UUUURAAAA!!!!” Artyom roared out, an ear- shattering bellow that he ended by spewing fire skywards, all of the crowd around him echoing the war cry that made Sandra’s eyes water from the sheer noise.

The hazing... had now officially begun.





In all honesty, it wasn’t as bad as Sandra had expected.

Maybe it was because the Officers were there and they wouldn’t let the hazing get too bad, but it was mostly just booze and embarrassing stuff they told them to do. Mostly booze really. Like... a lot of alcohol. She was surprised how much her new anatomy was able to withstand given she was half as heavy as she had been as a human. At best.

They dropped some empty buckets in front of her and the other hazees. They didn’t stay empty for too long, because within minutes partygoers dropped by on their dais to dump some random alcohol and liquors. Beside her, Radiant’s features turned increasingly queasy as the minutes went by and his bucket filled up with anything ranging from cheap lager to red wine and rum.

Eventually, Artyom walked up to them, the dragon down to his third bottle of vodka by then and hobbling unsteadily on his feet, wings half fanned out in an attempt to steady himself.

“Now what?” Sandra tried innocently.

Artyom just gave her a knowing look, his ruby red eyes glinting slightly.

“Now you chug.” He said.

“Sweet Celestia...” Radiant gulped, looking down at his booze bucket. “I mean... all of it?”

“Well yeah, duh.” The dragon snorted, a little puff of black smoke exiting his nostrils. “All of it. How are you gonna get a puke bucket otherwise?”

“Can’t fault the logic.” Bart chirped in. “Kom aan, bottoms up kiddoes. Leve de koning!”

And in a feat only achievable by an enlisted with several years of army behind him, the Belgian unicorn drunkenly wrapped the liquor bucket in his forehooves – he was now far beyond the point where he even remembered he could use telekinesis- and hefted it to his muzzle.

A round of cheers started going as soon as the sailors in the room noticed him going for it. Cries of ‘Chug! Chug! Chug!’ echoing all around the dais as Bart stood up on his hind legs to get it flowing. The foul cocktail spilled on either side of him, probably forever ruining the Merchant Hotel’s expensive carpet.

Bart didn’t care. He just finished the contents of the bucket in one go and roared out a challenge at the crowd once he was done, lifting the empty bucket up like a trophy for all to see.

The bravado was cut short, however, when his guts manifested their displeasure at the abuse. In an even shorter time than it took him to drink it, Bart emptied the contents of his stomach back into the bucket before collapsing on his side with a dumb smile, cradling the vomit bucket like a pillow.

Radiant and Sandra stared in horror, alternatively turning their eyes from the now unconscious unicorn, to the grinning dragon, and to each other.

“Your turn now.” Artyom finally said after letting them simmer for a few seconds.

From then on, the night became a confused haze of liquor and vomit. They couldn’t get a minute of reprieve before someone would drag them off to this salon or that suite to booze up some more. If anything, they only got some wise advice on how to last longer in the sentence: ‘just puke it all up to purge the system before it gets in your blood’...

So yeah, at least the vomit buckets had an actual use. And with all the alcohol in her system, at least Sandra would most likely forget all the debauchery she’d witnessed that night because apparently most colonists and sailors had decided now was the time to get their inhibitions out of the way.

In other words, the upper floors were a literal fuck-fest, from the royal suite to the rooftop hot tub. Hell, they even spotted Scarface hanging around with two Irish dragonesses at his arms or, more shockingly, Geert finding herself a room with Marta (Rhine Forest’s Polish nurse), of all creatures in the realm.

And so the hours went on and on, some well-deserved party for all involved before they had to move on to fix Amandine in the dry dock. Alcohol flowed, condoms flew, and memories were made. 	Soon though, the sun rose up above Belfast once more, the sign now was the time to shuffle back to their cabins and process all the alcohol in their bloodstream.

In the skies above the city though? Groggy eyes saw a large helicopter appear out of nowhere above the airport, surprising them as much as it did its pilots before it careened out of its intended flight path and went to crash in a park east of the local airport.

Right in Manticore territory.
> Chapter 62: Excalibur
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

All of the partygoers at the Merchant Hotel drunkenly witnessed the helicopter’s reappearance and subsequent crash, the sound of it impacting the ground further to the east echoing through the streets of Belfast. Some chatter immediately erupted after that, speculations as to where it had landed before some of the IRA folks explained a little problem with that.

That little problem being that the one manticore Finnegan had shot a while ago near the City Hall wasn’t actually a loner. Not at all as a matter of fact. There was an entire pride of them dwelling near the City Airport (because Belfast had two of them apparently: the local City Airport near the harbor, and the International Airport near Antrim). Some IRA scouts frequently skirted the edges of their territory, keeping to the rooftops and making sure the manticores didn’t stray into downtown Belfast proper, but they never actually entered what they’d mapped as their territory.

Giant leonine chimeras were dangerous like that, and no one wanted to wind up like Father Smith.

Artyom didn’t care. Artyom was just a very drunk dragon on a nostalgia trip from having just celebrated VDV day.

So naturally he resolved to rescue the poor pilots all on his own, grabbed the nearest machine gun he could find (by sucker-punching a fellow sailor on guard duty) and drunkenly flew off towards the crash site. The party attendants were, understandably, dismayed at the display.

Sure they wanted to rescue the pilots (at least the few sailors sober enough to formulate those thoughts did), but it just wasn’t their modus operandi to rush in without a plan.

Worse even, they just couldn’t spare the manpower to dispatch a rescue team. Any sailor (or colonist for that matter) that wasn’t at the party was busy on guard duty, meaning any guard they pulled from the security perimeter would leave a gaping hole in their defenses.

So they did the next best thing they could think of. As the sun rose above Belfast, one guard went through each and every room of the Merchant Hotel in search of someone sober enough to go rescue the helicopter’s pilots.

And Artyom. Probably.

In the hotel’s upper floors, Greet was suddenly roughly disturbed by an IRA guard bursting through her door. Now, it other circumstances this might not have been much of a problem, but she was currently laying in bed with Marta, and the hedgefog’s fingers were hard at work working their magic between her thighs.

Yeah, turns out she and the nurse swung the same way, so even if it wasn’t the same as when she’d been male (and boy was that an understatement), working out that nurse kink was a great stress relief. Marta sure hid some nice curves underneath all that fur and quills, which she had been all too happy to indulge in.

And the hedgefogs’ electric affinity? Stimulating in just the right way.

So she was understandably quite irate at the other hedgefog standing in the door frame for putting a stop to the fantastic night she’d just been having. At least the Irishman had the presence of mind to avert his gaze long enough for Marta to put on a shirt.

Greet didn’t need one. Ornithians don’t have breasts. And why would they? They’re birds, not mammals.

“Fuck you bargin’ in here for?!” She squawked angrily, still fluffed up and damp from what she’d been doing minutes earlier.

“I’m sorry ma’am.” He said, almost switching to fog form to get away from the sheer anger the scarlet macaw in the bed was radiating. “Quick question: are you sober?”

“Like fully sober or ‘sure I’m sober’ sober?” She squawked, not leaving the bed just yet, with the covers pulled up just far enough to cover her waist.

“Aight, if you’re asking then you’re good enough by current standards.” He stepped forward, Greet only then catching the alarmed look in his eyes. “Look, I’m sure you ladies were having some great fun-”

“Yeah, until you showed up, debil.” Marta complained, acidly.

“And I’m sorry about that, cuntface.” The Irishman fired back. “It’s just we’re in short supply of sober folks, and you’re the only Officer that’s not passed out drunk in this hotel, apparently.”

“Fuck you need me for anyway? Don’t you work for Finnegan?” Greet crossed her arms.

“Yeah, but we got a problem both for us and you sailors.” The guard said. “Look, long short story. Helicopter crashed. Near a monster nest. Your Russian friend? So drunk he decided he could take them all on.”

“Alone?”

“I wish.” He rolled his eyes. “’Except Ol’ Provo Finnegan was plenty drunk too, and he wouldn’t ‘be outdone by a goddamn ruskie’. Flew off like five minutes ago when someone mentioned Artyom was goin’ for it.”

“Mother-fucker...” Geert gaped. “They really doing that shit?”

“Unfortunately… yes. So, Officer?”

“Yeah yeah, ‘course with all that shit you’d ask the lowest ranking Officer in the fleet.” She sighed, pinching her upper mandible between her talons. “Just… okay, let me get dressed, I’ll be downstairs in a minute. And gather anyone sober enough you can find, gonna need all the help I can get.”

“Aye aye ma’am.” He finally nodded before leaving the two girls to themselves.

Greet sank back in her pillow with an annoyed trill once she was sure he was gone. A part of her was tempted to just blame Artyom for it all (she was never too fond of the dragon even before he grew scales), but even if he hadn’t rushed in she’d have had to do it. The pilots needed saving either way… if they’d survived the crash, that is.

After a minute, she finally stood up and went to the bathroom, not only to get her clothes but also to get rid of the juices that had leaked down her thighs.

“I’m so sorry Marta...” She sighed dejectedly. “Guess even when it’s party time we can’t catch a break.”

The Polish nurse came up to her and brushed Greet’s hip with the little bundle of quills that made up the tassel at the tip of her tail before making her way over to the pile of clothes in a corner of the room.

“It’s nothing sweetie.” The nurse chuckled. “If anything, you weren’t half bad for a newbie. Plenty to appreciate, even on my end.”

“Still surprised you’d be...”

“Lesbian? I just don’t like to advertise it openly. Ain’t shame, mind, I was just raised in a culture where you should keep your bedroom stuff to yourself.” She told the parrot as she put on her bra. “By the way, quick advice: wet wipes are good for a quick cleanup. Just...”

“Don’t use them as a bath replacement?”

“Well duh.” Marta rolled her eyes. “Sorry if it’s obvious, but you’d be surprised what some girls get up to in the matters of hygiene. The things you see as a nurse I swear...” She trailed off, mumbling some choice words under her breath in Polish.

“Yeah...” Greet trailed off. “Girls.”

“You still hung up on your change?” Marta approached her for a quick hug.

Greet snorted.

“Who wouldn’t be? Even then I consider myself lucky. I’m still into gals… with a few additions.”

“Both ways?” Marta tilted her head, her entirely blue eyes gazing up at Greet’s teal irises.

“Eeyup.” She nodded slowly, reaching for an elastic band on the bathroom sink to tie up her crest feathers, leaving two bangs which she tucked behind her large ears. “Bart asked too. Feels weird. Uh… by the way, you and me…?”

“Just a fling?”

“Just a fling. We’ll finish up tomorrow if you want, even.” Greet breathed out in relief. “Okay, enough drama, let’s get this show on the road. Marta, once I’m dressed I want you to go to Rhine and prep up some of those antivenin potions. Gonna need those in manticore territory. Grab all the health potions you can with that and load up an ambulance.”

“And meet up with you?”

“No!” The parrot squawked out, halfway through putting her shirt back on – civilian attire, not work coveralls this time-. “Sorry, but I want the medic to just stay on standby. Just… tune in on the VHF, we’ll call when we need you.”

“Anything else?”

Greet paused.

“Come to think of it… yes.” She mused. “Try and check out Vadim or Micha’s cabin on Amandine. I think they skipped the party.”

“But why?”

Greet quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, they got Andy to take care of, duh. Vad’s no good for combat as he’s our medic, but I could use Micha’s sharpshooting skills.”





“So… how do we get in?” Miles asked to nopony in particular as she looked at the lake Vivian had just dived in.

“The exact way she did, Lady Miles. It doesn’t get much more complicated than that.” Starswirl chuckled as he shifted back to his equine form.

“Last I checked I couldn’t walk on water you know.”

“You let me worry about that.” He replied, igniting his horn and firing off a quick spell that created a subtle aura around her and Rockhoof’s hooves. “And here you go. Waterwalking spell. I even invented that one… though to be fair I was inspired after I saw Ornithians do it naturally.”

“Riiight...” Miles stared at her glowing hoof. “Somehow, I keep forgetting about magic.”

“We all do, grab a ticket and get in line.” Rockhoof gave her a pat on the back.

Strong enough to almost knock her off her hooves, actually. The draft horse of a pony was strong.

Walking on water was weird. On one hand… hoof, she expected it to be slippery like ice, but instead it felt more like those times where a water blister forms under a lawn. Squishy, yet still solid enough that she could walk on it without sinking. At most, her hooves created a depression half an inch deep in the water.

Before she had time to wonder how Star would go about getting them under the surface, the mage ignited his horn once more and the trio sank down in sync. Much to her surprise actually, because she instinctively opened up her wings the moment she felt gravity pull her into the lake.

To no effect however. She wasn’t to the point where she could fly yet. Instead, she watched as they seemingly fell down a column of bubbles before finally landing on some kind of gravel path in a kelp forest. They were underwater, with the surface like a reflective, semi-transparent ceiling high up above them; but she could still breathe just fine.

They were also somehow deeper than the lake was supposed to be. The surface looked like it was ten to twelve stories above them, and Miles was damn sure the lake was nowhere big enough to be this deep.

It really was unsettling. She could see clearly, breathe as though she were above the water, yet her fur coat and mane were soaked, the hair floating free of gravity. Her poncho was pretty much the same, and she fully expected she’d have to get the water out of her rifle’s scope, but somehow she could move around without feeling the water’s resistance.

“This is weird...” She said, waving a hoof around to check whether she was dreaming. “Are we really underwater?”

“We are.” Starswirl told her, and the ghost even bore an impressed look on his muzzle. “An amazing enchantment I must say. Made to accommodate land dwelling creatures that pass through the portal, but the environment remains unaffected.”

A school of trout swam past right in front of Rockhoof’s muzzle, eliciting a jerk from the surprised stallion that made the silvery fish scamper off and hide in the kelp forest around them.

“I’ll admit it’s fascinating and all Star, but maybe we should move along? I don’t think ponies were made to live underwater like that. Not for long at least.” He said, scowling in the kelp’s general direction.

“Don’t worry Rock, I can get us out in a hurry if we need to.”

“Ain’t that a relief.” Rockhoof replied, jerking his head towards the gravel path that snaked its way through the kelp forest.

In itself it was an interesting sight, if a bit surreal. The kelp were like vines ‘hanging’ from the ground, thin leafy trees surrounded by little rocks and some actual trees that had fallen into the lake to become homes to so many little creatures that used them as shelter. Crayfish, little carps with iridescent scales, freshwater mussels, a treasure trove of life none could see from the surface.

Eventually though, the next bend in the path revealed Vivian’s castle.

It was… about as surreal as the whole experience of walking underwater. Up on a big jagged rock was the large crystal structure, casting a pale white light on the whole area around it. It wasn’t that big, actually a bit smaller than Trecesson Castle, but its architecture sure made it look tall with sharp angles, narrow towers that seemed to rise forever and carvings worthy of a Gothic cathedral.

Vivian’s piasts swam around it in circles, twisting and turning around the turrets but always keeping a watchful eye on the visitors as they made their approach. There was a spiraling staircase at the base of the rock the castle rested on leading up to gates of nacre, and on the porch was…

	Excalibur.

	It lay there under a protective bubble and multiple shield spells and wards to protect it and the pedestal it laid on, blade bare next to its scabbard for all to see the intricate runes engraved upon it, every single one of them glowing with a warm golden light that contrasted with the steely gray of the blade. 

It was a golden sword, a gilded weapon so elegant Miles’ heart tightened at the sight. Its handle, one-and-a-half handed, was more like multiple golden tendrils wound together that naturally blossomed into a handguard at the base of the blade where they cradled a large multicolored gem the size of a goose egg.

Its presence alone commanded respect, the sheer power in it enough to make her wings open up slightly in a fight-or-flight reflex (that as of late seemed unusually geared towards the flight part).

“Well at least now I understand why you wanted it.” Rockhoof commented.

“I genuinely believe this weapon can unmake demons, friend.” Starswirl told him. “It… it’s a funny thing really, how out of control this got. Like it had a soul of its own. The memories my friend, oh the memories...” The ghost sighed wistfully as he walked up to the pedestal and sat down on his haunches. “It’s a testimony to Arthur’s valor what he made out of this weapon. You want the truth?”

“What truth?” Miles asked.

“Excalibur wasn’t that powerful from the start. Well… it was, but not as ridiculously powerful as it is now. That’s the beauty with human magic, the legends only reinforce themselves as they gain traction.”

“Beg your pardon?” The American quirked her head.

“What he means is that his little protege outdid himself.” Vivian said, the Lady of the Lake getting the drop on them as the castle’s gates opened without a sound.

“Do you speak English milady?” Miles turned to the fay, asking as politely as she could.

“I do not, little pony.” She told her. “I merely used a spell to translate. A triviality easily afforded by magic, really.”

“You flatter me, that you’d deem me important enough to warrant understanding you, then.” The pegasus slowly inclined her head.

“You have manners. Good.” Vivian nodded.“As for what Merlin was saying...”

She threw him a sideways glance, Starswirl getting the hint and switching to human form.

“… regardless of how much praise I get for enchanting Excalibur in the first place, it wasn’t that powerful. The sword grew in power along with King Arthur’s reputation, to the point where I daresay it far outdid whatever I could have voluntarily made. The more fame he gained, the more powerful his sword became and the more tricks it somehow added to its arsenal. Now? There are few things it cannot do. Fire, lightning, frost, make the user faster, stronger, improve his endurance and reflexes to the point where he can deflect arrows… the list goes on. It was only supposed to be a fire sword when I enchanted it. Maybe with a hint of holy magic to banish lesser demons, but that’s about it.”

“I’m impressed. Truly so.”

“As you should be.” Vivian scoffed.“Now, Merlin? I believe I’m due an explanation. There is only so much Morgane could tell me in her letter.”

And with a snap of her fingers, four little stools floated out of her castle and gently dropped in a semicircle around Excalibur’s pedestal. 

“This might take a while...” The wizard sighed.





This was all one colossal fuckup ready to blow up in their face. Greet had raced back to the dockyard as soon as she was dressed to gather any sober sailor (or even IRA guards, she wasn’t feeling picky) they could find. After a whole night of drinking and partying, that number wasn’t very high. Hell, Greet herself wasn’t fully sober, just tipsy enough that the alcohol made her slightly sluggish.

And maybe what she’d done wasn’t the brightest idea. She’d been gearing up in the armory when they called her on the interphone to inform her that the grand total of sober sailors was…

A whopping two, and they had yet to find Vadim and Micha, they weren’t in their cabin.

So she rushed in on her own.

Yeah, that was a pretty bad idea, she knew it. But it wasn’t like she had all the time in the world, she needed to catch up with Artyom and Finnegan before the manticores found them. She tossed her gear – magic sword included- in the first Defender she could find before flooring it and racing towards the crash site.

The streets of Belfast flew past as she did her best to put on her flak jacket whilst keeping a claw on the wheel. Not the most elegant feat she had to admit, and highly likely to have earned her a hefty fine prior to the Event but it wasn’t like she had a choice.

And damn that drunk ruskie for getting himself in a situation like that in the first place. He was a bosun for fuck’s sake, he should know better.

Knowing where to go really wasn’t that hard. She just had to follow the column of thick acrid smoke rising up in the distance to find her way, which really just involved following the highway that connected the city to the local airport. The locals had even spray painted some road signs to mark the edge of the manticores’ territory.

Neat.

Soon enough, the vast swathes of warehouses of the dockyards traded places with the more open fields and flat concrete slabs that surrounded the airport on one side, and the crash site on the other.

Thankfully, the helicopter hadn’t crashed into the rows of Victorian-era workers’ houses that littered the area this side of Belfast and instead fell down near a community center.

Bits of wreckage and churned dirt littered the football field where the helicopter had carved a ditch upon landing before it carried on on its course and plowed sideways on through the community center’s gymnasium.

On the opposite side of the football field, she could see where the helicopter’s tail had impacted a spotlight mast, tearing it off the airframe and collapsing a row of bleachers where it had fallen.

That scene would have been enough chaos already, but there were also two dragons making it worse as they fought off an entire pride of manticores from the roof. She had to give it to them, for a pair of drunken veterans, they were doing rather well. Artyom had taken position near the service ladder and was ruthlessly gunning down any juvenile manticore that tried to reach them while Finnegan was making good use of his anti-material rifle to attack the bigger adults.

Yet they had seemingly forgotten about the helicopter’s pilots because she could see clear as day that there were two silhouettes inside the cockpit. Hedgefog and pony by the looks of it, both unconscious.

And unlike the dragons, the manticores had noticed the free buffet waiting inside the weird metal packaging.

	Yeah, she couldn’t let them do that. With a resigned sigh, she quickly chambered a round and lined up the sights of her rifle with the biggest manticore she could see before pressing the trigger. The rifle kicked back against her shoulder.

There was no need to be conservative with ammo, she was firing 5.56 at what was basically a giant leonine chimera, a lone round wouldn’t drop a monster this big.

Unfortunately, the half-mag she actually managed to land on target out of the whole thing didn’t hurt it much either. Not a problem, she only needed to grab a new on-

“Godver-!” She squawked as she realized what she’d filled her flak jacket with.

Empty magazines out front and loose ammo in the back pouch. She only carried the one loaded mag.

And her sword.

All of the gunfire and roaring of manticores went still for the next few seconds as both monsters and dragons finally took note of the colorful scarlet macaw near her Defender on the highway. Slowly, all of the monsters turned towards her with a snarl.

“Well, guess that thing ain’t useful anymore without ammo...” She sighed in Dutch, tossing her gun back towards her truck before unsheathing her sword with one claw, pulling out a flashbang in the other.

With a quick flex of willpower, the blade worked its magic and erupted in flames.

The manticores must have considered it as enough of a challenge because one juvenile took it as its cue to charge and pounce at her.

In a display of speed such that could only be achieved by an Ornithian, she deftly ducked underneath its paws and dug the blade in its belly, practically bisecting the monster and setting its fur on fire as it kept on its course and crashed further down the highway, lifeless.

Greet didn’t spare it much thought, just twirling the blade in her talons and lashing out with a fire whip that sliced off the scorpion tail of another juvenile before it could skewer her. The fire instantly cauterized the stump, but it didn’t stop the young manticore from releasing a blood-curdling scream of pain before it ran off to wherever it was they nested.

She was quite ready to take on the rest of the kids, unfortunately mama lion didn’t share the same thoughts as the massive creature decided it was its turn to rush in. Greet only had a quarter of a second to jump aside and dodge before the monster went past her and slammed into her truck with the sound of breaking glass.

Scarface wasn’t going to be happy about the bodywork on that one.

“Mommy’s angry uh?!” She taunted, holding her blade in front of herself, intermittently throwing looks off to the side to make sure the kids weren’t trying to encircle her.

Apparently not, Finnegan’s sniping and her swordplay were enough to send them on the run.

The adults though? Not so much. Three of them had taken position all around her, wounded from gunfire, but still rearing for a fight, hackles raised.

A few tense seconds passed. She could see the muscles coil up in the monsters’ hind legs.

Greet took the pin off her flashbang.

Like cats about to pounce, the manticores’ tails went still.

Geert released the spoon on the grenade.

Time felt like it was slowing down, she could feel the rush of adrenaline in her bloodstream, flushing out what little alcohol remained in her system by then, she could hear every beat of her heart, the throbbing in her strained muscles, the ache in her lungs, the smell of fire and monster blood in the air.

The monsters exploded into motion. Greet dropped the grenade and jumped up in the air. One manticore passed a hair’s breadth underneath her, she pushed with her legs against its back to carry herself even higher and dodge the second one which she gifted with a quick jab of her sword on the muzzle.

The last one clipped her in the arm with its tail. Greet was thrown off balance and landed with a grunt on the football field near a piece of wreckage, her forearm now adorned with a gash that oozed venom.

“Kut!” She swore.

The manticores roared.

Greet ducked behind the wreckage.

The flashbang exploded, right beneath their paws. They all roared out in unison, pained bellows as the concussive blast battered their sensitive eardrums, soon followed by the sound of multiple gunshots high up above her.

Not Finnegan’s gun though, that sounded more like… 7.62 maybe? She wasn’t too good at identifying gun sounds yet.

By the time the scarlet macaw managed to shake off the daze of the grenade, adrenaline, poison and gunfire, the manticores were gone, having deemed all the fighting wasn’t worth the snacks it might yield.

And all Greet had to show for it were a nasty sting, probably some bruises, and a severely damaged truck.

“You alright there boss?” Artyom said as the dragon landed next to her.

“Fuck you.” She groaned, unsteadily rising on her legs. “That’s the second time I’m involved in a fight alongside you, and that’s the second time I wind up injured. Get my VHF from the truck and call me an ambulance...”

She paused to look at the wreckage of the helicopter and the unconscious pilots that were still in it. Off on the edge of her vision, she saw three griffons land in the football field. Micha, Vadim and Andy, all three dressed in hunting gear.

Might explain why they couldn’t find them then. Micha likely shot at the manticores from the sky.

“… and tell Marta to prep for the two pilots as well. Oh fuck that poison’s strong...”

And then she collapsed face-down, paralyzed.





“So that’s about how it goes. Powerful demons from another world, not enough immortals to fight them off, and that’s how we decided Earth should have its own Elements.” Merlin concluded his explanation.

“What makes you think we really need them?” Vivian challenged. “There are plenty of mages on the planet already, powerful mages that have lived for centuries. Are we not enough to fight them off?”

“Absolutely not!” The ghost wizard exclaimed vehemently. “Vivian, these things are in a league of their own. In Equestria we have this… caste, for lack of a better word. A microcosm of immortal beings. And… you know, I sometimes like to boast that I’m a powerful mage, but any of them could easily wipe the floor with me, and they have done so in the past, even with a full team backing me up. We are not powerful enough to take them on. Not on our own, and much less alone. Not me. Not you, Morgane or Maugris. Not even Baba.”

“And you don’t think we can have our own microcosm?”

“The kind of immortal I’m talking doesn’t pop up out of nowhere, no. You don’t make them, and we don’t have any on hand at the moment.”

“Not even the gods?”

“You of all people should know they are fickle entities, they have goals of their own. For all we know they might even help the demons if it gets them more followers.” Merlin scowled.

“Alright, I agree on that. But why Excalibur?”

“Why?” Merlin scoffed. “Because it’s the best. If I could merge it with the Elements, the end result should easily be enough to defeat the Demons. They’re not dangerous Vivian, the Elements are symbols of virtue that elect the best possible avatars in a generation to carry out their will. I was one, Rockhoof was one. You don’t have to fear they’ll be used for evil. They literally can’t.”

For a few seconds, the Lady of the Lake was silent, staring contemplatively at Excalibur whilst Merlin nervously stroked his beard behind her. Finally, she stood up calmly and turned towards them.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m sorry?” Miles tilted her head sideways.

“Do not trust Merlin too much, mortal.” Vivian warned her. “For he himself admits to having used dark and demonic magics while at the same time warning me about greater demons.”

“I’m no-” Merlin stood up in anger before being shushed by the fae.

“I know you’re not evil, let’s not fool ourselves now. But you have a bad record of letting your curiosity get the better of you and delving into arts you should have never considered, sometimes at the expense of others. You are not worthy of merging Excalibur with those Elements of yours. That duty is mine and mine alone to carry out. I shall journey to the Golden Tree myself when I see fit and judge its purity. If it passes my tests, then you will see your idea executed.”

“But we’re short on time!”

“Or so you say.” She wagged a finger at him. “You have no proof these demons represent such an imminent threat that I’d have to be reckless with an artifact such as this sword. This is my decision, and it is final. Unless you wish to challenge me in my own realm, hmm?”

Saying that the water suddenly turned cold and muddy, as if they were entrapped inside some brown fog bank through which they could only see hints of the piasts swimming on the edge of their vision, and Vivian.

“We’ll pass.” Merlin said, standing up in turn. “Thank you for your attention, milady.”

And with that he bowed curtly before walking off, back towards where they’d entered the realm. Miles and Rockhoof threw the sword one last look, thanked Lady Vivian for her hospitality, and then quickly galloped after the departing mage whose gait betrayed his aggravated state of mind.

Now to hope she judged the tree favorably.





	Greet’s injuries thankfully didn’t cause any lasting damage. Unlike Father Smith in Carrickfergus, she didn’t have to wait days before Marta rushed in to administer some antivenin so the effects faded away within minutes, leaving nothing but a nasty welt.

By then, sober folks slowly started trickling towards the crash site. They recovered the injured pilots from the wreckage which, as it turned out, was from a contractor working for the UK’s Coast Guard. A hedgefog and a pegasus actually, they weren’t too heavily injured. Just a couple broken bones and concussions, escaping the worst of the impact through a mix of sheer luck and a last minute maneuver. Marta loaded them in her ambulance and carted them off to Rhine’s onboard clinic.

Past that, they didn’t need to recover the wreck so they just called up a hooklift truck to load up the damaged Defender, as well as the dead manticore juveniles. For what it was worth, they might as well process them for alchemical components, that would boost Rhine’s potion output somewhat.

As for the two dragons who blindly rushed in, while Greet couldn’t do anything about Finnegan (though apparently a female centaur later turned up to give him a stern talking to), she made sure to write up a stern report about Artyom’s actions as soon as she was back in her cabin. Not much she could immediately do to the bosun (and union rep) in the way of punishment, but she’d make sure Alejandro at least gave him extra duties for a while.

She doubted it would go much further than that. Dilip wouldn’t allow it. Artyom was far too competent as a bosun and fighter to warrant it.

At least once the activity died down and she got a bit of downtime Marta was all too happy to play nurse with her in the confines of her cabin. That made up for getting interrupted.

Sooner rather than later, they left that incident behind and moved on with their repairs. Amandine traded place with the now repaired Fugro in dock.

In comparison, fixing her was both simpler and faster than it had been with Fugro, thanks to most of the damage being to the hull and simple stuff like pumps and piping, most of which had already been prepped in the workshops a while ago.

They even managed to upgrade her with a multibeam echosounder they salvaged from an offshore drilling company’s depot near the repair yard, in addition to adding more beams, bulkheads and stiffeners to the newly repaired bow. That cost them a bit in ballast volume, but the added resistance to head-on collisions might be a necessity in a world where ships could randomly appear out of nowhere.

As for the echosounder, they initially wanted an actual sonar but a dome jutting out beneath the bow would have negatively impacted their underkeel clearance. Multibeam sounders were usually installed on hydrographic survey vessels or dive support vessel – like Fugro, which was actually equipped with one such tool-to get accurate pictures of the seabed, so it really wasn’t much of a problem in terms of accuracy. Either way, its operating arc was far wider than that of a regular echosounder and might allow them to detect zeebeests from up ahead.

All in all, Amandine was out of the dock ten days after entering it. A feat mostly attributed to magic speeding up the process immensely. And they even managed to accomplish more than just repairs in that span of time.

For one Schmitt finally completed the fuel reconditioning system. At a working scale that is. The end result was easily the size of a lorry trailer and produced a lot of slop water whenever used, but it also processed a lot of fuel per batch and didn’t need them to add too many additives per ton of fuel produced, thanks to making the process mostly mechanical.

The slop water wasn’t really much of a problem. The maritime industry already had plenty of measures to remove hydrocarbons from water, and even Dilip had experience with tankers. Oil-water separation was no new thing, MARPOL regulations had made sure of that decades before the Event even occurred.

Dilip immediately ordered a couple more to be produced. One per ship, one for O’Connel’s farm (so that they finally made due on their trade agreement) and one more for the colony in Carrickfergus.

The pilots also woke up in Rhine’s clinic, revealing themselves as Flynn (the pegasus), and Owen (the hedgefog, made a kid by his transformation actually). Both Brits sure were shocked when Dilip went to the clinic and broke the news about the Event, but through a feat of conviction that might have also involved Aleksei and her magic bracelet turning up to have a chat with them, they managed to recruit both pilots.

And since Amandine was the best suited of all three ships to receive and launch helicopters thanks to her large vehicle capacity, they wound up joining their crew. They didn’t even have too much trouble acquiring an aircraft for the pilots to fly with Belfast’s City Airport nearby. In fact they were actually pretty lucky with that find: a Bombardier Aerospace assembly line was set up right next to the airport, so in addition to one Agusta AW189 specced for SAR operations that they loaded on the main deck, they also found a dismantled Super-Tucano turboprop plane.

Now why would they bother with fixed-wing craft if they only had helicopter pilots? The answer was simple: the Super-Tucano was a trainer-level craft, and even helicopter pilots had to train with fixed wing aircraft before they could be allowed on a helicopter if they wanted a license.

Sure, Owen and Flynn had only ever flown on Marchetti trainers before, but they did find the software for a simulator in the assembly line.

And thus, on that day, M/V Amandine became one of the rare few cargo vessels with her own air wing.

With the ships repaired, a peace agreement between the colonies, future trade opportunities and all matters finally settled in Belfast, the fleet was finally free to set out to sea once more. A little crowd of locals gathered to say goodbye to the two Americans they’d promised to bring across the ocean: Miss Hawkins, the seamstress they’d found residing with the IRA boarded Amandine with what little baggage she’d along; while Mister Milford, the Earth Pony mechanic from the Carrickfergus colony, boarded Rhine Forest.

Explicitly it was because Amandine was starting to become a bit crowded (which was true, as Nala had complained about to Dilip), but implicitly it was so that CaptainLorelei may attempt to recruit Milford.

And with them on board, the ramps and gangways were lifted, the moorings released, and Rhine removed the anti-monster nets they had used to block off the harbor.

“Captain, everything ready for sea. Weather conditions and visibility are excellent so far and provided they are maintained, ETA to Savannah is… 11 days given a SOA of 14 knots.” Micha announced, reading off the ECDIS.

“Acknowledged. Proceed with the departure. We’re leading the convoy.”

“Aye Captain!” She squawked.

On that final note, the three vessels left Belfast behind. A handful of locals watched them leave, wondering if they would ever come back one day.

Behind his scope, Finnegan wondered the same thing before dropping his rifle. No time to dwell on that, he had to hammer a couple more agreements with Codsworth. Mere logistics, but not the kind of stuff he could skip out on, unfortunately.

At least Amandine’s bosun had been a pretty fun guy.

But for the fleet… America waited.





Thousands of miles southwest of Belfast, off the coast of the US, the waters suddenly churned. As if a great volume of water had suddenly been displaced on the surface of the seemingly quiet ocean.

The ground shook once.

And in the depths of the Atlantic, an alarm rang.
> Chapter 63: The Boomer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Rhodes’ return to the waking world was rough.
And by rough he meant being slapped in the face by a tiny equine wearing the Diving Officer’s uniform.
“WAKE THE FUCK UP RHODES!” The tiny equine yelled in his face when it saw him blink owlishly, wondering where it had found his superior’s bomber jacket. The one with his name and the letters ‘SSGN-729’ written on the back.
And why did it sound exactly like him?
“Oww…” He groaned, feeling a trickle of blood run down the side of his face. “Whu-what? Sir, what’s going on?”
And what happened to his voice? Why did it sound so high-pitched?
“We fuckin’ crashed that’s wha’.” The equine said, which he now could reasonably assume was Lieutenant Gardner.
Rhodes looked around, only then realizing the chaos around the compartment. Alarms were blaring from nearly every console that was in working order around the submarine’s control room, with the rest showing damaged displays whose screens were either outright dark or flickering in a jumbled mess because the impact damaged the hardware. The backup lights were on, casting a red light on them, the scene made all the more eerie by the fact the boat was at an angle, heeled backwards and to the starboard side, which would explain why he was pushed against the side of his seat that was just behind USS Georgia’s helm, nothing more than a little black plastic steering wheel.
His seat that looked disturbingly big now, as if he had shrunk.
He lifted his hand to wipe off some of the blood that was trickling its way into his eye.
His hand that was now a hoof. He blinked.
“Bit slow on the uptake there Rhodes.” Lt. Gardner quipped.
His head twisted to the opposite side, towards the planesman’s station – unlike the helm, that station controlled vertical movement of the sub-. Benson was still there, unconscious and apparently now a white pony with two bulges on his back visible through his coveralls. Rhodes caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the aviators the guy kept in his breast pocket.
Ah, so there’s the problem. He’d been turned into a little pony. With blue fur. And he was also a mare.
“Sir, can you hit me again? Like really hard, so I don’t wake up to see this shitfest?” She finally said after working her jaw a few times.
“Shut yer trap and man the Hell up, I need you right now. Can’t work the controls with these damn hooves.” Gardner barked.
She quirked an eyebrow at the other pony, wondering if it even dawned on him she didn’t have hands anymore either.
“So what happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Sir, I just woke up to the sub looking like a Walmart after Black Friday, I probably have a concussion, and I’m a horse. With all due respect, I have no idea whatever the fuck is going on.” She said, standing up in her seat.
And immediately sat back down when she felt blood rush away from her head and her vision went faint. Bad idea. Stay in your seat. Most likely a concussion from headbutting the steering column.
“By the way, where’s Martinez?”
“Unconscious, behind the periscope.”
“Horse?”
“Eeyup.” Gardner slowly nodded. “So remember what we were doing yet?”
“I… oh shit.” Her eyes went wide.
In essence it was pretty simple: they had been traveling west, headed back to the naval base in Kings Bay after spending quite a bit of time patrolling the North Atlantic and just acting as a deterrent.
Simple. A return to base was something everyone on the crew waited for like it was an early Christmas.
And they’d been cruising below the surface, at about three hundred feet of depth. Again: simple.
Now there was the underwater topography 101 lesson: the continental shelf. Most of the ocean far off the coast was beyond a thousand meters deep, so the barren abyssal plains were no threat to a submarine (mostly, ask USS San Francisco how that went for them), much less an Ohio-class like Georgia (insofar that they kept away from sea mountains). However, that depth decreased abruptly at a certain distance off the shore where the abyssal plains rose up in a sheer cliff up until the depth stabilized in a ‘shelf’ of sorts, at a relatively shallow depth.
So they were supposed to simply decrease their dive depth and avoid the ‘cliff’, that being what they usually called the continental slope.
“How deep are we, sir?”
“575 feet, according to the depth gauge.” Gardner said.
Rhodes’ memory slowly pieced itself together, giving her a picture of what had happened. Where they should have risen to the right depth to avoid the cliff, the transformed Benson had actually panicked and pushed the planes down. The planes were the sole thing beside ballast control that could alter their depth, and at speed it could do its work far quicker than changes in buoyancy.
Instead of rising above the waves to greet American shores, USS Georgia had actually done a nose-dive and face-planted straight into the seabed at cruise speed.
They’d just grounded a fucking nuclear submarine.





The fleet was long past Ireland and already well into their journey through the Atlantic by the time Bart emerged out on the main deck to catch a breath of fresh air. It had only taken a couple hours after hitting the Atlantic proper and encountering their first ocean-borne swells that the Belgian unicorn recalled there was a reason why he’d never taken to seafaring prior to the Event.

Sure, he wasn’t outright spilling his guts all over the place, but the rolling was enough to put him in a perpetually queasy state that made him think he might puke the first thing he swallowed and also prevented him from getting a good night’s sleep.

Which was why he was now trotting about on the main deck. The salty breeze was an improvement over the A/C they kept on full blast inside and helped relieve the nausea. Somewhat.

Bart quickly came to the realization all sailors eventually come to as he propped himself up against the railing with his forehooves, eyes lazily sweeping the horizon:

Open seas were boring.

Really, there was nothing in sight except for water, water, and some more water for the sake of variety; a vast, empty expense of dark blue only broken up by white ripples whenever foam formed at the crest of a wave, sometimes glittering for a bit when the spray managed to reflect sunlight. Fugro and Rhine were behind them, both ships keeping a reasonable distance from each other to make sure that – as unlikely as it was during an ocean passage- they would all put themselves at risk of crashing into ships that might pop back into existence – unlikely as it was so far off the coast-.

As for Amandine herself, the ship was pretty quiet this time of the day. Glimpses of blue up on the bridge told him Alejandro (and by extension, Sri behind the helm) was on watch, their Chief Officer currently busy measuring the sun’s culmination through a sextant.

Below the bridge, the hangar bay doors were open, if only to ventilate the upper car decks for as long as the weather kept clear. That made it possible for him to see the newly added helicopter waiting in the shade of the hangar, its two pilots comfortably reclining near it on plastic chairs as they chatted.

The addition of the AW189 on the upper deck had also come with the installation of a kerosene tank near its hangar spot, along with a little shed for spare parts and basic maintenance tools, if only to spare them the need to bring it down a couple decks into the workshop after each flight.

	Not a bad idea in and of itself. The only argument Bart had to raise against it was that they’d decided it was wise to put the kerosene next to the chicken coops (another recent addition). But eh, at least the tank was well clear of the greenhouse containers outside on the main deck (which incidentally put the vegetables near the ammo stowage) and Greet had argued that as long as the kerosene didn’t leak then it wouldn’t be a problem.

Suuuuure.

Speaking of which... 

“Enjoying the weather?” Greet asked in Dutch as she strode up to him. The tall parrot easily towered above him.

“Can’t say I do.” He snorted. “I just really need the breeze. The smell down in the workshop and the armory doesn’t do me much good.”

“Oh really? Is it that bad?” She quirked her head as she went to rest her elbows on the railing.

“Nah… it’s more an annoyance than an actual problem. Does make me skip meals though… I mean, I know Rahul and Nguyen do a lot to make the smell of meat bearable to herbivores like me, but even with all the spices I feel like I’m just going to spill it all up if I pair seasickness with that.”

“You tried ginger yet?”

“Fuck’s an aphrodisiac going to do for my stomach?” He nickered. “I thought the nurse from Rhine was enough to sate you for now.”

“Wha- oh!” She paused for half a second before letting out a chuckle. “Yes she is, but that’s not what I meant. Ginger’s great against seasickness. You just gotta chop a slice off a gingerroot and swallow that and then you’re good for a while. It’s not the best, but if you’re not too sick to begin with that should do the trick against your nausea. By the way… get your mind out of the gutter.”

“No promises. Care to tell where I can find some?”

“Infirmary, or in the pantry if Nguyen’s feeling frisky with the menu. Vadim always keeps some stocked, but he’s busy now so just go ask Boris.”

“Catbird’s another kind of busy, lemme tell you.”

“What did I say about the gutter?” She rolled her eyes.

“Sorry Officer, no more innuendos fortoday.” He drawled before distancing himself from the railing and stretching his hooves like a cat. “Mind if I ask what’s that around your neck?”

“That?” She shoved a talon down her collar and pulled out a thin necklace.

It was a simple leather strip tied in a knot behind her neck. Judging by the subtle pattern imprinted in the material and their Chief Officer’s reputation of doing leathercrafting as a hobby, she likely got it from Alejandro. But the leather wasn’t the necklace’s selling point: that merit went to the large fang hanging from it.

“It’s a trophy.” She explained, quickly untying it and letting Bart grab it in his telekinesis. “Alej’ said the feat with the manticores was worth remembering even if the ones I killed weren’t adults, so they saved a bit for me after they were done chopping them up for alchemical stuff.”

“It looks nice.” Bart commented as he used his telekinesis to lift it closer to his muzzle, idly noting the little vine pattern someone had carved on it with a needle.

“I know right? Call me a magpie if you want but I really dig the look.” The tall parrot told him.

“Magpie? Nah...” He shook his head firmly and gave her her necklace back. “The D-Dogs and the dragons are like magpies, they go for the shiny stuff. You parrots just like garish stuff. Big difference.”

“Ornithians technically.” She pointed out to him.

“Same thing really.” Bart rolled his eyes before throwing a quick look towards the bridge. “Say, mind if I as-”

“Ten days to America. Eleven if the weather gets bad.”

“Thanks. How’d you guess?”

“It was an obvious question.” She shrugged. “So you going to get that ginger?”

“ASAP preferably. I’m fucking tired of skipping meals.” Bart nodded before walking away. “That, and I need to go see the seamstress for my service dress. See you for dinner.”

Which reminded Greet of how they had settled their agreement with Ms. Hawkins. To take her across the Atlantic, Dilip only asked her to help crewmembers get a proper wardrobe.

Granted, they had already done lots to adjust their clothing to their new body types, but unlike the Earth Pony they weren’t professionals. There was always this little bit of thread or padding that could be improved upon and that they’d forgotten about.

This was all the easier to notice with ‘fancy’ clothing like service dresses. While they may have managed to fashion something while they were in Copenhagen for Yancy’s burial, the results were… sub-par, to put it mildly. Too tight around the waist, frayed, poorly-made seams and asymmetrical fits. The results were particularly more egregious the further a sailor’s body type differed from that of a human.

It had thus fallen upon their America-bound passenger to plan out a schedule and have each crewmember visit her cabin and have their wardrobe updated.

To her credit Hawkins had a good work ethic. She’d met with Farkas upon embarking and requested they provide her with their sewing supplies and all the templates they’d already accrued for their clothing before asking them to fill in their names on a timetable and visit her one at a time. Maybe it was her special skill as a pony, or maybe she was just that good, but the Earth Pony somehow managed to go through up to four wardrobes a day without breaking a sweat, and without hands.

It really was a sight to behold, as Greet had already had the chance to witness. The Boston-born mare had been diligent in learning how to use her new body and could now thread a needle with little to no trouble and use any of her tools with surgical accuracy despite the hooves.

Frankly, Greet would have thought she was a machine was it not for Molly’s attitude. She had a habit of chatting with clients as she worked on their clothes and took their measurements with her tape. The best way she could use to describe her personality was bubbly. And the Bostonian accent sure didn’t help.

But she was nice to be around, and with Greet she’d been quite eager to learn about Ornithians’ fashion preferences, so much so that she’d even taken some notes when Greet told her about them.

The only actual problem with the mare was her seeming desire to play dress up with some of the crewmembers – as if Sandra doing that wasn’t enough already- and she’d somehow managed to convince Greet to try out the outfit she’d made for her according to her own descriptions of Ornithian fashion.

Not that it was bad looking. In fact, she almost let out a happy squawk of approval when she saw it.

It was just a bit…

Gaudy, old fashioned, kitsch, frilly. All of those things she knew were supposed to look bad yet looked so appealing to her now.

It was as if Molly had taken inspiration from Victorian-era dresses, pirate wear and Atlantic duffle coats at the same time. It came with a frilly white shirt with trim to match her feathers underneath a near-black sleeveless long coat with brass pauldrons, and a high collar to account for Ornithians’ relatively long necks. Both were designed in such a manner that they hugged her statuesque frame around the waist, the coattails flaring out below the belt in something that looked disturbingly like a skirt to Greet.

Below that, Molly had designed a pair of navy blue flared pantaloons with an integrated sash. Like the rest of the outfit, the colors were muted enough that the outfit could be used for bridge work, yet with sufficiently colorful trim to satisfy a parrot.

The outfit even came with a wide belt with straps to attach her recently acquired magic shortsword – the Amber Sword as she had dubbed it-.

Greet decided she liked it.





With the matter of the fay ladies addressed, it left them with nothing concrete to do except keep an eye on the tree and improve their dwellings in Trecesson Castle. Merlin had by then long finished setting up in his tower, and even Rockhoof finally deemed that they’d prepared enough fields to beef up their stores come winter.

Right then, the big ginger-maned stallion had just paused by the gates in the courtyard after he got back from inspecting the fields and feeding the cattle in the morning. And he still wasn’t comfortable around Earth-born cows. To be fair, what Equestrian would? He was so used to intelligent cows that seeing them behave like… animals felt utterly alien. Let alone when they just passively stayed put when he milked them.

“Rock dearest, can you bring the milk to the kitchen?” Meadow asked him as she trotted past, a small basket of rhubarb from the garden on her back and Martin following close behind. “I think I’m going to make some butter today, and maybe something else if there’s too much of it, I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course!” He nodded firmly as he tore his eyes away from Merlin’s tower and threw a look at the mare’s bare flank.

Was it already bulging or was he imagining things? Probably the latter, he was probably spotting hints of  her pregnancy just because he wanted to see them.

As he ventured further inside the courtyard he spotted Emeric and Miles chatting near a pile of… random gizmos he couldn’t recognize. One of the objects in the pile looked like a cast iron stove, but there were also bits of copper, some fans, bags of charcoal and miscellaneous bits of piping.

“Bonjour.” He greeted the two military ponies in French. “Busy I see?”

“Sort of.” Emeric acknowledged, the bronze unicorn folding a set of plans he’d been reading from and tucking it in a pouch he carried under his camo poncho with his telekinesis. “We’re just trying to figure out how to improve things around here.”

“Mostly he, I never was one for the technical stuff.” Miles pointed out. “He makes the plans, I just get the stuff.”

“Well...” Rock swept his eyes over the parts. “Don’t count on me or Meadow to help with that. Technology really isn’t our forte. What is it anyway?”

“A Frankenstein-style blend of a coal boiler and a steam turbine that’s what.” Emeric proudly stated as he planted a hoof on the ‘stove’.

“Gesundheit.”Rockhoof said. “Explanation for the ancient pony that I am?”

“Oh it’s not that complicated really. Merlin gets it. Explained it all in one go as he was giving me magic lessons.” Emeric shrugged.

“Merlin is a scholar with a knack for new things. I’m not.”

“True that...” He acknowledged. “In short: this here is the simplest way I could think of for us to get running water, hot water and electricity without relying on an external grid or anything too high tech. Tech wise it’s at least seventy years old, and it shouldn’t pose too much trouble maintaining it either. I mean, I made it all so it could run on charcoal, so it’s not like we’d even rely on oil for power. I know where to make some.”

“Where then?”

“Hold on...” Emeric raised a hoof before he pulled out another piece of paper, unfolding it to reveal a chart of Broceliande which he laid out on the ground. “There we go… see this little village east of the castle?”

Rockhoof examined the map, following the French unicorn’s hoof to a small strip of a village along a river in the middle of the woods.

“There’s charcoal there?”

“Better.” Emeric smiled. “This village used to be called ‘The Forges’, and the locals had made it into a historical reenactment center. You got old-school forges there, charcoal kilns, any tool you may need plus the scrap you might need to make stuff.”

“High tech stuff?”

“No high tech stuff, I promise.”Emeric made a cutting gesture with his hoof. “That’s the good thing with the region: we had so much medieval touristy attractions going on that you’ll find a lot of places where they recreated ancient tech. Like the farm outside the castle for instance. Stuff that’s a lot more durable than digital-era technology, stuff you should know how to use already.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to mount an expedition in that direction later this week. There any road between us and The Forges?”

“Technically yes but...” He trailed off for a second before folding up his map. “Miles?”

“Rockhoof, I don’t think the roads are gonna last much longer at the rate the forest is expanding.” The pegasus said, taking it as her cue to speak up. “We already had enough trouble getting to Vivian’s lake the other day with all the overgrowth, so I don’t think we’ll have the luxury of a road that’s good enough to pass carts through. Hiking level paths at best, game trails at worst.”

“That I can help with.” Merlin suddenly joined in, teleporting right in the middle of their group in his equine form.

Miles jumped up two meters in the air with a ‘eep’ from the surprise before coming back down in a glide. She had yet to practice enough that she could stay in the air for more than a couple seconds.

Considering her only reliable way to train was by herself and jumping off the battlements down in the moat, actual flight was going to take a while.

“And how can you help?” She asked, throwing him a mildly-annoyed glare after making sure her heart was still beating.

To that the mage replied by igniting his horn. There was a slamming noise up above them as the door to his tower abruptly opened and a little stone came flying at them. It was a small carved disk, about the size of a CD, covered in glowing runes and sigils.

“I made this. I’m too busy to come along this time unfortunately, but this stone will teleport you back inside my tower when you use it.”He told them.

“That should make it easier to bring the loot back. Great.” Rockhoof stroked his beard with the tip of a hoof. “Now if you don’t mind I need to get this milk to the kitchen.” He concluded before jerking his head towards the bucket he’d set down behind him. “Best of luck with the assembling. We’ll probably deal with the Forges tomorrow, drop by whenever you’re ready to go.”

“I will.” Emeric smiled.

With that the big Earth Pony left them to their own devices, already overhearing Emeric start a conversation with Starswirl about unicorn magic. Truth to be told, he doubted Emeric would ever become a particularly powerful mage.

He may only be an Earth Pony, but Rock had plenty of years of experience gauging ponies under his belt, and he had seen Emeric’s cutie mark. It was a simple bush with the vague silhouette of a pony overlaid above it. Paired with a military pony, he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be some kind of camouflage expert.

A very useful skill in the military (in fact he was pretty sure the Equestrian army actively sought such Cutie Marks for their recon divisions), but not the kind of stuff genuine mages the likes of Starswirl were molded from.

On the way to the kitchen he passed the two latest additions to the colony. One was a doe called Sandrine, and the other was a unicorn, a former barman with a keg cutie mark going by the name of Lionel. So far they’d spent the last few days since their arrival getting settled in one of the castle’s bedrooms and getting acquainted to their new forms.

Unlike the two military who could at least serve as guards, these two were blank slates. It had thus fallen upon him to find out exactly how they could make themselves useful.

If he was ready to declare himself as Lord of Trecesson in front of none other than Morgane La Fay, then he’d make sure he was worthy of the mantle.

Lionel he wasn’t really worried about. The stallion sounded very willing to do his part of the work so it was just a matter of teaching the urbanite how things worked in farming. He’d already spent a morning or two teaching him how to use all the tools they kept stored in the barn, and he’d even seen him reading some practical books in the castle’s library.

Yes, turns out they had one. Not a big one, but it made for a nice study and held a respectable collection of hands-on manuals and guides on flora and fauna. Maybe because the former castellan was an outdoorsman or even just a hunter. Regardless of why, the collection was enough to sate Lionel’s curiosity and Rock had seen him take some notebooks about brewing and beekeeping to his chambers.

The doe however…

Rockhoof frowned as he entered the kitchen, thinking about her. Unlike Lionel, she was lazy. Very much so. He and Meadow had already asked her a couple times to help around, to little effect. She would just laze around in her and Lionel’s shared bedroom, and it was only because the latter had promised he’d try to convince her that the stallion hadn’t stepped in yet.

And his patience was running thin. He wasn’t from cities like Canterlot where ponies lived the easy life, no. He was a pony from the North, where life depended on every member of the herd doing their part. Lazy ponies were a big no-no.

And he didn’t want any such pony living off the castle’s pantry. Sandrine would have one more day to get off her rump, and if she didn’t, well…

Rockhoof seriously contemplated tossing her in the moat for motivational purposes.

Focused as he was on that train of thought he didn’t see Meadowbrook when the shorter mare reached up to his muzzle and planted a quick peck on his lips.

“I’m sorry?” He looked down at her.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just drop the milk by the fire. You looked worried.”

“Not worried, just a bit thoughtful.” He told her.

“The newcomers?”

“Just the doe.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to-”

“What to doe with her?” Meadow chirped.

“Oh deer...” He rolled his eyes. “Must you make this stallion suffer like this?”

“Shush you, I’m just trying to cheer you up since you’re so solemn.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “And don’t you worry, we’ll get her to work whether she wants to or not. No lazy city folks will be accepted in this castle, right?”

“Yeah, none of that.” He nodded, pulling her towards him with one hoof and breathing in her scent. “How’s it working out on your end?”

“Doing great, what else?” She smiled before motioning towards where Martin was playing outside in the courtyard. “Lil’ fawn over here is a great help when I go foragi-”

“Which you shouldn’t be doing with the pregnancy.”

“Learn to properly collect ingredients, and then we’ll talk. Plus Martin’s marked by the White Stag, I don’t think there’s anything too bad that could happen to him around here.”

“That’s what you think. I just think some are just laying too much burden on that kid. Why did it even mark him? Because it wants him to be the lord of these woods? He’s a bucking fawn for Faust’s sake, not a fully-grown buck like, I dunno, Lord Bramble!” He ranted. “Sorry.”

“It’s gotta come out at some point eventually.” She gave him a small smile.

“Back to you...” He shook his head. “So… second try: how’s it going?”

“I decided where to finally set up my lab proper.” She said. “So… once Starswirl is done magicking me some gear, I’ll finally be able to move the potion-making away from the kitchens.”

“Where to then?”

“There’s a free room down below, between the wine cellar and the pantry.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold down below?”

“Precisely.” She jabbed a hoof in his chest, a confident smile on her muzzle. “Some of my ingredients need to be kept cold, and there’s some good ventilation down there. I’ll give that to you, it’s gonna be cold in winters, and the humidity from the moat doesn’t help, but it’s as good as it’s gonna get around here to practice my alchemy.”

And she wouldn’t be making potions with kitchen utensils anymore. That was always a mess, cleaning them up so she didn’t accidentally infect food with her potions.





	El Tajin.

An ancient pre-Columbian city in the state of Veracruz, Mexico. Its sprawling ruins the last remains of a long dead civilization that had already been abandoned for centuries by the time European explorers first made landfall. Great gray pyramids rose up from the jungle floor which was a muddy mess from the constant rain that had been pelting the area for more than a week and had already swallowed two of Night’s ponies when they fell off the boardwalks they had erected between the pyramids. Their struggles only served to make them sink in the muck faster.

Their bodies floated to the surface the next day.

They were hard at work attempting to make something out of the place, though it really felt like nature was doing everything it could to stop them from settling there. The weather was one thing, but they also had to fight off plants that grew disturbingly fast and seemed like they were about to invade their constructions every other day if she didn’t actively order somepony to chop off all the vines before they destroyed the boardwalks.

At least that made wood easy to come by, as was food. And they even had the fauna throwing itself at them in an attempt to dislodge the demonic cultists from the ruined city.

	Hail Scylla for the extra food. Night wasn’t one of these lazy Equestrians who shunned meat out of principles. In fact the prospect of eating the ocelot that had attacked her in the morning made the batpony salivate. Bloody thing deserved it after the scratch its claws had made on her armor’s breastplate.

Frankly, the first few days she’d spent in Mexico had made Night very tempted to just take a recall stone back to the Hub and tell Mage to buck off with his plan of setting up a new base, but that was only before she and her subordinates actually located the ruined city.

Oh, what an opportunity it was.

Convergence points in ley lines had always been powerful locations to syphon magic off of, and this one was no exception. Each and every stone pyramid in the ruins was like a fountain of magic begging to be tapped, and Night was all too happy to comply.

She came to a halt in front of one of those structures, a large tiered pyramid with niches built in its sides all the way up to the summit.

Now if she were an archaeologist, she would assume it was some kind of a temple to a blood god or some stuff because it was roiling with that kind of magic, feeling like some invisible, malicious tendrils that tried to grab onto her and pull her towards the gate set in a stone crucible on the summit. Dark red ‘veins’ ran all the way from that giant bowl down the sides of the pyramid before disappearing under the muck, a pattern which repeated itself in slightly different patterns on nearly every pyramid found in the ruins.

However, that was useless now. She smiled internally. One of the first things they’d done after setting up the boardwalks was putting a stopper on those gates to ‘tap’ the magic they were absorbing from the ley lines. Whatever intelligences that were on the other side of those gates thrashed in protest the moment they finished their sealing circles, radiating righteous anger and fury at them, to no avail.

The magic was theirs now, slowly being syphoned towards the crystal banks they used to store power inside the clusters of buildings they’d put on stilts between the ruins.

The Four Horses’ camp in the ruins was turning into a tentacular mess. Amidst all of the boardwalks that snaked their way between the pyramids they’d also erected a couple wider platforms onto which they could build what they needed. Most of it was still just tents, with the odd ramshackle wooden building like the one they used to put their crystal banks in, and the room with their main summoning circle.

In short: they still had a lot of work ahead of them.

“Boss?” A voice asked behind her.

Sirius. Her lieutenant.

“Something the matter?” She asked, turning around to face the muscular gargoyle who had taken to wearing an oilcloth parka to ward off the rain.

“Not really. Just the daily report.” He announced.

“I’m waiting.” She told.

“Very well...” He coughed once. “Building is proceeding as planned with the obvious delays because of… local disturbances. That being said, we already shipped a set of fully loaded crystals back to the hub. Local magic’s making some good yields”

“Already?” She quirked an eyebrow in surprise, one black crystal-encased wing reaching out to cup her chin.

“Yes, turns out the magic yield of this place is even higher than expected.” Sirius explained with a satisfied nod. “Mage was pleased, even commended the ponies on delivery duty for a job well done.”

“Did he now?”

“By his standards of course.” Sirius shrugged. “You know him better than I do, it’s not like he’s ever particularly effusive about it.”

“Got it then. So he just nodded.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Now about the breeding facility...”

“We still have contact with the one on Equus?”

“Mage said the bond between the two planets would last a couple weeks more at least, I think. We’ve already ‘ported all live monsters at random around the planet so the pens are empty. That leaves eggs and a couple breeding pairs to make more. They’re ready to ship as soon as we have a holding facility over here. And… Night?”

“Yes?”

“Haze and Might were ready to make their own requisitions for those, so I went ahead and filled it in for you before they could take all the good stuff for their own facilities. We won’t have any of the stuff to make intelligence-suppressing runes for the monsters – so sea serpents and chimeras are out of the way-, but I got all the components for control and tracking runes, plus a buckton of chupacabra eggs.”

“Chupacabras? Is that all you could get?!” She raised her voice and rounded up on him, jabbing a hoof against his chest.

“No, far from it!” The gargoyle quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. “It’s just... Might and Haze were busy securing the good stuff for themselves and I can’t overturn their requisition orders. Had to secure something so we’d have monsters on hand. And what’s wrong with chupacabras anyway? We can make hundreds of them in weeks.”

“They’re lightweights, that’s the problem.” Night sighed and rubbed a hoof against her muzzle. “Is everything already taken? Like… can you secure some heavyweights? Cave trolls? Manticores? Hydras?”

“Cave trolls are all taken, Might wanted them for Africa. But I think I saw like half-a-dozen hydra eggs in a shed.”

“Then get to that teleporter and secure them before the others get them. We won’t get anything done if we’re entirely reliant on chupacabras.”

“Aight boss, will do.” Sirius nodded vigorously, pulling out a small notebook and jotting down the orders.

The two of them fell into silence for a moment, listening to the rumbling skies above them and all the noises that came from the jungle sbeyond the ruins. The only light at the moment was coming from the coupleof torches and fires their subordinates had managed to make underneath a large tent made from some ‘plastic’ tarp they’d salvaged in nearby abandoned settlements. The tarp was arranged in a roof of sorts, with the walls made from wooden crates containing items Sirius had let them loot freely.

Letting all these mangy bandits and smugglers loot was important, too. They needed to let them have the riches and spoils they wanted to maintain morale. After all, if they, among the higher ranks could profit from Scylla’s power boosts, the lower ranks also needed to get something out of the deal lest they throw a mutiny.

And in Night’s mind, having an entire planet to loot at their own leisure was as good a deal as they’d ever get.





Dilip’s work was interrupted by a knock on his door, spurring him to set down his cup of tea and put his spreadsheets on hold for a moment.

He was just perusing a tutorial over V-Lookup anyway. Damn witchcraft...

“It’s open!” The dog called out in a bark.

The door opened quickly, and in walked Artyom. That in itself wasn’t much of a surprise. What was, was the way the blue dragon had chosen to dress: no coveralls, but a clean shirt, tie and trousers combo, with his scales polished to a perfect jewel-like sheen.

“Good afternoon.” The Indian greeted him with a nod before waving his paw over to the seat in front of his desk. “How are things going?”

“Good afternoon, Captain.” Artyom greeted back before taking a seat. “Ship’s in great shape, not much maintenance to do so soon after a tour in dry-dock, so not much work to do except for drills. Now...”

It was at that moment that the Captain finally noticed the union pin the dragon had attached to his collar.

“I take it you’re here as the union rep and not as the bosun?”

“That is correct.” The Russian nodded. “As you know, it is my duty to represent the ratings of this crew and ensure their well-being and interests are accounted for in your decisions.”

“Which I do.” Dilip said, leaning back in his chair slightly. “So I’m surprised you’d come here about it. I don’t think I’ve done anything as of late that’d impact morale that negatively.”

“You haven’t. I’m here to address the issue of wages.”

“Wages? Artyom, we’re cut off from the charterer, probably forever. Money isn’t even worth anything anymore, so maybe I could distribute some paper slips around, but they wouldn’t be worth much. I don’t even earn anything myself. And I’m not giving anyone HPI credits either. These are exclusively for buying parts.”

“I’m aware, Captain.” He replied slowly. “It’s not really about money, but giving the crew something to work for. I don’t criticize your leadership, I’m just saying a sailor needs to work for something of his own, to have a vetted interest in this ship.”

“And you just so happened to have an idea about that.”

“I do.” The dragon nodded. “Loot concessions.”

“You’re already free to take what you want – within reasons- when we’re in port you know.” Dilip quirked an eyebrow at him.

“That’s not really what I meant. I think all sailors should have access to some cargo capacity to store belongings they acquire during our voyages, at least until civilization gains enough of a foothold that some kind of currency may be established for wages.”

“And you really think this will help?” He inquired, not sounding too convinced.

“I do. Gathering loot and storing it on board as profits from our voyages is the closest thing we can offer them to wages. Having belongings invested in the ship will also make them doubly more motivated to keep her safe and sound. I’d also suggest giving more leniency for cabin modifications, but the cargo space for loot is what it’s really about. So what do you think, sir?”

Dilip stared thoughtfully at the dragon on the other side of his desk for a few moments, twirling a pencil between his digits.

“It’s an idea worth considering, I’ll give you that.” He finally said, standing up and reaching for his teacup. “You’re right about a need for wages, but I’ll have to think about how much room I should allot sailors for their, ahem...”

“Loot sir.” Artyom filled in.

“Yes, loot. I’ll discuss the matter with Alejandro later. Thank you for bringing up the topic.”

“And thank you for your attention, Captain.” The blue dragon grinned widely before exiting the room.

How much space could they spare for that anyway? Alej’ was the one who did all the cargo calculations, he’d probably know that.
> Chapter 64: From Below the Waves...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So what do we do?” Rhodes eventually said after doing her best to make sure the two unconscious ponies on the bridge weren’t dying right in front of their eyes. She’d pulled them over to a pile of their discarded clothes by the chart table whilst Gardner did his best trying to figure out what was going on elsewhere on the boat.
And now she was naked on the bridge, the blast of the ventilation softly ruffling the fur coat on her back. A weird feeling.
“First response would be to make sure the reactor is safe.”
“And?” She prodded as she grabbed Martinez’s hat and some discarded socks to wrap around her head wound, doing her best to tighten them without hands.
That concussion was just begging to catch her around the corner and her eyes felt heavy, but she just couldn’t let Gardner face this alone. The whole situation was bad enough already.
“Well at least power’s still running and I’m not getting alarms from there.” The bay pony mumbled through a pen he used to push buttons on a nearby console.
“Did you check the damage control panel?”
“Won’t do shit. Damage’s filled in manually, you need a team on site to report the damage to central if you want it to show up in the system.” He grunted. “And considering I tried to call out and it didn’t do shit either, well then...”
“What if the comms are FUBAR?”
“They could be.” He acknowledged. “Or it could be that nobody’s in any shape to answer on the other end of the line. I’m pretty sure I heard something coming from down the hatchway, so at least someone beside us on this bloody boat is alive an- FUCK THESE DAMN HOOVES” He yelled out in frustration, spitting out his pen after his fifth missed attempt at hitting the right button.
“You alright sir?” Rhodes slowly attempted, head held low.
“Alright? AL-RIGHT?!” He yelled. “Jesus wept Rhodes! I’m a fucking pony, you’re a fucking pony and you lost your dick, we faceplanted a multi-BILLION dollar engine of war and destruction into the seabed just ‘cause we were too fucking busy moping over our sorry asses and now we’re faced with the very real prospect we may have killed most of the crew and doomed the rest to an excruciating death from anywhere to drowning, fire, radiation, or just plain fuckin’ squished by six hundred feet of water pressure. So NO you witless dipshit, I’m not alright!” Gardner ranted.
Rhodes just let him get it out of his system with a roll of her eyes for a couple more minutes before she planted herself in front of him with a flat look. In passing she took note of how he was now actually taller than her. By a lot. Were mares really that small? She couldn’t tell, she’d never been on a ranch.
“Sir, how shall we proceed from now on?”
The frustrated pony stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at his subordinate.
“What?”
“We need to do something, sir.” she stated. “Can’t just sit around expecting the motherfucking Christ will swoop in and pull us out of this shitfest.”
“You’re right…” he sighed. “Thanks, now let’s see what we can do. Get behind planes, let’s see whether or not Georgie here is willing to get up from the seabed,” he ordered, giving her a small tap on the shoulder.
Rhodes blinked for a second, staring at the Lieutenant as he walked over to his station. Now the ranting she could get, that was nothing new, but the smile and tap on the shoulder? Yeeeah, that mare thing was going to get old real quick. She nickered softly before she complied and moved over to her station where the controls for the aft planes were situated.
There were even some blood stains right where her skull had impacted the controls. Neat, now she was leaving souvenirs all over the boat.
“Alright...” She announced as she gave her station a once-over. “Still got steering controls, so Engine Room has not taken over the controls from us yet. No damage to the console, in appearance. Hydraulics look fine. Do I do a rudder test?”
“Negative!” Gardner barked. “Do that now and you’ll just scrape it against the seabed. I’m going to see if we can get off the ground.”
“Emergency blow, sir?”
“Aye.” He replied, moving over to a pair of levers by the ballast controls.
The ‘chicken switch’, as they called it in bubble head parlance, dubbed that way because if anything real bad happened to the sub, they were supposed to pull it and have the submarine surface as fast as possible.
With nobody answering their calls on the sound-powered telephone and a grounded sub? Now was as good a reason as he’d ever get. He hooked the ‘elbows’ of his forehooves (whatever the equine term was) around the levers and paused one last time.
Pulling the switch would dump almost all the compressed air they had stored on board into their ballast tanks, emptying them of all water and changing the sub’s buoyancy so drastically it would catapult them to the surface, or so Gardner hoped. He took a deep breath and heaved.
The levers released with a loud ‘clang!’, the pony falling backwards on his rump with a grunt as the ballast system did its job.
Or at least, it tried to. The hull rumbled and produced a long, drawn-out hissing noise that it definitely wasn’t supposed to as high-pressure air rushed through pipes all over the hull, pushing water out of the vessel’s ballast tanks.
Georgia began to right herself, slowly, too slowly. Gardner and Rhodes watched the depth gauge with bated breath as it slowly climbed upa few feet, a loud grinding noise resonating around the whole boat as debris that had accumulated over the hull after the crash came free and fell off.
“Come on, come on… Please...” Gardner pleaded to the gauge as if it were sentient.
Two seconds later, the hissing noise of air rushing through the pipes stopped, replaced by the grinding noise of strained metal, as if Georgia was screaming in pain. Outside, rips in the outer hull forwardcaused by the crash widened under all that stress, bubbles of precious air rushing out of the gash, wasted. The stern rose, the ballast tanks aft being more intact than forward, but the bow was reluctant to let go of the slope it had impacted.
“Just climb, I beg of you!”
To no avail. The compressed air reserves ran out and they plummeted back down to the seabed with a crash, lurching backwards as they slid further down the continental slope to the sound of what Gardner assumed was the propeller, rudder and aft planes being torn to pieces, settling faster by the stern as the aft ballast tanks were distorted and torn by sliding against the ocean floor, venting precious high-pressure air, air that could not be replaced.
A minute later, they finally came to a halt, once more heeled backwards and to starboard. The depth gauge read 600 feet.
“That’s it, we’re fuckin’ dead.” He groaned.
It was that moment the phone chose to finally come back to life, the digital screen next to the handset lighting up aggressively as it rang.
“It’s the Engine Room, sir. Must be Eng.” Rhodes said.





Vadim was doing a science.

Jokes aside, he was using what free time he had between his morning and afternoon watch to fill in some work for Camille in the infirmary. The hippogriff on Rhine had transmitted him some more details on the extent of the research projects they needed to do for the HPI.

Some of it was just taking MRI and CT scans of post-Event species, and other far more lucrative experiments such as the one he was busy with involved getting the HPI multiple samples of genetic material for delivery once they reached Savannah. ‘Lucrative’ implying in this case that a couple vials of DNA held as much value as an entire propeller shaft according to the HPI’s pricing list.

Hence: Dilip had been very insistent he do everything he could to help Doctor Delacroix get as many of these scientific assignments done as ‘humanly’ (for what the term was worth nowadays) possible.

On the counter, the centrifuge came to a stop with a little ping, revealing half a dozen little vials to the griffon.

“Six down, eighteen to go.” He said to himself, neatly sticking labels on each vial before stowing them in a fridge and grabbing a new batch of blood vials to process

Off to his right, the door opened with a click, letting in Micha.

“Dzien dobry.” He greeted his mate in Polish. “Done with your watch?”

“Yep, not too interesting either.” She told, coming up behind him and giving him a quick nip with her beak. “It’s open ocean, not much going on beyond making sure we’re on the right track and we don’t drift into any ship in the convoy.”

“I’m sure that was riveting.”He drawled.

“You bet. Glad I passed the watch to Greet, felt like I was gonna fall asleep on the bridge for a moment.”

“Now wouldn’t that be surprising coming from you.” He said, carefully injecting an enzyme in each of the next batch of vials before putting a stopper on them and stuffing them in the centrifuge. “And Andy?”

“Playing with her plush toys in her cabin.” Micha said. “Speaking of which...”

“Andy?”

“No, cabins. Captain’s issued a statement after he got a visit from Artyom.”

“Do tell.” He asked as he inserted the new set of vials in the centrifuge.

“First off, we have our own storage space now.”

“Come again?”

“Captain said now everyone has access to either a parking spot or half a twenty-foot container worth of cargo space for stuff they loot when we’re ashore. As long as it’s not threatening the safety of the ship, of course. And then he went off on a tangent about cabins and couples.”

Vadim turned on the machine and swiveled in his stool to face her.

“Cabins and couples?”

“Yeah, he… basically said it might be possible to merge cabins for couples, but only those we’re sure are going to last.”

“Griffons then.”

“Pretty much, unless some folks somehow locate a priest and get married, species with pair-bonding are the only ones he said he’d allow to merge cabins.”

“And if you’re bringing it up now, then that means you want to.”

“Of course!” She practically squawked. “I mean, let’s be realistic, that’s the next step. I already got stuff in your cabin, as you do in mine. So if we could get two adjacent cabins and knock down the wall between them, that’d be pretty neat don’t you think? We could even split up all that space and make an apartment out of it, bedroom for us, bedroom for Andy, office and bathroom. I’m sure the Captain would be fine with that, saves him a cabin.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea.” He rumbled softly. “I even think I can cash in a few favors with the engineers to get us plans to do that. Not sure we could do it when at sea though, but it shouldn’t be too hard to manage. Think you can just draft a few ideas about it in the meantime?”

“I can.” She nodded. “What are you doing by the way?”

“Just some simple experiments, extracting DNA and all. It’s actually pretty interesting all we’ve already figured out between me, Camille and Lilian.”

“Lilian?” Micha tilted her head.

“Fugro’s doctor, pretty good at barotrauma and diving stuff. Remember the pink dragon, asian-style frills and all?”

“Oh, her. Yeah I see, so what did you figure out?”

Vadim did a face.

“Well, it’s not really me as it’s them who did the thinking. I just did some lab stuff. We’re starting to work out how hormones work on a species-by-species basis.”

“What for?”

“Birth control for one.” He shrugged. “Blood wise we may share similarities with humans, but the molecules in the endocrine system are different. Well, not all of them, we still have insulin and the works. It’s sexual hormones I’m talking about.You could try and take the pill if you wanted, but that wouldn’t do shit. We checked.”

“It doesn’t? Really?”

“It’s not even the same mechanism, so don’t try it.” He warned her. “Eventually a better group than us might be able to make something that prevents a hen from going into heat after unprotected sex, but… it’s one thing to figure out the hormones we have aren’t the same as humans, finding out their exact composition is another thing entirely.”

“That difficult?”

“Absolutely. Might even take years to get to the bottom of this for one species with as little trained personnel as we have, and that’s when you count nurses and medical officers in the lot. In the meantime… condoms still work. Rubbers by the bucket. I hop-”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“It’s open!” Vadim cried out, switching to from Polish to English.

This time it was Boris’ turn to poke his head through the door as the Russian griffon cast a sweeping look around the infirmary. It didn’t take a genius to spot the concerned look on his features or the way he held himself close to the ground as if scared.

Vadim almost switched to Russian before he reminded himself Micha next to him didn’t actually speak the language. English it was then…

“Something the matter, buddy?” He quirked his head.

“I’d say.” Boris replied in a low tone after he checked the hallway behind him and shuffled inside the infirmary.

For a few seconds he looked at Micha as if weighing in whether or not she should know what he was going to say before he finally sat down on his haunches and coughed in his talons.

“I fucked up. Badly.”

Vadim frowned, but didn’t say anything just yet, his tail subtly going to squeeze around Micha’s as the pair remained side by side.

“I… I’m not 100% sure yet, but...” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “It’s about Anton. She’s in her cabin.”

“She’s injured?”

“No no no!” He quickly said. “She’s… she’s healthy, but the problem with my… mate-” He put extra emphasis on the word. “-is a bit different. If you know what I mean.”

Micha’s eyes went wide in realization. She self-consciously rubbed her thighs together, kneading the floor with her hind legs.

“Ja pierdole.” She swore.





	The Lady of the Lake had done her part of the work.

Starswirl took note of it the moment he teleported inside the clearing where the Golden Tree stood; but first he had something else to do. In equine form, the ghost summoned a little notebook into existence, its pages covered in various glyphs and scribbles.

With a flash of his horn, the book began hovering in the air, and runes started flying out and away from it, headed for a couple scanning wards he’d set up around the forest to collect and bring him back data.

A more efficient solution than just wandering through the woods, if less entertaining. Then again he was dead, so exercise wasn’t a necessity.

The book would only need a couple minutes to fill up with the observations and measurements he needed.

Enough time to find out what it was Vivian had done to the tree with Excalibur...

Which actually amounted to thrusting the sword in one of the knots at the tree’s base and letting the Elements’ spirit do the rest of the work.

Classy Vivian, reeeeal classy.

And naturally, the spirit, while not old enough to manifest itself yet, had eagerly accepted the gift of the relic, turning the knot into a proper ‘pedestal’ of sorts where the blade was jammed down to its hilt, with the scabbard laid down neatly perpendicular to it. Some extra roots had then wrapped themselves around the sword, leaking sap so that they formed a protective casing around it in such a way that it looked like the Golden Tree was proudly presenting Excalibur for the whole world to see.

The Elements were starting to change the sword too, at least that’s what Starswirl assumed when he saw how the runes along the blade were starting to reform in a different pattern, along with the handguard beginning to show hints of a more organic texture.

“Wondering who’s going to become the next Arthur?” Someone said behind him in Latin.

“Hello Morgane.”Starswirl didn’t turn away or switch to human form, only hearing the buzz of the fay’s wings as she landed a few steps behind him. “How goes your day?”

“Interestingly. I’m starting to hear about more mages waking up all over the world. My familiars have seldom worked so hard. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Happy to hear more mages survived the magic drought. As for your question...”He paused to cast a look upon Excalibur. “Arthur was unique. You don’t get kids like that twice in history. This time around will be different. Very different.”

“Thrilling.”Morgane sardonically said. “May I ask if my notes helped you with your new lab?”

“They did, very much so.”Starswirl nodded, idly summoning back his magic notebook as it was done collecting data.“I’m still working out some kinks, but planar magic certainly is a field I could stand to develop some more. I already have a lot of ideas I’d like to explore to improve it.”

“Such as?”

“Mild stuff for now. I’m trying to get a grip on how it affects teleportation and whether making a hub inside a different plane instead of the material plane would be more energy efficient. And some wards sprinkled on top. Either way, I should get my first test on that in a couple minutes. Now...”He turned his head ever so slightly towards her. “I believe that parchment in your hand is for me?”

“Correct.” She threw it at him and he deftly caught it in his telekinesis “A research request I’m too busy to take care of, so you can make due on your debt.”

“And what is it about?”

“I need your expertise on the new magic. I’ve been wandering around my cave network and a couple more convergence sites around the region and I found some stones.”

“Mana crystals you mean? Blue gems, radiate magic like no one’s business?”

“So that’s what they’re called...” Morgane wondered aloud, resting her weight on her staff.

“They’re a thing on Equus. Very useful to power up rituals, and though they’re single use they’re better at storing magic than regular gems. In short they’re just naturally condensed clumps of magic you can use at your leisure. I’d wager now they’re not bigger than half a nail.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong.” She countered.

“They’re smaller?”The ghost stroked his beard in wonder.

“Bigger actually. Much bigger.” She told him before she pulled out something from beneath the folds of her robes.

If his ghostly eyes were normal and not just sparks of light they’d have bulged out of his skull the moment he laid his eyes on the fist-sized mana crystal.

“What in Faust’s name is this?!”He exclaimed in surprise. “Crystals like that are worth a king’s ransom, they take decades to form, and it’s only been a few months since the place flooded with magic.”

“I was hoping you could answer that question.” Morgane told him. “I’ve also noticed minerals clumping together in the caves below the Vale of No Return. I knew magic could do that, pure metal clustering in nodules, geodes forming at an increased rate, but that fast? It doesn’t add up.”

“I… I’ll research it. Can I visit the caves sometime later this week? The mana crystals I figure I can do this evening but I’ll need to examine your caves for the rest.”

“Do as you need to, I’m not going to die of old age anytime soon.” She said before giving him the crystal.  “Now, I’m expecting my crows to return in a few minutes, so...”

“One last question.”Starswirl raised his hoof.

“Speak your mind.”

“The caves, are they included inside your plane?”

	Morgane looked at the sky for a few seconds, long enough for Starswirl to admire the way her hair and wings swayed in the gentle magic breeze that swept the clearing.

“Yes and no...” She finally said after a few seconds. “There is a bit of an overlap and transition sector where the realm merges into the local cave network. Does that matter?”

“With magic? Few things don’t.”He quipped. “Have a nice day, then?”

“Yes, have a nice day.” She gave him a curt nod before lifting up her staff.

With a flash of its gem, the fay lady was gone. Starswirl stood in silence for a few seconds, observing the parchment and the crystal before he shook his head and shoved them in the same pocket dimension he used for his notebook.

“Guess Rock should be getting back from The Forges now, maybe I should go back as well.” He mumbled.

And in a flash of his horn, the ghost was gone, leaving the clearing empty save for the White Stag, a silent observer.





Far away from whatever concerns plagued the minds of survivors, in the middle of the ocean between Trinidad and Barbados, things were taking a turn in favor of the Demons. Or Charybdis specifically in this case. Lightning struck the ocean somewhere over the horizon, briefly shining a light through the storm and over what was happening there.

Up in the sky floated a dirigible, its primitive jet engines keeping it on a steady position, bow poised against the wind as it lowered cables – no, goopish tendrils that pulsated as if alive- into the ocean. Every few minutes or so, they’d release a faint purple pulse and bulge ever so slightly, as if something was traveling down their length to the seabed below.

On the airship’s deck stood a Kirin and a hedgefog. Or Nirik rather. The diminutive equine (at least compared to the minotaur-esque hedgefog by her side) was in her angered form, colors faded to charcoal gray and her body wreathed in purplish magic flames that lit up the deck around her, far too intense for even the rain to extinguish her. She was looking at the waves beneath her with a sneer as more tendrils dug beneath the surface and rummaged around the seabed.

The hedgefog wasn’t a regular member of his species. He was a Legionnaire, formerly part of the Storm King’s caste of rogue, genetically engineered warriors that, back on Equus, had revolted against their creators – the very people they’d been created to protect- and conquered over half of the civilized world in an invasion spurred by their magic albino leader.

And then they’d decided to attack the bloody ponies.

He was far past that time. Even his ship and (part of) his crew – the last memories of that time long gone- had been changed by his pledge of allegiance to Charybdis. For better or for worse the demon had marked them with its goop, rendering them beyond the matters of mortality…

But at what cost? A little voice in the back of his head said. So absorbed they’d been by their attempt at getting a taste of the power they’d held for such a short time under the Storm King that they’d traded everything for it.

Sure, the goop made him powerful beyond imagination but… he didn’t even remember his own name. Sometimes he’d just shuffle around aimlessly in his cabin, not needing food or sleep anymore.

	Why was he even doing this?

Oh right, he didn’t have a choice. If he tried to do something for himself, the demon just willed him to stop, like an obedient slave. Charybdis even made him talk the way it wanted, like a helpless little puppet.

	His body wasn’t his own anymore, and there was no hope of freedom in sight. 

Sometimes, the demon would even take control of his body and turn him towards his own crew, making him stare into their lifeless, vacant eyes. They weren’t intelligent anymore, fully-controlled by the monster that toyed with him.

And worst of all? Charybdis had successfully managed to manipulate other pirate Captains like Spring Gleam beside him using its newly acquired puppet as an envoy. The crazed Kirin had no idea what awaited her in the future when the goop took its hold on her.

He’d tried to tell her. Of course the demon spotted the stray thought before he could voice it and instead forced him to comfort her in her choices.

Tauntingly, Charybdis made him stare at the veins of goop that were slowly starting to snake their way down her back under the kirin’s scales. In the confines of his mind, the Captain screamed.

“Your new ship is almost ready.” He heard himself say.

“About time.” The Nirik sneered. “My crew’s waiting, we have our orders.”

She really had no idea what she was heading into.

The airship jerked slightly as the wreck they were digging up from the seabed finally came loose. All at once, the sea lit up with a sickly purple glow that matched the goop in tone. The waters and roiled as the first hints of a prow surfaced.

In another era, it might have been the pride of a nation, a knife-edge of German steel meant to effortlessly challenge the worst Atlantic could throw and defy naval powerhouses chartered by other empires. It was now far beyond that, its plating orange from all the rust, with barnacles and algae covering its flanks as it emerged from the ocean like a zombie whale coming up for air it didn’t even need anymore.

The bow crashed down with a great splash, now level with the water’s surface, belching seawater and jettisoning sea life out of its broken portholes. The wheelhouse was still standing on the deck, its empty windows towering above the rusty bow guns like vacant eye sockets.

It was an antique, a century-old wreck that dated back to one of the greatest wars Mankind ever waged against itself.

SMS Karlsruhe said the faded lettering on the bow, barely visible behind decades upon decades of decay.

With a grinding noise and the snapping of cables, her stern finally surfaced, completely sheared off the rest of the vessel after a boiler explosion shattered her keel. The goopy tendrils worked their magic on the wreck, weaving a skin-like texture over the broken sections and mending them, making the cruiser whole once more, a horrendous amalgam of corrupted lifeforms, steel and rust.

A living ship.

In the remains of what used to be the engine room, something pulsed, a monstrous heartbeat that sent life flowing through multiple tendrils and arteries. Already, some more flesh-like bits of goop were reaching for the guns, ready to ‘fix’ them.

The airship detached all its tendrils except for one that morphed into the shape of a ladder with a crunch.

“Your vessel is ready.” The Captain said. “You may board it with your crew. Our Lord awaits your visit at the Horn.”

“I can’t fight with that.” She complained as her crew was lining up along the railing to take a look at their new ride.

“That problem is for you to solve.” He crossed his arms. “Board it and go meet with our Lord, I need to fly over to the Pacific now and meet up with Captain Souza.”

For a few seconds Spring Gleam just stood there, glaring up at him as her nirik fire flickered in intensity, strong enough to dry up his coat and char the deck. Eventually though, she relented and trotted over to the ladder.

“Very well then. Tell Charybdis we’ll be late, this thing’s gonna need some proper, non-rusty guns.”

Suddenly she froze up completely, a grimace of pain on her muzzle as her sailors looked over in concern.

The Captain felt a twinge of sympathy in his heart as he witnessed it, the very first hints of panic appearing in the kirin’s eyes as she started to comprehend her predicament.

“You may not call our Lord by its name.” He heard himself say. “You shall respect the boons bestowed upon you, you shall accept them with grace, and, most of all, you shall be present in time when our Lord calls for you. This warning shall not be repeated twice.”

He caught a shift in her stance, signifying the Demon had relented its grip on her body. Whether it was because it deemed the lesson was enough or because it couldn’t maintain its grip that long yet, he didn’t know.

“Go now.” He added, this time out of his own volition. “Time is of the essence.”

Spring Gleam hurried off with her head held low, quickly followed by the rest of her crew. Below them, Karlsruhe’s eldritch engine roared.

A few minutes later, both vessels headed off. The airship powered away on a westerly course with a whine of its jet engines, whilst Karlsruhe headed south for Cape Horn.

Towards Charybdis.





Anton’s cabin was dark, with the curtains drawn over the porthole and all the lights shut when Vadim came in with Boris and Micha trailing behind him. The room was mostly barren, having yet to be decorated since Anton had only recently joined the crew.

Clothes and sheets were strewn about the floor around a seabag near the bed, along with a single journal filled with the chicken scratch that was Cyrillic cursive. Next to that little mess was a bundle of bed covers rising and falling slowly, close to the heater that was set to the highest temperature possible.

“Anton?” Micha hopped over to the bundle with a single beat of her wings, laying a comforting claw on her back. “Don’t worry girl, we’re here for you.”

The bundled sheets mumbled something the two male griffons near the entrance couldn’t hear, with Vadim staring at the display in a mix of dread and wonder. It could have easily been him, if he’d forgotten to use protection with Micha on the day that followed their first mating.

“Boris...” He slowly turned towards the goshawk griffon that looked like he was about ready to run away. “How did that happen?” He asked in Ukrainian.

For what it was worth, him speaking the language wasn’t much of a secret anymore. Not since the rest of the crew learned he was officially mated with Anton.

“I think… I think it was that night at the Merchant Hotel.” Boris glared a hole in the floor. “Look, I… Ok, so maybe we got carried away with all the alcohol and we thought we could just try it out for real for the first time, you know?”

“One time will only trigger estrus.” Vadim calmly pointed out, watching Anton’s mottled snow leopard tail peek out from beneath the covers.

“I know, I know...” Boris replied. “But after that… it’s hard to stop yourself you know?”

“I’m aware.”

“I mean… we’re pair-bonded an-”

Vadim raised his talons to stop him mid-sentence.

“Spare me the details, I’ve experienced it first-claw already. I understand how that can come about. What I don’t understand...” He said that raising his voice so Anton could hear him. “Is why it didn’t tick with you when you didn’t menstruate the day after.”

“I didn’t know!” Anton finally raised her head out of the covers to glare at Vadim through her yellow-orange eyes. “I’ve been female for a few months at best, you think I already wrapped my mind around the fact that I- that I...” She stammered.

“You guys mind switching to English, please?”Micha politely asked, one claw making swirling motion between Anton’s wings to comfort her. “Unlike you lot I don’t understand Ukrainian.”

“She says she wasn’t fully conscious she could bear children.” Vadim frowned.

“Neither was I the first time we did it.”

“I still used protection!” Vadim squawked back.

“You’re our Medical Officer, of course you’d remember to do that. It’s your job to worry about it.” Micha chided him. “Besides, you only did for round two when I ovulated.”

Vadim threw Boris a side glance.

“Technically, someone in this cabin also happens to be my medical assistant.”

“Why, fuck you, sir.”

“Let’s not do that, fucking is what got us here in the first place.” He sniffed. “Now, to be sure… nausea?”

“And dizziness.” Anton slowly nodded. “I… I also feel bloated. Like, I know I’ve been eating a shitton more this past week but it really feels like I’m swelling up like a balloon.”

“… which would make sense since you’ve been heating up to have eggs by the looks of it.” Vadim completed as he sat down on his haunches and rubbed his beak pensively. “Book seems to imply producing the eggs and filling them with enough nutrients for a chick to grow demands a lot of energy. It’s normal you’d eat more than usual, so that checks out.”

“Can’t you give me a test and get it over with so-”

“No.” He made a cutting motion with his talons, interrupting Anton. “Our hormones differ from humans’, so it wouldn’t work, even with a blood test. Symptoms are the only real thing we have to evaluate whether you’re pregnant or not, sorry.”

Anton lowered her head somberly, casting a glance over her belly that was ever-so-slightly starting to grow a bulge. Idly, she massaged it with her talons.

“And a scan?”

“Worth doing, but I don’t think I’d get anything until the eggs form their shells… which at a guess should be sometime next week.” He calmly explained. “Egg-based or pregnancy is, as you know, determined within the first two weeks of gestation. That’s about as long as it’s been since the party hasn’t it?”

Anton numbly nodded.

“That means now you should enter a phase where your body preps the eggs to be laid. Expect to eat a lot more than you already do and to show… well, a hatchling-bulge within a week.”

“That quick? Really?” Micha quirked her head.

“Books said it, not me. Her body ain’t making the baby yet, just putting a yolk and a shell around the fetus before it’s supposed to be laid. What a pregnant woman would eat as extra over a couple months, she’s doing in what? Four weeks?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Is nobody going to question the fact we didn’t even talk about a- about abor-...” Anton stammered, her words making all four griffons’ feathers bristle from their instincts balking at the prospect.

“Vadim?” Micha threw him a look.

“Disregarding primal instincts that would prevent me to even do it in the first place? We don’t have the equipment, we don’t have the know-how, and I don’t have the will to carry out something like that, no offense to you hens.”

“None taken.” Anton and Micha replied simultaneously.

“So what now?” Boris asked him.

“Now? I could go on and check out every single symptom, but we all know how it’s going to pan out.” He sighed. “No lie… it’s not going to be easy. I’ll make sure the kitchen’s aware of your status so you get the food you need, and I’ll give you the handbook on the do’s and don't you should pay attention to. You may have to stop working a little bit while you’re carrying too, can’t risk breaking the eggs while they’re inside you.”

“Is that risky?”

“Very much so.” He nodded. “I’ll go ask in engineering to see if we can spare some parts to make an incubator. Want it or not, but there’s work to be done and you won’t ever be able to incubate them yourself 24/7.”

“And what makes you think we want to incubate them all the time?” Boris said.

Vadim and Micha both gave them a flat look.

“Right… instincts...” Boris rubbed the back of his neck with a weak chuckle. “I’m gonna be a dad… I’m...”

And then he fainted.

“Uh… didn’t see that coming.” Micha looked at the unconscious Russian with a nonplussed look. “Want me to drag him to your bed Anton?”

“Please.” She muttered, numbly stroking her belly.

“Alright, guess after that we’ll leave you two to the, ahem, personal side of this.” Vadim told her. “Just remember, you’re not the only griffon couple on board and our door is always open for advice. We got your back. Just… don’t expect the Captain to be too happy upon hearing this.”

“Does he have to know?”

“I’m afraid he does.” Vadim apologized. “If only so we can start making arrangements for the little ones. We’re probably going to give you and him two adjacent cabins so we can knock out the bulkhead in between and give you enough room. That okay?”

Anton just nodded, joining Boris in bed and draping a loving wing over him as soon as Micha got done lifting the unconscious goshawk griffon.

For what it was worth, she wasn’t even angry at him about the accident.





“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU Radio. Hope you’re all having a fine day, ‘cause I can’t say I do. Call me a landlubber all you want, but boy do these Atlantic swells hit you in the gut. Regardless, I’m afraid Miss Lekan can’t be with us today, we’re on different ships. I’m surprised, girl really managed to land herself a couple fans.” She chuckled, pausing to take a sip from a chamomile infusion.

“But you’re lucky. To compensate for that I managed to invite three, I say: three corespondents on today’s broadcast. So please, welcome Miss Naomi, our lovely sphinx veterinarian holed up somewhere in Kenya with her lions.”

“Hello people!” Naomi cheerfully announced her presence.

“DJ Grizzly, from the colony in Montana.”

“Howdy folks.” A deep rumbling voice greeted with a hint of amusement.

“And finally, a newcomer who just recently contacted me. He’s an adventurer hailing straight from Down Under, a man who’s seen his fair share of country with his trusty road train, please welcome the King of the Outback.”

“Fancy much?” A new voice said, lighter in tone than Grizzly and with a distinct Australian accent. “If you folks were wondering, I’m not some kind of pompous cunt. King’s just me surname.”

“Endear me, I’m just a lil’ Dane setting out on an adventure in the whole wide world. This poor ol’ girl’s gotta dream of wild lands to visit at times, ‘kay?”

“Oh I can tell, ‘stralia’s been pretty wild as of late. I gotta keep movin’ with my whole train ‘cause the wildlife’s been causin’ me some real grief. Gotta thank the skies I got a Sirius and a sat phone to call you, I overheard it while scanning channels as I was doing my roadhouse-hopping jig. CB’s been dead for a while, so that’s a nice change.”

“What did you turn into by the way?”

“Pony, vanilla version. Bitch of a life if you wanna use tools and the desert sure ain’t suited for herbivores I can tell. Could barely swallow that coyote meat the other day.”

“Wait, you actually managed to eat meat? I thought only batponies could stomach that!” She exclaimed.

“It’s… an acquired taste. Need a nose plug fo’ that. Hard to be a lawn muncher in the desert, and I ain’t talking ‘bout no sex.”

“Well, here it is folks. Always something to learn you’d not expect.” Sandra joked. “So how’s Australia?”

“Dangerous. It’s not even about the usual bugs and snakes too. I got all these monsters that keep popping up and they sure ain’t small. Plus I’m pretty sure the Eucalyptus forests east of the country caught fire, so I’ve been mostly hanging out around Perth.”

“Monsters? Nothing new really, just pack a gun and keep a tight eye if you ever see shady people around them. Probably the Four Horses, you know, the demon-worshipping cultists.” DJ Grizzly interjected.

“Yeah, heard that broadcast. By the way, met some intelligent bug people too. Like… beetle ponies. Weird folks, just a buncha hippies from the North so ah didn’t stick around.” King drawled.

“Sounds like changelings. Can’t say we’ve met any ourselves with the fleet, you’re on your own.”

“You don’t fuckin’ say.” King replied, the roll of his eyes almost audible. “Whatev’, ah just had that one request: can you folks send me the blueprints fo’ that oil recycler? Need to keep the truck runnin’.”

“We’ll send you the .pdf through satcom.” Sandra told him. “I’m only asking one thing in return: you do a 180 and try to at least be cordial to the changelings. From the beetle thing you said they sound reformed, hence: safe. We need to know all about them, ‘kay?”

“Will do miss. That all you needed me for?”

“Basically. Now we’re just goi-”

There was a click as King hung up.

“Rude much?” Naomi laughed.

“Truckers be truckers.” Sandra shrugged. “As I was saying: now we’re going to talk some more about how animals are becoming more intelligent. Grizzly’s got some stories about mustangs hanging around ponies and you Naomi?”

“You’re going to love it. One of the lionesses in my pride just gave birth to cubs.” The sphinx let out a small squee. “Oh they’re the cutest lil’ things in the savannah, but there’s more! I think my presence from early-on is influencing them more than the adults, so they feel more intelligent than they should be. Oddly enough, they seem more expressive to.”

Sandra resettled herself in her seat and cradled her tea mug between her webbed wings. This was going to be interesting.
> Chapter 65: Engineering Woes, 600 Feet Under
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ignacio slammed the interphone’s handset with a very canine growl.

“Everything alright ma’am -I mean, sir?” A unicorn stammered in front of her, at the reactor control panel.

“No, no it’s not.” She sighed, leaning her back against the bulkhead and sliding down it until her ass hit the ground. “I can’t get a bead on the CO or the XO so God knows whatever the fuck they’re doing, we only got two people awake in Control, and the emergency blow didn’t work.”

“Hold on, that was an emergency blow?!”

“Eeyup.” Georgia’s Chief Engineer nodded. “Fucking failure that’s what. Looks like we got a breach in the outer shell so big we can’t get enough buoyancy at this depth… and now we’re almost out of compressed air.” She grumbled. “And judging by how we just slid backwards along the seabed, I wouldn’t be surprised if the planes, rudder and screw are all FUBAR. What’s the status on the propeller shaft?”

“No leaks so far, but it’s jammed alright. Shaft seals holding.”

“So this day isn’t entirely shit yet.” She said, casting a look over the room.

It was the Maneuvering room, the place from where they could control or monitor everything engineering-related on the ship, be it the steam turbine throttles, the electrical system for the ship, and obviously the nuclear reactor. Multiple panels in the small room displayed the status of various systems, and on the next deck below were more sensitive readouts for the reactor, as well as the electrical buses and major breakers, enough so that there was hardly room for a normal man to fit between them all. Just a little forward, they could feel the thrumming of the reactor’s Main Coolant pumps, still running at high speed due to their hurry to get to port. The cacophony of horns, buzzers and bells from various systems crying for attention made it hard to focus on any one thing. Never in her memory had so many alarms gone off at one time, except maybe in a shoreside simulator.

Ignacio only had to cast a brief look over the room to notice it was bad. Readouts were in the red, and most of her shipmates were either unconscious or plain unable to do their duties. Most of them had turned into various kinds of technicolor ponies, some young, some mares, and with no fingers to use the consoles the room was fitted with. Most had suffered some light injuries from the grounding and lay there, catatonic or unconscious, and not much use to ensuring the safety of the boat in their now oversized uniforms (really, ponies were tiny).

She was one of the lucky ones.

Lucky was such a relative term in as dire a situation as it was.

Like one of her engineering officers who had turned into some… cat-bird mashup monster (the discovery of which made said half-Pole squawk out a couple choice curse words in Polish), she was lucky enough to still have working digits.

That was about the extent of her luck, because the transformation had taken her little head. She had turned into some kind of bipedal dog, a golden retriever with blonde fur and…

Well, let’s be honest there, she was a bitch. Literally. A large bosom stretched her t-shirt, and the waistline of her coveralls was cracked from the sudden increase in size when she’d gained those womanly curves, in addition to having a mace-like tail rip a hole in the seat of uniform pants that were now stretched to their limit. She stared distastefully over the tip of her muzzle at the accidental cleavage she was showing.

A stray strand of curly blonde hair took the movement as its cue to fall in front of her eyes. She’d need to get a rubber band ASAP lest it get stuck in machinery.

Oddly enough, she was actually bigger than she’d been when she was still human, making her positively huge when compared to ponies. Despite her feminine figure, she also sported a surprising amount of muscle subtly hidden underneath her shaggy fur, which was only really obvious in her larger-than-normal arms that ended in paw-like hands with brown pads covering her palms.

She could feel she was supposed to walk gorilla-style using her arms for support. Would she do it? Hell no! She was a dignified human being, not some knuckle-dragging beast!

With a grunt, she stood up, unsupported breasts jiggling at the sudden motion.

Note to self: add chest wrappings to her mental grocery list. That was just annoying… and slightly painful.

“Alright, where’s that sitrep on the machinery? Pulovski?” She barked at the griffon behind the computer on the other end of the room.

“Underway… sir.” The griffon took a second before he accidentally blurted a ‘ma’am’. “Done with the core and the pressure vessel. No pressure losses that would indicate a breach and all sensors are in the clear, and neither do we have any issues on the steam generator circuit.”

“And the third? The condenser?” She tried to cross her arms over her chest but was blocked by her bust, instead deciding to cross them behind her back.

“That’s where it gets bad. I’m showing a pressure differential between port and starboard systems. We got some damage on the port side, but the starboard seawater intake isn’t taking in as much water as it should.”

Which made sense, if they were aground and listed to starboard as they were, it was very likely the seawater inlet on that side would be blocked by the seabed. Idly, she rubbed the underside of her muzzle as she looked over the griffon’s shoulder and at the screen.

“Alright, so here’s what we’ll do. No need for propulsion so shut that down. We’ll lower reactor output as much as possible, and bump up the water intake on the port side to the max. Shut off starboard, I don’t want any soil getting in the system, if that ain’t already too late. Activate the main steam cross-connect, and shut down the starboard turbine generator before shutting down starboard steam and seawater. Bring the reactor to natural circulation mode. That will save a bunch of power.”

“Aye aye sir.” The griffon replied, talons beginning to flick over the touch-screen at lightning speed.

“Once you’re done with that, keep running scans to evaluate damage and monitor temperature. I want a report on how it’s evolving on a five minute basis, copy?”

“Solid sir.” The griffon replied. “May I ask, why are we not shutting the reactor down outright?”

“That might kill our chances at survival. We have no idea whether or not the batteries are usable, much less the diesel generator… if we’re even close enough to the surface to use it. I’ll have to go and ask in Control. Now… can you see any flooding in the forward compartments with that computer?”

“Flooding?”

“Yes, we hit the seabed nose first. I wanna see if I should be concerned about the diesel generator’s compartment.”

The griffon tapped a button on the screen and a cross-section of an Ohio-class appeared, showing every watertight bulkhead there was on the boat. Ignacio’s eyes flicked over to the bow.

The lowest and forward-most compartment was entirely flooded. The sonar sphere, which just happened to be in front of the torpedo room, itself adjacent to the compartment that housed their emergency diesel generator.

“Keep monitoring the reactor, call the diesel room or Control if anything happens. I’m going to inspect the situation over there and figure out why we haven’t heard the CO or even the XO yet. If the diesel is busted, well...”

She needn’t say how bad things may get. Both the diesel and torpedo rooms sat atop the one thing they could NOT afford to get damaged, that being the ship’s batteries. Lose that, and Georgia would really be in trouble. No backup source of power, unless they could raise the snorkel and exhaust masts to run the diesel engine. And that would depend on how deep they were.

“And get the wounded tidied up. No clue where doc is, but pass some water and bandages around. That’ll help.” She ordered as an afterthought before leaving Pulovski to his own devices.





It took a few seconds for Rockhoof’s sight to clear up after they used the recall stone Starswirl had given them, and a few seconds more for the coppery taste to completely fade from his mouth. He had to give it to the ghost, the stone was effective, if slower than a regular teleportation spell.

He had just needed to activate it and stay still for a couple seconds while it charged up on ambient magic before he and his group were zapped back to Starswirl’s tower. Or whatever it was this place was called because it certainly didn’t look like the insides of the tower he’d given the mage.

“So...” Lionel started in French as he surveyed their surroundings. “Tower’s roomier than I expected.”

“You don’t fucking say.” Emeric rolled his eyes.

Now, Rockhoof mostly understood what Starswirl and Morgane had said about planar magic. Alternate artificial dimension and all, extra space at the cost of an enchantment or something. This explained why Morgane’s cave was so big, and why Vivian’s castle could be so deep beneath a lake that was actually rather shallow.

But this, this took the cake.

Starswirl, in all his creative might, had made his plane a vast empty void completely unrelated to the tower he’d put his access point in. And that void, he’d then proceeded to fill with floating islands that looked like humongous boulders with a layer of dirt and grass sprinkled on top, much like the one they were on, which carried a granite dais covered in runes in the middle of a circle of standing stones. Rock could see a couple more such floating islands, some with buildings on them, some not, but all connected to a much bigger island via stone bridges.

“Oh Star, always the show-off aren’t you?” Rock said under his breath as he gazed at the central island.

A single tower proudly rose up from the island, looking disturbingly like a miniature replica of Canterlot as its golden spires hung over the edge of the island. At its foot, a little fence separated the tower from a small patch of woods through which ran a little path before it reached a point where all the bridges connected to the central island.

Curiously, he looked over the edge of their own little island, finding it to show nothing but swirling blue magic far below them, like the blue haze that was making up the horizon wherever they looked. He wasn’t very inclined to try to see what would happen if he jumped off.

“Err, Rock?” Emeric interrupted his train of thought. “We got a little problem.”

The large blue stallion turned around in one swift motion. He didn’t even need the unicorn to tell him what was wrong to see it.

During their little – if a bit boring- expedition to The Forges, they’d managed to stack up all their loot on a horse-drawn cart the locals kept in store for tourists, which mostly included tools, anvils, bellows and some raw materials to make their own forge and charcoal kiln.

The problem was, most of that cart had been sheared off during the teleportation, leaving them with half a cart and not all that they’d looted.

At least they still had the precious stuff they’d loaded in their saddlebags.

“Fascinating...” Starswirl said, rubbing a hoof against his chin as he popped into existence right beside Rockhoof and examined the cart.

At first Rock barely acknowledged him with a sideways glance, but then he took note of one oh-so-crucial little detail.

He poked Star with a hoof.

Warm flesh, fur and a cloak met the frog of his hoof.

“Something the matter, friend?” Star asked, his voice no longer the ghostly whisper it was supposed to be.

“I can touch you.”

“Why, yes you can. It’s not courteous, but you can.”

“No, you’re alive.” Rock insisted.

Starswirl the Bearded, renowned mage of Canterlot and former tutor of the Celestial Sisters, just blinked owlishly at the taller pony for a couple seconds before he made an ‘oh’ motion with his mouth.

“Oh, so that’s what you mean. Well, no, I’m still dead. At least here on Earth. Equestrian-me is still breathing, mind. This here is just a little ‘clause’ I added to my plane to make myself more comfortable. Neat isn’t it? As long as I stay in here, I’m material and can enjoy mortal pleasures. Like food for instance, or being able to touch something without a contrived application of telekinesis.”

Rock opened and closed his mouth a couple times like a fish out of water before he just shook his head and decided to let it slide. Mages. Always kooky and eccentric. Might be a professional obligations actually.

“Was that supposed to happen with le chariot?”He jerked his head towards the half-cart they still had.

“I suppose? I probably should have warned you, but teleportation does have limitations. The biggest one being… mass.” He said, waving a hoof at a little anvil that had been cleaved in half. “You were never in any danger since the spell will always prioritize living beings over objects, but the relation between mass teleported and magic required is exponential… sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“There are exceptions… the graph of mass-to-magic follows a complicated curve with a few plateaus and dips, but as a whole it’s an exponential function.” Starswirl said. “Sorry about your resources by the way, I’ll make it back to you and get them later but I needed the test to be done so I can get local data. Did you know the mass-to-magic graph on Earth isn’t the same as on Equus?”

“No, I don’t understand, and I don’t think I care.” Rockhoof tiredly rubbed a hoof over his muzzle. “Still, nice little plane you made here. You nostalgic about Canterlot or what?”

“I helped design the place, why are you surprised I’d copy the architecture?” Starswirl quipped back with a smile. “Still working on the details, but the floating island layout is done and I’m quite happy with the result.”

“With good reason.” Emeric commented in awe at the place. “This looks ripped straight from a fantasy novel… by the way, I was wondering...”

“If you jump off you’ll just be teleported back to this pad.” Starswirl guessed. “But please don’t try it.”

“I won’t!” He replied quickly. “Now, it’s not that it’s unpleasant and all but I gotta push on with my personal projects. Where’s the exit?”

“Right this way.” Starswirl beckoned them with his hoof.





“Hvor mærkeligt, how odd...” Sandra muttered as she examined multiple patterns on her screen.
The little batpony was once more in her cabin, the place having gained quite a few more decorations and utilities ever since she’d boarded Amandine back in Denmark. For what mattered, most of those utilities were either to make the human-designed ergonomics better suited to her diminutive size, or to improve all the communications equipment and digital tech that now covered the walls.
Idly, she contemplated splitting the relatively tall room into two stories. That may be ill-suited for bipeds, but for her she would still have enough headroom.
She reached for a piece of paper with her webbed wing and scribbled down the idea using a pen she held in her muzzle before finally turning back to the task at hand.
One of the things the HPI had granted the fleet was admin-level access to a lot of satellite services – since no one but them had any use for the stuff-. That included observation satellites that she’d already used once to identify whether or not the abandoned offshore platforms had caused an oil spill.
And the answer was: thankfully not. Or at least not in a significant volume. Floating platforms looked like they’d been taken by the Event like ships, leaving only their turret connection to the oil wells, and the fixed platforms…
…. were behaving like skyscraper-sized flamethrowers when their automated systems built up too much pressure in the wells and decided to flare everything. That wasn’t too good for the prolonged operations of the wells because it dropped pressure in the oil pockets and it burned an ungodly amount of fuel, but if there ever was a post-apoc Greenpeace they wouldn’t be complaining about tarified seabirds.
That was something she’d done like ten days prior.
What she was busy with now was the weather-predicting algorithm. A neat thing really, but with the shittiest Windows 95 UI she’d ever laid eyes on. They had access to entire swarms of weather satellites left in orbit that were programmed with an algorithm that gauged the weather based on multi-spectrum orbital observation like temperature, wind, air pressure, and the list went on.
In practice it gave them a worldwide weather forecast that was accurate up to 48 hours in advance (within reasons, the algorithm was far from perfect), plus the weather charts to do the predicting themselves beyond that.
Right then, she was looking at a modelisation of the next few weeks and the predictions were… worrying, to put it mildly. Hurricane season was in full-force this time of the year, and she’d already observed the first of the season labeled Ana hit the Carolinas with the intensity of a tropical storm.
A few others had also drawn circles in the Sargasso Sea, as late as two weeks before they’d set off from Belfast, but now two concerns had appeared on the horizon:
The first was a dark blotch that symbolized a really nasty hurricane that had already traveled North all along the Lesser Antilles(and likely causing untold damage to all the islands) and was threatening to veer dangerously close to their planned track.
The second was… just weird. To her at least it looked like Hurricane Erika (the first hurricane that was currently tearing Dominica a new one) had somehow undergone mitosis because a lesser storm had sprouted from it and immediately headed further west across Mexico, with another such miniature storm splitting up a few days later to…
Well, what it had done was hard to describe. The little storm had at first followed a few days after Erika and even met up with it in Dominica, but then it had backtracked and was now heading south, following the South-American shoreline.
Sandra rubbed a hoof against the side of her head in puzzlement.
There was no pressure gradient on her chart to justify a movement like that, it went across the Equator, completely disregarding Coriolis effects, and basically every single meteorological principle ever conceived.
With a sigh, she grabbed yet another piece of paper and began jotting down a report on the phenomenon. For as little as it impacted them, she’d rather the Captain be notified about it.
That and she needed to warn him about Hurricane Erika anyway. That storm at least was a genuine one they were at risk of hitting. She hit the ‘print’ key once she was satisfied with her estimate of what the predicted tracks are, and expertly twirled her pen in the webbed digits that made up her wing.
One suggested track to sail along an isobar and some notes about it should do.
It was just as she finished that task and was about to begin writing the script for her next broadcast that she heard a soft knock on her door.
Well, soft was a relative term. To her batpony ears it was edging into ‘loud’ territory.
“It’s open!” She called, shoving the notes aside for later.
The door opened, Sandra swiveling her chair around just as Radiant poked his head through the opening.
“Hey there.” He greeted her with a smile. “Aleksei sent me to tell you Rhine’s torpedo boat was stopping by in half an hour for a crew transfer, so if you want a ride on one, it’s by the pilot ladder.”
“Thanks, I think I’m gonna hop in for a ride. I wonder how that compares to flying.” She said, spreading her wings and making a small jump to grab her lifejacket from a peg by the door. “What about you?”
“It’s not so much the speed as the weapons that makes me want to see how they’re from the inside.” He said, quickly helping her put on the inflatable jacket and tighten up the straps.
“You know it’s rather funny...” Sandra mused. “We both hang out with Aleksei a lot yet I don’t think we’ve ever been properly acquainted.” She said as she closed the door, keys held in her teeth before she tucked them in the breast pocket of her coveralls.
Which, now that she’d gotten a readjustment from their seamstress passenger, was a lot more snug and comfortable. That Earth Pony had gold for hooves, colonies in the US would be fighting to get their hooves on her.
“To be fair what I do with her is mostly work. When I’m free I prefer to hang out with Angelo and Carlos. It’s… more relaxed. Though I’ll say… you humans have some weird tastes in media.” He told her.
Sure he could get behind some of the games the ship’s two resident geeks played, but most of the violence displayed in so many of their preferred titles would have hardly flown in Equestria without raising serious Tartarus. He doubted it would have been the case in Griffonstone or Mt. Aries, but still…
Even that Minecraft game involved stuff that could blow him up without notice, and they called it a calm game.
Not that he wouldn’t play it again. He just wished he’d been told about the monsters prior to having his first house blown sky high.
“I think I read somewhere it was mostly about catharsis.” Sandra told him. “Don’t mistake what you see on screen as stuff that… well, used to be considered normal in society. It helps to vent frustration.”
“In that respect it makes a lot more sense I guess.” He acknowledged, doing his best to prevent his eyes from flicking towards the mare’s rump as they made their way through the accommodation and out on the main deck.
“Liking what you see?” She teased him, giving her tail a little shake just as they trotted past the helicopter where the pilots were sharing a coffee around a laptop they used to run a little simulator.
“Ah err, what? I’m sorry!” He stammered.
“Don’t be.” She chuckled lightly. “It’s all natural isn’t it?”
“Aren’t you… taken, I mean? Pretty sure I heard you were.”
“It didn’t work out between Johann and me.” She shook her head. “Still cordial between us, but it just didn’t mesh too well.”
“What a shame, what a shame...” Radiant said. “A mare like you on her own?”
“Is that an offer?”
“Might be.” Radiant sniffed. “Depends on whether you feel like taking it up or not.”
“I just might.” Sandra smiled, eyeing him up appreciatively.
To be fair, the pegasus wasn’t too bad looking himself, sporting the typical lithe muscle tone found on flyers, along with a pretty decent wingspan.
Sandra blinked.
Now that was a discovery. She hadn’t really paid attention to it but it seemed the primal parts of her mind did pay attention to wing size. Neat trivia.
“This evening after dinner on the main deck? Or maybe later?” He offered.
“Hmm… I have a broadcast to record tonight, tomorrow same time then?”
“Aye, will do.” He nodded.
There was a gathering of sailors already present by the pilot ladder when they reached it, right in time to see Sri lower it down to the surface just as the boat made its approach and sailed closer to Amandine.

Design-wise, the torpedo escort’s light gray, angular hull was heavily inspired of common speedboats, only supersized and with a fully enclosed cabin whose roof bristled with the antennas of its sensor suite and the remotely operated .50 cal turret. The cabin’s roof sloped backwards to cover a little deck shelter that housedone more machine gun on either side – manually operated those-, along with the one access that let people enter the cabin.

Farther aft, there was a platform that carried two featureless canisters. Their Mk.46 torpedoes, the main armament.

“Alright, radar’s off on the boat, you can go down.” Sri told them, throwing a look over the railing to make sure it wasn’t moving away. “Fly down if you want, it’s quite the drop down to the surface. Earth Pony...” The hippogriff pointed a talon at Miss Hawkins (the seamstress).

“The name’s Molly.” She grumbled.

“Carry a name tag then, I suck at names. You good with taking the ladder? With hooves?”

“Of course, I’m not a cripple, thank you very much.” Molly rolled her eyes.

“Great, you’re going first.” Sri nodded firmly before grabbing her radio. “Amandine to RFCA… sending in the first passenger, over.”

Compared to Molly, Radiant and Sandra really didn’t have any issues getting down. They just hopped over the railing, spread their wings, and then landed on the boat without much fuss. It was only that they truly noticed the sheer size difference between Amandine and the boat. The humongous Ro/Ro was easily five stories taller than the diminutive escort.

Sandra blocked some spray caused by the two vessels being so close to each other with her wing before signaling to Sri above them they were on board. Her Indonesian friend returned the wave and began heaving up the ladder as whoever was behind the helm of the torpedo escort steered them away from Amandine.

The three passengers then moved inside, revealing the interior of the cabin to be… utilitarian, and definitely military in origin. The walls were covered in black insulating padding that hid the myriad of cables that ran all over the vessel and made up its digital architecture, connecting central computers to sensors and weapons systems, all of this feeding into a couple screens and gauges set in front of the three seats that were currently occupied by the crew, their displays casting a dull light on the otherwise dark interior, the polarized – and armored- windows doing a good job of shielding them from the sun’s glare reflecting off the ocean’s surface.

And one of those seats wasn’t actually much of one because it needed to fit a centaur. Instead, they’d removed it and replaced it with some cushioning on the floor along with a couple safety belts so that the stallion could anchor his equine half to the deck.

“Welcome aboard dear passengers.” The sphinx behind the helm said over his shoulder. “Get strapped in ASAP please, that thing doesn’t mess around when it comes to speed and oh boy are you lot getting a ride today.”

Theodoros Aniketos, or Ted for short. Artemis’ brother. Also Lekan’s superior, as Sandra quickly noticed when she spotted the female Abyssinian behind a console on the starboard side and greeted her with a wave of her wing.

“So… how does this thing work?” Radiant asked as he took a seat right behind the centaur, if only to get a better view of the controls.

Sandra took the window seat beside him, while Molly picked one next to the only other Earth Pony on board: Lukas, the American mechanic Rhine Forest had taken aboard as a passenger.

“Mostly digital really.” Ted told Radiant.  “It’s a nice thing. There’s a ton of stuff to run on this boat all at once and we can manage with just the three of us. Here… take Imani.” He jerked his head towards the centaur. “His station gets all the sensors, like the infrared camera we have on a swivel above the cabin, along with the radar and the sonar. That, and he also monitors engine status. Anything he finds on the sonar he communicates to Lekan who gets the weapons. We got a remotely operated .50 cal on top of the cabin as the main gun, plus the two extra on the sides that are not remotely operated, and also the weapon pods which depending on the mission, may be missiles for surface and air targets, or the torps we have in the back right now for… well, surface too but also underwater.”

“And what do you do?”

“I steer, I got a tactical ECDIS to monitor the situation, the comms, and I give the order on whether or not to use the weapon pods because shit, all that ordnance is expensive and we don’t got that many of it.” He said.

He paused.

“By the way… I know it’s gonna get rough once I gun it for real, so if any of you feels like they can’t hold it in, just bloody say it, unstrap and go dump your guts in the toilet. It’s down the hatch by the kitchenette and before the cots.” He motioned towards a little hatch that led forward to a compartment below the bow section. “Now, you all ready?” Ted asked with a leonine smirk.

There was a murmur of assent in the back, with maybe a hint of apprehension.

“Well, here we go… Engage warp drive!” He exclaimed, the sphinx’s telekinesis pushing the engine telegraph to the max.

In the back, the boat’s two monstrously powerful engines roared out, unleashing their full might and sending the boat rocketing forward in a matter of seconds. Sandra gritted her teeth. Every time they crested a wave, Ted would jerk the helm sideways and do a little drift so they wouldn’t go flying, instead sliding down the side of the wave at an angle before he resumed his original course.

Essentially, they were zigzagging parallel to the swells and waves at three times the cruising speed of the rest of the fleet.

It was great to preserve hull integrity and avoid damage, but even for a flyer it was positively nauseating.

Sandra surveyed the passengers in the cabin, idly wondering who would yield first.





	Ignacio twisted herself sideways to squeeze past the tight hatch that marked the end of the little shielded tunnel they used to get from one side of the nuclear reactor to another, fighting her new body every step of the way as it seemed to find new stuff to get caught on every other second. To make matters worse, the sub being grounded on an up-angle meant it was an uphill climb to the forward sections, and hatches were noticeably harder to open when the ship wasn’t on an even keel, and even harder to shut.

With a growl, she popped through the hatch and slammed it shut, now finding herself past the engineering sections proper and in a compartment just below the main escape trunk. Around the already cluttered passageway were air pipes with sockets crewmen could plug themselves into during emergencies, wall lockers filled with supplies, escape suits, and everything else the crew may need in case of an evacuation, which was not out of the question. She also checked on the atmospheric equipment, theO2 generators that made their oxygen from water through electrolysis, the CO-H2 burners that removed carbon monoxide from the air, and the CO2 scrubbers, which removed the carbon dioxide. Satisfied all were still working, Ignacio pressed forward, through the compartment and on to the next, where she could see the business end of the guided missile submarine that Georgia was in all its glory.

That being the missile tubes, giant orange-painted canisters filled with Tomahawk missiles ready to be unleashed at any threat that even looked at the US the wrong way, even when Georgia was submerged. The passageway sneaked its way in the middle of all those missile tubes, as well as alongside them, with a few compartments tucked away in the curve of the hull beyond them on either side of the boat that held the ship’s enlisted crew berthing spaces. On this section of the vessel and this close to the escape trunk, all those compartments were the ‘hygiene’ stuff: a med bay, the heads, and some showers.

Injured sailors in unfamiliar bodies littered the sides of the passageway, some on their own, others unconscious and being looked over by their shipmates, mostly ponies that threw her surprised looks when they spotted the rank and name tag on her uniform, having a hard time associating what was supposed to be a middle-aged Latino with a gray handlebar mustache to… a very large anthropomorphic golden retriever.

Now that she thought about it, the scant few dogs like her she’d seen were all Latinos in one form or another. Which included her. You don’t get called Ignacio Del Rio if you’re from Canada.

Murmurs started spreading among the crowd of ponies as she approached the med bay, hearing some cries of pain coming from inside the small room. She stepped over a pegasi nursing a splinted forehoof and knocked on the door. Loudly.

“I said it already we’re full! Get in line and wa-” A doe began ranting as soon as Ignacio opened the door, only to stop when she took note of the uniform the bitch was wearing. “Eng?”

“In the flesh.” Ignacio replied, looking down at the diminutive creature before her and squinting to get a look at her name tag.

A bit of a struggle considering the doe had done some weird kind of arrangement with her uniform to make it fit her small frame; by tying the sleeves in a knot and wearing her shirt like… some kind of makeshift poncho.

Appearance wise, the doe was basically the same size as the ponies, if maybe a bit taller in a more… thin-limbed package. She had a sandy coat of fur with a single brown streak across her back, along with a pair of blue eyes that complemented her pointy snout with little tufts of fur at the base of her ears.

In any other context she’d have called the creature cute.

“That you, Blondie?” Ignacio asked her, head tilted sideways to look past what she’d now identified as one of the her own subordinate Officers from Engineering.

Blondie being the nickname the short-but-loud Lieutenant J.G. Lily Smith had received upon joining their crew thanks to her haircut. She was one of the first women to join the crew, something that initially sparked doubts among the crew until she later proved herself as an apt damage control officer and a very meticulous worker.

“Yes...sir, ma’am, whichever. Though I guess now it’s you who should be called Blondie.”

“Don’t tempt fate, and stick to ‘sir’ for now.” Ignacio warned. “So what’s happening over here? I just got out of engineering so I’m a bit out of the loop.”

“How’s the reactor?!” They heard a voice ask them from deeper in the med bay.

“Stable, at least for now.” Ignacio barked. “And here?” She insisted, louder.

“Proper fucked. Folks were having their morning chow when shit hit the fan, so the galley is a fucking mess.” Blondie told her. “We already have five dead from the impact alone, half a dozen who look like they won’t make it, twenty who’re looking at weeks if not months of recovery time, and the rest is just a mess of concussions, gashes and miscellaneous fractures you just saw piled up in the passageway.”

“Okay...” Ignacio nodded slowly, filing it away for later. “Anyone important injured?”

“He asks that as I’m working on Suppo!” The voice he now identified as Chief Petty Officer Ezra, the ship’s corpsman, yelled out.

“Suppo’s injured?” She asked, referring to their Supply Officer.

“Yeah, he… she had a couple crates fall over her in the galley. Ezra, how’s she?” Blondie asked.

“Forehooves both broken, concussion, unconscious, and judging by how she’s reacting at least a couple broken ribs.” Ezra said, coming over to them and revealing himself as having turned into a unicorn. One with purple fur and a white spot over his right eye that matched the color of his curly mane through which poked his actually rather sharp horn. “And I have no idea what he-now-she turned into. Gonna need to ask someone to bring her to her bunk too, ‘cause I’m a bit short on room in there.”

“Kirin, if you were wondering.” Blondie filled in. “Asian horse-reptile hybrid from mythology.”

“Wait, so it’s not just a beer brand? How the Hell do you even know?”

“Japanese culture is interesting, and I’m saying that as a navy brat from Okinawa.” The doe did her best to mimic a shrug. “Anyhow, I’ll go ask in the passageway if anyone’s comfortable enough with their new form to transport him… her.”

On that phrase the diminutive Lieutenant shuffled past Ignacio and disappeared behind a missile tube to go mingle with the crowd of injured sailors.

“So…. You can manage, Chief?”

“I make do, Eng.” The equine frowned. “Hard to respect common procedures when you need to use your mouth to manipulate stuff. Harder even to do triage on my own. I think I’ll need to snatch a dog as a helping hand. Literally I mean.”

“You do that.” Ignacio crossed her arms behind her back and leaned in the med bay’s doorframe, which was no small feat given the angle the grounded boat was resting at and her size. “Were you near the bow when we crashed? I’m looking for the CO, or Exec too for that matter.”

“Haven’t seen them, sorry.” He shook his head. “Too busy keeping this lot alive back here, so try the wardroom if you can.”

“Will do, thanks. And good luck with that.”

“I won’t need luck, just make sure to send any sailor you can find with actual hands my way, I could use those.” Ezra told her before calling in the next patient.

Ignacio backed away from the door to let a pair of ponies – one with a bandage around his forehead, the other a pegasus with a broken wing- inside before she turned on her paws and headed forward. 

She didn’t immediately go for the wardroom, instead making a quick turn by the torpedo room and the auxiliary diesel plant. What she found… both worried and reassured her at the same time, if such a thing was possible.

For one the diesel generator was fine despite the impact. There was a reason the Submarine Fleet had stuck to the sturdy and ever reliable Fairbanks-Morse generators for the better part of its existence. With the exception of some mild exterior damage and the intake manifold, the generator was ready to be used provided they could raise the snorkel mast to the surface to get air.

Hopefully. She had yet to check how deep they were.

There was about a foot of oily water in the bilges below the floor gratings, likely something that had flowed in from the torpedo room, located forward of the generator room.

Said room looked fine, all torpedoes still firmly secured in their racks, even given the odd angle the ship was lying at. A quick peek into the supply office just forward of the torpedo room showed that everything was still stowed properly, except a couple of books on the floor that had fallen off the supply clerk’s desk, a First Class Petty Officer who was about to retire after this patrol. Where he was at this time, Ignacio did not know.

Checking the torpedo room thoroughly, Ignacio shut some vent valves that were dripping, and found about six inches of water against the Auxiliary Machinery Space’s bulkhead. There did not appear to be leakage through the bulkhead, but Ignacio went back to the Diesel room to look closer. It didn’t outwardly appear breached, but she still elected to shut off all valves to be safe.

“So how bad is it?” A pony asked, poking his head through the door she’d just come through.

“I’m sorry...” She turned around with a frown, looking into the large black eyes of the navy blue pony, his long purple mane hanging down through the opening. “Exec?”

“Right on the mark, Eng.” He nodded, confirming his identity as Georgia’s Executive Officer, Josh Graham. “How’s the diesel?”

“Serviceable sir.” She replied, straightening up slightly. “If we can raise a snorkel then I’d wager we can switch off nuclear power. We got some damage on the life support, but it should hold for now. And sir… What about the Captain?”

“Captain Green is… unconscious in the wardroom. Took a nasty hit to the head.” Graham sighed. “He should be out for a while, so I’m having someone carry him to his quarters as soon as I can spare the manpower.”

“Alright then… what about the rest of the crew?” She waved a paw around, indicating the ship as a whole. “Where are the watchstanders here? Up by sickbay?”

“That’s why I’m roaming about, trying to find everyone.” Graham sighed. “Problem is… I ran the crew list… Weps was in the sonar sphere with two technicians. Someone shut the watertight hatch to it.”

“So he...” She trailed off, looking down at the floor.

She balled her paws. Fifteen years. Fifteen years spent serving alongside Young, always doing their level-best to stay on the same boat with matching deployments. No small feat, and it had requireda LOT of leverage to pull off.

And now he was dead. Dead saving them from having the entire forward compartment of the boat flooded. Drowning was the worst kind of death a man could hope for.

“Any orders, sir?” She finally asked the XO after a minute.

“Make us stay on nuclear power for as long as you can manage, and go check in Control if we’re even close enough to the surface that we can raise the snorkel mast. I...”

He paused.

“Eng, I’m sorry but I don’t think we’re getting off the bottom on our own power. I have to release the distress buoy and the EPIRB. Looks to me we’re going to need some help getting to port.”
> Chapter 66: Celestial Navigation 101
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

On board of Georgia, in control, Ignacio… was pissed. Very much so in fact. At first she’d thought they had grounded far closer to the surface than she’d assumed. They were in fact so deep below the surface there was no hope they could ever get the snorkel mast to the surface, not from six hundred feet below the surface.

Worse even, the failed emergency blow Gardner had attempted had not only put them in a worse position and damaged the outer hull, it had also nearly emptied their compressed air banks. So far down, they could recycle air for breathing, but that didn’t account for air needed to run machinery. They had one fully pressurized compressed air bank, but the other four were drained, with no way to refill them. The situation, in Ignacio’s private opinion, sucked rocks big time.

“Eng? Think you can make it work?” The Exec asked her after he had a quick chat with the Dive Officer.

“I’m thinking, sir.” She frowned. “I just had a call with the maneuvering room, quick report on the status of the reactor.”

“And how is it doing?”

“That’s one thing we don’t have to worry TOO much about, sir,” Ignacio reported. “We’re in natural circulation mode. No need for pumps and the works, it’s all run on density differentials. Got the electric loads carried by the port generator. Because we’re lying some on the starboard side, I have all starboard seawater intakes shut and are using cross-connects for the ASW systems. Sure we’re short on power with the natural circulation, but we’re not using the main engine or the coolant pumps, so we’re good. If nothing else goes wrong, reactor-wise we’re pretty well off. Life support, I will have to look into some more, but everything is working for now. We do have the O2 candles and Lithium-Hydroxide canisters if all else fails.”

The navy blue Earth Pony slowly mulled over her words as he distractedly rubbed his forehoof against the side of the comms station.

“How long we got? I mean… don’t account for any repairs you could do now, at the current rate, how long do we have before we lose something vital?”

“That...” She rubbed a paw against the back of her neck, mentally hating the fact her large arms kept rubbing against her recently-acquired breasts. “That really depends on what damage there is. Right now, all is well, except for the fact we’re stuck on the bottom.”

“Are the batteries in working order?”

“Haven’t checked yet, sir.” She told. “But expect SOME problems because of the angle we’re at and the amount of water in the AMS bilges, plus we have to worry about hull integrity. As soon as we get this shitpile sorted out enough so we can find out who we have to work with and what, I’ll have the battery inspected. Without diesel it’s our only backup if the reactor spazzes out. We lose it, tough luck.”

“Alright, thanks.” Graham sighed loudly, blowing a strand of his mane out of his eyes. “Until the Captain wakes up, we’ll go as such: you keep this reactor going for as long as you need to. If you need a couple of...” He stared at his own hooves. “… actual hands, then come to the forward sections and requisition whoever you need. The reactor is our lifeline, it must stay online. On my side, I’ll...”

He quickly turned around and finally decided to flip a safety orange latch he’d been eyeing for the last few minutes. There was a clunk in the back of the sail, quickly followed by the sound of a cable unwinding.

“There, I just released the distress buoy and the radar beacon. Distress call out. Now… now we wait for Squadron to acknowledge the call and send help. I’ll stay here in Control and monitor the going-ons in this part of the boat.”

“Sir.” Ignacio paced around the compartment, receiving concerned glances from Rhodes and Gardner. “What shall we tell the crew?”

“The truth. We tell them the truth.” Graham slowly uttered. “They’re not going to like the news, but keeping it under a lid would only do worse in the long run when they learn it’s that bad. Tell them to start packing, ‘cause as soon as Kings Bay sends us help we’re going to have to abandon ship.”

For a couple seconds, she glanced at him dubiously, but the large Earth Pony remained unwavering until she accepted it with a nod. She lowered her muzzle with a sigh.

“Alright, will you manage up here with...” She raised her paw and wiggled her fingers.

“Nothing impossible. I’ll just use my mouth. Now, mind grabbing Martinez and Benson here to bring them down to the Med Bay? I’m concerned they still haven’t woken up.”

Ignacio nodded and grabbed the two unconscious ponies by the back of their collars, easily managing to tuck one of them under her armpit before she made her way towards the ladder well that would bring her back down into the mess halls. She bade Graham good luck as she slid down the ladder, before making a beeline through the narrow passageways and towards the aft sections.

Like it or not, now their rescue was down to external actors and Georgia herself could only wait and hope someone heard her calls for help.

In her armpit, Benson woke up to his muzzle squashed against the sideboob of a seemingly gigantic female dog amazon. He decided not to speak up, he could just blame it on the concussion.





Back in the middle of the Atlantic, Rhine Forest plowed through a large wave, spray washing over her bow as she sailed on. The barge carrier just needed to keep up that unfavorable course for a couple minutes longer, long enough for them to finish replenishing their torpedo escorts’ fuel tanks as the large vessel needed to shelter them from the rough Atlantic swells while they were doing some underway replenishment.

That was an operation they were slowly getting better at over the course of their ocean crossing, resupplying their auxiliary crafts without hauling them back on board. It wasn’t easy, and they almost spilled diesel in the ocean a couple times when the fuel hoses came loose, but they were getting better.

From her cabin in the accommodation, Dot watched through a porthole as the two gray-hulled torpedo boats speed away to resume their screening positions around the three-ship-convoy that made up the fleet, Rhine sticking to the middle of their formation.

“Props to them for being out in the middle of the Atlantic on tiny nutshells like that.” The unicorn mare commented aloud. “With those swells it can’t be too comfortable.”

“Meh, they got some pretty mild weather on the first days of the passage, so it’s not that bad.” Asha replied. “Anyway, can you pass me your almanac?”

The two deck cadets were inside of Dot’s (formerly known as Seb, she had officially decided to change her name) cabin, studying stellar navigation and practicing some exercises their supervising Officer, Josselin, had prepared for them. Normally they’d be doing them with Carl (like Dot, her hippogriff boyfriend had decided to take on a name that better fit his new sex), but the last of Rhine’s three deck cadets was currently busy keeping watch up on the bridge.

Dot lit up her horn and lifted the bright blue paperback over to the centauress, while at the same time grabbing a piece of paper from a drawer to take some notes.

The perks of being out at sea meant that Rhine’s cadets settled in a routine. The Officers had given them a schedule of watches where they would go up to the bridge and back up the actual watchkeeping officer, helping along with certain tasks. Then they had their little departments where they clocked a few hours each day, like in Asha’s case where the centauress was slowly but surely increasing their potions store in hydroponics, from regular healing potions to antivenins to some more specialized stuff like magical painkillers, performance enhancers and the like.

But even with those tasks and having to maintain the ship, they still had some free time their superiors took it upon themselves to fill with more academic stuff. Like what they were doing right then.

Given that the cadets would not be finishing their studies at their respective academies anytime soon (what with the End of the Frickin’ World happening and all), it stood within reason that they’d have to learn it at some point.

In other words, Josselin had given them homework. That’s pretty much what it boiled down to.

“So Asha...” Dot began, distractedly chewing on her pencil. “How are things going in hydroponics?”

“Decent. We’ve been building up our healthcare-grade potions so that’s a safety net in case of injury I guess?” Asha told her, shuffling her hooves slightly. “That and the fresh veggies are a nice plus.”

“Uh-uh...” Dot nodded, brushing her mane out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear with a hoof. Was the heating on? She was starting to feel kind of warm.

Funny how quick that mane was growing. She might have to ask Carl for a haircut soon.

“But you don’t have any ‘special potions’ or something? Like… I get health potions are great and all, as is antivenin, but don’t you have something with a bit more… panache? You catch my drift?”

“I do.” Asha replied softly, leaning backwards so far that her humanoid back was almost parallel to that of her impala half.

Centaurs’ spines were remarkably supple. A pretty useful boon given how otherwise they’d have difficulties reaching their own body.

“You know, the books we got from the Equestrians show a lot of… weird potions. Shrinking potions, enlargement potions, confusion poison… Hell, I think I even saw a bad luck poison stuffed between the love potions, however that’s supposed to work.” She shrugged. “I’d brew them, but making them is just not worth the hassle given what the hydroponics can make is still somewhat limited.”

“Now that’s just boring.” Dot quipped.

“Such is life. We only got a couple containers worth of hydroponics, and even with me boosting the output just by being there – somehow- there is only so much we can produce.”

“Makes me want to go mushroom picking or some such next time we hit the shore just to see what we could make.”

“That might work. I mean, most potions need at least some magical components to work, but there are a couple that don’t. You could try if you feel like it.”

“You know what, I might take you up on that offer.” Dot smiled before she turned back to her notes on stellar navigation.

She scrunched her nose for a second. Now in addition to being exceedingly warm she was feeling a headache budding in the back of her head. Nothing out of the ordinary with stellar navigation.

It was not so much complicated per se, just laborious. You started from an assumed position with as accurate a time as you could achieve, and from that point on you measured the vertical elevation of as many stars as you could find using a sextant, preferably with more than 60 degrees of horizontal arc between them for increased accuracy.

You didn’t even need to take a star’s bearing. There were already plenty of quick plotting sheets that gave a star’s bearing relative your assumed position, and that angle never really changed too much between assumed and actual position so in calculations it was considered to be a constant.

Vertical elevation wasn’t. Good practice would have you calculate the theoretical elevation of a star based on your assumed position, and then compare it to the actual elevation taken with a sextant (with plenty of corrections stacked on top). The difference between the two elevations would place you further or closer to the star along the azimuth line obtained from plotting sheets.

Repeating that operation with all observed stars would then yield enough corrections to map the ship’s actual position.

In principle, that was a pretty simple process. The only real problem with it was… some seriously lengthy calculations. Hour angles, declination, parallax corrections, acorrection for the height of the observer’s eyes, … processing all the data required to obtain an accurate position could take up to two hours for an untrained sailor, which could be cut down to a single hour of work for someone familiar with the task.

Understandably, the technique wasn’t very widespread with the advent of modern aids to navigation. A technique that required good star recognition skills, several nautical publications, and that could only yield positions at a rate of one per hour at night with favorable weather? And with an accuracy that was heavily reliant on not fudging a single line of calculus in all this process?

There was a reason SatNav was a thing. Maybe navy ships could afford giving a subordinate that specific task since their crews were always so friggin’ large, but merchant vessels had a nasty habit of running on or near skeleton crews because not all fleets had the luxury of being taxpayer-powered.

Granted there were other, simplified means of stellar navigation such as using Polaris or the sun’s culmination, but these only gave you your latitude, not your longitude. And most were limited in usability.

But it still made for a neat backup, antiquated as it was. Dot finished her calculations, quickly circling the resulting set of coordinates in red at the end of her calculation table and tucking all the notes in a folder. Now she just had to drop them off by Josselin’s office and…

Nothing really. She could always head for the office from where they managed Rhine’s fleet of auxiliaries, but recounting stocks could only keep you busy for so long.

“Wanna compare results?” Asha offered.

“Thanks but I’m good.” Dot said, wiping away some sweat with her forehoof.

Why was it so goddamn hot in there? Maybe she should go for a walk on deck, that ought to refresh her. Then she could just wait for Carl to finish his watch and ask him to relieve that little itch she had in her nether regions.

The heat she was feeling intensified threefold, with a searing focus on her…

“Oh fuck, I’m in heat.” The realization dawned on her, Dot only then noticing the small dribble of redness coming from her stern lips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Heat, estrus, ovulating.” Dot whined, wrapping her forehooves around her belly, panting. “Godver...” She swore.

For what felt like a minute, Asha just gaped, watching her friend basically collapse on her side and arch her back, hooves needily reaching for-

“Dot!” Asha exclaimed. “Look at me, look. at. me.” The centauress ordered, grabbing the unicorn mare’s head and forcing her to look her in the eye.

“I feel hot Asha...” Dot mumbled.

“Yes you do.” The centauress told, taking hold of the pony’s hooves in her red hands before she could start to masturbate right then and there. “Please Dot, control yourself.”

The pony’s eyes were unfocused, her ears flicking this way and that, tail already raised and waiting for a stallion.

“I need Carl.” She whined.

“Oh I’m sure you think you need your stallion, girl, but you probably should try and control yourself.” Asha insisted, effortlessly carrying the little mare over to her bed. “Don’t worry, I think I can help you at least mitigate the effects of your season.”

“Carl sure could help.” Dot moaned, beginning to rub up against the sheets the moment the larger centauress dropped her on the mattress.

“Sure he could.” Asha rolled her eyes. “Damn, if it’s that bad for ponies you’re making me afraid of what’s going to happen to me when it’s my turn...”

Dot just rolled over and moaned, the scent of her ‘readiness’ only then reaching Asha’s nostrils. Pungent.

“Or maybe it’s just you because it’s your first time?” Asha mused aloud. “Whatev’, guess I gotta help. You stay here, I’m getting Carl.” She sighed.

Asha stood up to her full height, looking down at the little red and blue mare on the bed who had already shed her coveralls using her telekinesis alone. She’d never seen anything like it, save maybe for a young cat in heat. Carl was already looking around for stuff to sate her lust by the time Asha backed her equine body out of the room – also stealing the key and locking the door behind her on the way-.

Last thing she wanted was for Dot to wander around all horny as she was (well, horni-er, she was a unicorn after all). This was to be settled in private with her boyfriend Carl and no one else.

She shoved the key in her breast pocket – bemoaning in passing the fact she’d lost her breasts when she changed from human to centaur-. She could understand why centaurs didn’t have any, but it still felt a bit sad to have lost her previous assets. She didn’t even have a nipple there anymore! Or a navel for that matter…

Asha shook her head. Focus on the matter at hand, girl. First go tell Carl to pack a bucket of condoms and get strapped for a long night, then…

Well, provided Carl used protection as he should, Dot would remain in heat for the next couple days before her body flushed out and menstruated. That meant now she should probably prepare one very particular potion. It being one that was designed to mitigate the mental effects of heat on mares and make it possible for them to even leave their bedroom without throwing themselves at the first stallion in sight.

Eh, at least it didn’t happen too often…





“Sir, what did you say?”

“You heard me, Eng.” Graham repeated in the interphone. “If after six hours, and this close to the US, we still aren’t getting any answers to the distress call on military frequencies, then I’m switching to the worldwide Global Maritime Distress and Safety System. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m not, but I’m not risking this crew’s safety just for the sake of sticking to navy protocols. How are the repairs going back aft?”

Ignacio’s eyes flicked to a whiteboard Pulovski had set down next to the damage control panel, showing a brief list of all the components the grounding had damaged.

Teflon tape had ensued, or, in other terms, time for the EB green tape and lockwire to be broken out to do what could be done. Redneck engineering at its finest.

The reactor itself was fine, just ticking over at a slow pace in natural circulation mode with little need for pumps to run the one generator. Air conditioning was adequate, running off half their available units, though lacking a working evaporator. Fresh water was also in the green, with the feed tank full and the fresh water distiller up and running, though going by the noise it was making, that would only last for so long.

“Sir, reactor in the green. My main concern is the port Main Sea Water pump. It’s the only thing saving us from a reactor shutdown so far, and that would mean running on battery power. 

“I’m awaiting word from Blondie and her crew about the atmospheric regeneration units, but from what little I saw, we should be fine there. As for the battery, we may have a problem. I sent a griffon to…” Ignacio said before getting interrupted.

“Griffon?” Graham said, startled.

“Half cat, half bird, and with talons so they got hands. Bet you saw one earlier. Anyway, as I was saying, I sent one to check how the battery is faring.”

“Badly?”

“It’s not good for the long term. There is some seawater in the battery well’s bilges, but it’s still low. I would recommend we have a team go down there and disconnect the cells that are most in danger of flooding. We’re charging it, I have a couple of…” She was about to say ‘people’ but caught herself. “...the crew monitoring the bilge levels and evacuating that water to the diesel room’s bilges. Other than that, we can sit tight and hope for rescue. So Exec, how are things on your side? Is the Captain awake yet?”

“Yes, he is. Captain Green is awake and speaking, albeit with several fractures, a couple gashes and… I’m pretty sure what he turned into is a kid. A kid Pegasus, if you’ll believe me.”

And even though ponies were already bad when it came to color palettes, Captain Green was somehow more garish than the usual, sporting a sky-blue coat of fur paired with nothing less than a rainbow-patterned mane and tail combo.

Understandably, the Captain they all knew for his spartan lifestyle and… admittedly dull tastes had been rather effusive when he discovered his new natural color scheme. That and having three broken hooves out of four would put most folks in a sour mood.

“Also Eng, we ran a head count of casualties and… dead sailors.”

“How are the numbers?”

“We’re still counting species and the number of genderswapped sailors, but so far we have over 100 injuries out of a crew of 155, 20 of which Chief Ezra classified as heavy injuries in need of further treatment. Adding to that, we lost 2 sailors to suicides, 5 that died immediately after the impact, 3 more from injuries and the 3 in the sonar sphere. Including Weps.”

Ignacio leaned against the bulkhead, surveying the few conscious sailors that were monitoring screens around the room. She caught herself drawing circles in the fur of her neck with her free hand.

“That’s bad...” She said after a few seconds.

“We’ll make it through.”

“That I don’t have a problem believing. I’m just wondering what it’s gonna cost us in the end. Regardless, I’ll see what more I can do here in engineering to keep it going for as long as possible. Seawater main’s our last lifeline now, if it gives out, out goes the reactor. Comprende?”

“You do your best, then meet me in the Captain’s quarters at 18.30 for dinner. He ain’t gonna like the news. And please keep it down with the Spanish.”

“No prometo nada, señor.” She replied sarcastically before hanging up.

Now to look over that pump personally and make sure it kept going…





On Amandine, Sandra was just killing time with Aleksei inside the Officer’s lounge, playing cards and chatting near the bar while Alejandro – as per usual- hogged the TV to catch up on the impressive DVD collection he’d built up from looting shops in Belfast.

“So you’re keeping in touch with the colonies?” Aleksei questioned.

“Pretty much, yeah. Most of the time I just talk with either Naomi or Gunnar since these two sound rather lonely all on their own, but you heard the broadcast.”

“The one with the Aussie? I sure did, wonder how much like Mad Max it looks over there.”

“Probably not that much.” Sandra sniffed. “Honestly the colony in Montana sounds more interesting, but they’re way beyond our range to even entertain the idea.”

“At least you’re being realistic.” Aleksei smiled, putting down a ten of spades. “I’m going for it.”

Sandra looked down at her own cards that she carefully held between the fingers of her wing.

“You sure about that?” She asked dubiously.

“Don’t you play chicken with me.” Her friend chuckled.

“You’re the half-chicken, hippogriff, not me.” The little batpony huffed, putting down a ten of hearts.

Like she was gonna play her best cards from the get-go.

“But you don’t have contacts for more colonies than these guys?”

“Technically, I do.” Sandra slowly said. “I’ve had contacts with a couple groups, including some news from Ireland, but most of them insist I don’t reveal their position on the radio.”

“Why? They think it’s risky? I really doubt the Four Horses are listening in on the waves.”

“Maybe not demon activity, but some of them strongly implied there might be some bandits roaming around. Former humans that is, not aliens coming to pillage our ruins.”

“Should we be concerned about it?” Aleksei worriedly asked.

“She already told the Captain, Roberto added the possibility to the risk analysis matrix.” Alejandro piped in from the couch between two mouthfuls of nut mix.

“Oh...” Aleksei’s ears lowered, an emotional gimmick hippogriffs shared with ponies.

“Anyway, I have a better question.” Sandra said, leaning forward in her seat and jabbing a wingtip towards the golden bracelet – Epona’s gift- that the Latvian now wore all the time. “Epona, has she talked to you ever since we left Ireland?”

“She has… in my dreams.” Aleksei nodded.

The first time had been quite the shocker too. She was aware Epona could use the bracelet to communicate with her in her dreams, the goddess had told her so. Waking up as a translucent spirit in the Otherworld after going to bed still surprised her when it actually happened.

“So...” Sandra eyed the next card Aleksei set down. “What did you say? What did she ask?”

“First off she wished to thank us for what we did setting up the meeting at the Giant’s Ring. Says her and the entire Celtic pantheon’s new involvement in Irish diplomacy has done wonders for the vitality of their… their realm I guess? The Hell am I supposed to call the Otherworld?”

“Whatever you wish to. Was that all?”

“Nah, that was only the first night. You’d be surprised how short dreamwalks are. For that matter shouldn’t you be able to do that? Books say you batponies can enter people’s dreams.”

“Never tried, don’t think I want to.” Sandra fired back. “Privacy’s a thing, you know?”

“Your call. And as I said: dreamwalks can be awfully short. She’s been summoning me on and off for the past week or so. She’s mostly interested in learning about the new species and-”

“Reproduction?” Sandra interrupted.

“How did you guess?”

“Well, duh.” The little Dane rolled her eyes. “Fertility goddess, sounds kinda obvious when you think about it. Besides, she’s a horse goddess. Not surprising she’d be interested now that so many folks are either hippogriffs like you, centaurs, or even ponies like me.”

“Now that you say it, it sort of is.” Aleksei shrugged with her wings. “That being said, I also learned a lot more about Celtic mythology and what led to the disappearance of human magic than I ever thought possible. It’s… a lot less straightforward than other pantheons I can tell you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Aleksei firmly nodded, setting down her king of spades. “The Otherworld is very patchwork-y, if you catch my drift? Epona is one divinity among hundreds of bigger and lesser gods, each with their own piece of land inside that realm. You have the big ones like the Morrigan and the Dagda, smaller ones with very specific roles, and even gods with overlapping duties like Rhiannon and Epona. It’s… complicated. Big thing is, apparently the Dagda and the Morrigan are the ones that now manage diplomacy and negotiations between Irish colonies, assign them patron divinities… and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s also the case in other Celtic nations.”

“The whole pagan renaissance shebang?” Sandra chuckled. “Look at you, keep up along that path and soon Epona will have you as her priestess.”

“Nah, I already declined the offer.” Aleksei said with a dismissive wave of her talons.

“Are you sure? Because to me it sounds like Epona’s grooming you to be her representative. You said it, she’s not that big of a goddess. And given the general shortage of people as a whole, I’m not sure she’d so easily let go of a potential recruit. Has she given you any more boons?”

“Well...” She crowed awkwardly. “Beyond the ‘golden band of speechcraft’, you mean?” She said, hefting up the piece of jewelry for the batpony to see.

“Al’, has she?” Sandra leaned forward.

“She did give me an appeasement spell.” The Latvian whispered in such a low tone even Sandra’s batpony hearing had a hard time picking it up.

“A what?”

“A spell, she gave me one more spell I can do without the bracelet.” Aleksei said, raising her open claw towards Sandra.

For a brief second her palm gave off a gentle white glow, no stronger than maybe a chemlight. Sandra looked at it, and she felt warm, relieved, at ease, like her problems didn’t matter anymore and she could just lay back an-

“Wow...” She slumped back in her seat with a dumb grin. “That… uh… that’s something reeeal neat she gave you. But that doesn’t really help my point that she’s grooming you. Hellig helvede, that feels gooood.”

“Not like I can cast it on myself, plus it’s just a one-use-per-day trick. And what good am I as a ‘priestess’ regardless?” Aleksei quirked an eyebrow. “For Morrigan’s sake, I told Epona to her face I intended to become male again and she basically gave me a quest. As if a dude could represent a fertility goddess.”

“That’s assuming your interpretation of fertility is the same as hers.” Sandra countered. “Plus… horse goddess in a world where you’ve got hippogriffs, ponies and centaurs? Even male you’re still going to be a hippogriff. Face it, you’re not getting rid of Epona. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she tried to undermine your quest and have you stay female.”

Aleksei’s face fell, and for a second her beak was agape as her memory flashed back to a couple wet dreams she’d been having as of late. Dreams that seemed a bit like an idealized version of bearing children and...

“She wouldn’t...”

“Careful with divinities, pal. I’ve read enough about the Greeks to know they wouldn’t hesitate to fuck over mortals if it’s in their interest. Literally sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it is her fault. Biological imperatives, libido and all, you know? Just don’t discard the idea, please.”

“I won’t.” Aleksei frowned. “Believe me, I won’t.”

She wouldn’t get caught by the first law, even if it meant going her biology and will of an ancient divinity. Aleksei shook her head with a soft squawk, taking a quick pause to readjust the rubber band she used to keep her crest feathers behind her head.

“Speaking of fertility, did you hear about the griffons?”

“I may have heard some stuff, what happened?”

“Accidental pregnancy, that’s what. I heard them losing their shit over it the other day, and the rumor’s been circulating around the passageways ever since but they’ve yet to reveal just what exactly happened.”

“So what, Micha’s pregnant? Or with eggs? Never too sure with griffons you know...” Sandra said, checking what cards she’d left in her hand.

Or wing rather. If the player didn’t have hands to hold the cards then was it still called a hand?

“From what I overheard it’s either Micha or Anton. I think Carlos said it might have been Ivan too but I don’t believe it. She’s not mated to any griffon.”

In another plane of existence, Epona leaned closer to her scrying pond. Now this was actually getting interesting. She wasn’t the only one to eavesdrop on the conversation, because Alejandro too had momentarily set down his nut mix and tilted his ears to pay attention to the two.

“Micha? Pregnant? Sounds unlikely. I mean… willingly maybe, but not on accident. She’s with Vadim remember? You really think the same medical officer that always gives the health and safety briefs would forget about using protection?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m pretty sure I saw her have a beer the other day.” Aleksei mused, tapping a talon against the side of her beak. “So it can’t be her.”

“Ain’t that something we’ll notice soon enough? I mean, if any of the hens turns up on duty with a baby bump the secret ain’t gonna last long am I right?” Sandra chuckled.

“You sound surprisingly cavalier about it. I mean, it’s not USS Acadia levels of love boat yet but shouldn’t we be worried about too many couples forming and resulting in… kids? Cargo ships aren’t the best place to raise kids you know.”

“You got a problem with couples?”

“Like you and Radiant?” Aleksei quirked a feathered brow at the batpony.

“You heard about us?”

Aleksei made a show of rolling her eyes.

“Please, he couldn’t last an hour before bragging above your date. Said technically he was so used to dating hippogriffs you were the first genuine pony he went out with in years.”

“Uh...” Sandra scowled. “I might need to have a little chat with him about yelling we’re together on rooftops.”

“Honestly I find it rather cute.” Aleksei smiled. “And now he’s off my back so that’s a nice plus too.”

“Why you… here, enjoy.” Sandra said, slamming the ace of spades on top of Aleksei’s king. “That’ll teach you.”

“Gee, talk about having no sense of humor. Wanna change subject?”

“Yes!” She huffed, pulling all the cards towards herself and starting to reshuffle them.

“Okay fine. So, about the love boat thing… you know what I heard from Rahul the other day?”

“Cook? What did the dog have to say that’s so interesting?”

“I caught him ranting about Ajit. Believe it or not, but our residential puppy landed himself a girlfriend before the cook.”

“Really?” Sandra threw her a disbelieving look. “Ajit?”

“Surprised?”

“Well...” She awkwardly glanced at the ceiling. “Don’t get me wrong, he is very friendly so I get why peeps call him a puppy, but… he’s not assertive. Like, not at all. I can’t fathom a girl who would find that very appealing, however kind he is. Or at least not that he’d land himself a girlfriend before Rahul or even the Captain. They seem like better picks.”

“I thought the same, until I remembered the thing with Diamond Dogs. You ever seen a female D-Dog? Like the one Ajit is with, the border collie from Fugro?”

“I think I have...” She scrunched her nose. “Kinda cute with the fur and… generous on the curves if I’m honest. Am I missing something?”

“Maybe. It’s a theory I have.” Aleksei crossed her forelegs and leaned over the table. “I’ve noticed female D-Dogs, bitches that is, are significantly bigger than the males. Not like Ornithians and minotaurs where females are only taller but still fall in the same weight class, but outright bigger both in size and weight.”

“Not sure I follow.”

“Thing is, I think we’re looking at it backwards. Let’s be fair, with humans – and most species-, males are bigger and they tend to be more forward. More assertive. Now take species where the female is bigger, like D-Dogs and gargoyles, and maybe, just maybe, the assertiveness is swapped around.”

“And Ajit in there?”

“Think about it. Of all three dogs on board he’s the least assertive, which incidentally makes him the most appealing to a normal bitc-”

“Al’.” Sandra warned.

“I’m calling it as is. Female dogs are bitches, deal with it. As I said, a normal bitch would already find him appealing, but a genderswapped one that used to be male, like the border collie he landed? Double the effect. At least that’s my theory, all these different species sharing the same world is a bit whack if you ask me. Plus you got the whole genderswap deal that’s seriously going to fuck up the social order in the coming years.” 

“How so?”

“Think about it. We were so used to one species with its own dynamics; but now we got multiple very different species, each with different male-to-female ratios and their own sexual dimorphism. You have up to a third of the population that used to be the opposite sex, and now common assumptions are basically fucking gone. Look at Danny, you think you’d ever see a female welder before the Event? Much less on a ship? Nah, stuff’s all out of whack, and it’s gonna be a right mess that will take years to fix, in addition to just giving civilization CPR as a whole ‘cause of the whole End of the World thing. But eh, look at it on the bright side, now females don’t have an excuse to say they can’t be miners or garbage collectors, so that’s a plus.”

There was a cough behind them, making all three present in the Officers’ lounge turn towards the door where Vadim was now standing, pointedly looking towards Alejandro who momentarily paused his TV-series.

Not that he was really paying attention anymore, the gossiping between the two gals was more interesting to eavesdrop on.

“Something the matter Vadim?” The hyacinth macaw asked the griffon, slowly standing up from the couch and smoothing down the wrinkles in his colorful set of modified coveralls (a near-copy of Greet’s set).

“You’re needed up-top, Captain’s Office. We got a distress call..”

“Distress call?”

“From a US Navy ship. I didn’t check Jane’s yet but she’s called USS Georgia.”





	Alejandro entered Dilip’s office to the sight of the Diamond Dog in video-conference with the other Captains of the fleet, and, as usual, with a cup of tea held in his paws. At this point he was pretty damn sure the dog outdid even the most tea-addicted of Brits when it came to sheer consumption, with no sign of stopping.

“Sir, you called for me?” The hyacinth macaw asked his superior, coming to a halt a few steps short of his desk, arms crossed behind his back in a mock parade rest.

Eh, it’s not like he was navy. Leave proper drill to the military.

“I did Alej’.” Dilip nodded, tugging on his screen so that both he and his Chief Officer could be seen by the webcam. “Lorelei, care to tell him? You got a copy of Jane’s on your desk I see.”

Jane’s fighting ships. A yearly publication that contained a comprehensive list of all navy vessels worldwide with silhouettes, basic data and some pictures. Normally merchants like them wouldn’t bother with it since it was horrendously expensive for what little it did in peacetime, being more of an addition to wargamers’ and naval officers’ libraries.

Now wasn’t exactly normal anymore, and they didn’t have any qualms claiming ownership of a couple of the books. If he remembered correctly, the collection they now had came from the Maersk HQ they had looted way back in Copenhagen.

“I went ahead and checked which ship we’re dealing with. It’s a nuclear submarine, and a big one at that. Numbers say we’re talking about a complement of 155 sailors with a displacement of over 16.500 tons. Ohio-class.”

“With nukes?” Alejandro asked.

“No, only the reactor. Apparently the Yanks retrofitted a couple subs to fire Tomahawks instead of ICBM’s. Interesting stuff...” Lorelei said, reading off the Ohio-class’ entry in Jane’s before the pink filly closed the book with her telekinesis. “What’s more interesting is that they’d reappear, and then activate their distress buoy, AND switch it to civilian frequencies.”

“So they have a problem. Are we in contact yet?” Alejandro prodded.

“No.” Dilip shook his head. “Only the base distress message, grounding it says. And the first transmitted position...”

“About eighty miles off the coast of Georgia.” Captain Skinner filled in after his black dragon of a Chief Officer brought him the proper chart.

“Georgia...” Dilip slowly repeated. “Great, that’s where we’re heading either way. Although... I’m afraid there is nothing Amandine can do that would help in salvaging or refloating a submarine.”

“And where are you going with that train of thought?” Lorelei asked him.

Dilip waited a second, taking a long sip of his tea before he set his teacup down with a little clatter.

“Optimal resource management, that’s what.” The dog said. “As you all know, we’re on thin ice already with the HPI. Further delays in our delivery may severely damage our ties with them, and we need the parts they can provide. Rhine and Fugro, at least as far as you two told me, were both intended for offshore work, which I assume implies underwater operations, correct?”

“We do have ROV’s and a diving bell, so… yes.” Skinner confirmed.

“Then here’s what I suggest: Amandine will carry on with the voyage since we have all the goods we need to deliver to the HPI in our containers. We do our mission there, get the spare parts we all ordered from the HPI for the entire fleet-”

“You have the room for that?” Lorelei quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Plenty. Amandine has over two thousand tons of deadweight to spare. A few parts won’t be much of a problem. As I said, we get to Savannah and do the delivery, while you two do your best to locate and evacuate the submarine. Then we can regroup in the next port of call in Havana. Sounds good to you?”

“Not a problem for me, as long as we do a transfer of cargo in Cuba and Fugro gets the parts to replace her propeller shaft I’m good.” Skinner agreed.

“Same, you think you’ll manage without the escorts in Savannah, Dilip?”

“No worries, my ship can maneuver just fine.” The Indian waved her concerns away.

“Then it’s decided. I’ll have one of my Officers acknowledge the distress call so that Georgia’s crew knows someone is coming, and we should be there in…Quinn?” Skinner asked his Chief Officer.

On screen, the black dragon pulled out a pair of brass dividers and measured the distance, drumming his claws against the table as he did the math mentally.

“About 48 hours sir.” The dragon told them. “At full speed ahead. For Fugro of course… I think we’re the slowest?”

“You are.” Dilip confirmed.

Hopefully two days’ wait shouldn’t be too long for the stricken submarine.
> Chapter 67: In Which a Fawn Is Being Cute
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The news of USS Georgia’s grounding spurred a change of formation for the merchant vessels further out in the Atlantic. Leading the way, Amandine kept right on her course towards Savannah while Fugro Symphony and Rhine Forest altered their course by just a few degrees to the south. They could actually do something to help, unlike the large Ro/Ro.

According to their charts, the submarine had run aground at the edge of the continental slope off the coast of Georgia, some hundred nautical miles south of the fleet’s intended destination at the estuary of the River Savannah. Considering how far out they still were, the slight change in heading meant that Rhine and Fugro didn’t so much as veer away from Amandine as they slowly drifted apart, disappearing a couple hours later over the horizon with a few parting words over the VHF.

Amandine’s helicopter pilots were the last to see the two ships with their own eyes on that day, during a test flight. Dilip had decided to make use of the short window of decent weather they were enjoying to try out landing and take-off maneuvers with their newly acquired helicopter, albeit only once he was absolutely certain that both pilots were fully acquainted to their new bodies, healed from any previous injuries and ready to fly.

Which they were, something Hawthorne – the lead pilot- had been quite confident about when he’d told the Captain they were ready.

An odd… pony, the Brit was. He was also the first actual Pegasus he’d seen that actually came from Earth (Radiant Course being, arguably, an alien): pristine white fur, swept back brown mane, coupled with a square jaw and a remarkably stocky build (at least by Pegasus standards). For a pilot who’d just crashed a few weeks prior, he pranced around with a surprising amount of confidence in his flying skills.

Much more so considering that as far as self-powered flight went, he still was in the gliding part of the flight lessons.

Dilip decided the cocky attitude was either due to him being a pilot, or because of his apparent American lineage – which he also suspected was why the Brit was a Pegasus to begin with-.

Comparatively, his co-pilot, Adkins, wasn’t anywhere near as cocky and even a bit on the overly-cautious side of the spectrum. He had turned into a hedgefog, and a kid at that, which came with a gangly, inelegant build that had yet to bulk up, a shaggy mane of quills, and a pair of very pale – near white actually- blue eyes that made him look more tired than he really was.

He also walked around in fog form more than strictly necessary, for what little it did for his sake. Hawthorne was a pegasus, turning into fog would never prevent him from touching his subordinate, what with the cloudwalk gimmick.

Not the bad king of touching, mind.

Pilots aside, the helicopter’s first flight went remarkably well. They had a bit of a hiccup when it came to rigging the anti-skid net for the landing, but beyond that everything worked out without hassle. Scarface had quickly figured out how to go about maintaining the AW189, making sure the SAR-grade equipment was as good as new and polishing the bright orange-and-white exterior to such a point that it glowed like a beacon in the afternoon sunlight by the time it landed back on Amandine’s deck.

The only thing the sailors needed to do was to make sure Amandine always was on a good heading relative to the wind so that it didn’t make Hawthorne’s landing any harder than it needed to, and the Ro/Ro had plenty of deck space to land on to begin with.

The display alone gathered a crowd of curious sailors that watched the two pilots land the helicopter, the downwash from its blades strong enough to kick up a cloud of spray as Hawthorne put it in a hover before landing with a soft thud of its landing gear.

Dilip descended from the bridge to the main deck once he was sure their helicopter was secure, the D-Dog walking over to the two pilots as they watched Scarface and Artyom wheel their ride back inside of the hangar for maintenance and refueling.

“Pretty helicopter don’t you think?” He began, arms crossed behind his back, the gentle breeze coming in from the open hangar doors ruffling the fur on top of the Diamond Dog’s head.

“She’s a dream to fly I’ll admit.” Hawthorne nodded in agreement, his flight helmet held between the primaries of one wing, the other smoothing down his mane. “The AW189 is as modern as it gets. We were just putting it in trials for the Coast Guard before things went tits up. Anyway, something the matter, Captain?”

“None at all, hmm...” Dilip trailed off. “Do you have a rank or should I just call you by your name?”

“Just stick to names, we don’t have a rank.” He told the Captain. “SAR flights in Britain are done by a private company working on the gov’ment’s dime, we’re just pilots from Bristow.”

“Duly noted.” Dilip nodded. “Now, if I may, how confident are you in your ability to carry out missions with that helicopter? As in… can you carry a lot of personnel or cargo with that?” He said, waving a paw at the helicopter Scarface was currently putting the intake covers back on.

“It’s a twin engine, sir.” Hawthorne said. “I’ll admit she’s not as big as a Sea King or even a Chinook, but don’t let appearances fool you. Depending on how many seats we fit inside we have room for at least sixteen passengers, and she takes off with just over eight tons of weight. She does the job.”

“Confident aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. A more modern helicopter you won’t find.” He paused. “At least on the civilian market.”

“I’m sure it’s a great aircraft.” Dilip smiled politely. “Now, for the sake of practicality, can you go to Roberto’s office once this is all tidied up so he knows to which extent he can count on your aircraft for expeditions?”

“The secretary?” Adkins quipped, the hedgefog raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Secretary is a bit of a stretch nowadays...” Dilip stretched his neck. “As of late he’s been more about managing our hardware and doing intelligence work than mere paperwork, but in either case he’s a lifesaver. Just make sure he knows how far you can fly and how heavy, I’m sure that might give us access to a couple more destinations I’m not inclined to send ground vehicles to. Copy?”

“Aye Captain.” Adkins firmly nodded.

“Excellent then. On a brighter note, what do you say about having dinner with me and Alejandro this evening? This first flight calls for a celebratory meal, don’t you think?”

“I’d be delighted.” Hawthorne smirked.





Space was always at a premium on submarines, much more so than on surface combatants, far more so than on merchant vessels that didn’t need the extensive crews military vessels carried. Georgia was no exception to that rule, something which irked Ignacio to no end as the head of Georgia’s Engineering Department – Eng colloquially- found herself repeatedly struggling through hatch openings and doorways with her new enlarged canine frame. The submarine being pitched backwards and to the side didn’t help either. Going anywhere was either a sluggish climb or a harrowing slide into Hell, the sub’s attitude making it so that the hatches wanted to hang open, making going aft risky, not only because of the tilt, but also because hatches would pull the hatch opener aft with the weight of the heavy steel hatch wanting to swing open. Going forward, they not only had to fight the angle, watch for the hatch swinging into their faces, but also had to pull the damn hatch up and closed. Unfun, to be sure.

Much like the rest of the boat, the CO’s stateroom was cramped, every single nook and cranny fitted with that piece of folding furniture or this recessed compartment to maximize the space used and not waste even a single inch. Some of those were hidden by light brown fake-wood panels or even drab blue curtains, others were just stainless steel doors with their purpose scribbled on it with a sticker. Even though the Captain was one of the few on the crew privileged enough to have his own cabin (along with the Exec and Ignacio herself, among other people), that didn’t mean the compartment was big by any stretch of imagination. She had to duck her head under an overhead closet as she headed through the doorway, shoulders scraping both sides on the way in.

“So, how’s everything aft, Eng?” Graham asked her.

Ignacio’s head snapped towards the pony, spotting their XO sitting by the Captain’s bedside. The large Earth Pony had commandeered a sailor with a working set of hands to help him refit his uniform a few hours prior, which only involved ripping the sleeves and legs of his pants to match his new limb length and tie up the rest with an extra belt around his barrel.

Not dignified by any means, but still a major improvement over the rest of the crew. As the Exec, appearances had to be maintained.

“You want the good news, or the bad news, sir?” She asked, heading deeper inside the cabin until she found a spot where she could stand up to her full height, in passing throwing a look at the silent and bedridden Captain Green.

Graham may have told her what he’d turned into, but it was something else to see it through her own eyes. What she knew used to be a stout man in his graying forties was now a tiny colt covered by his bed sheets and with three hooves kept tightly in place by splints courtesy of Chief Ezra, the Corpsman.

She could see the new… color palette the Captain was gifted with, his sky-blue fur pairing with pink eyes and a spiky rainbow mane making for such a sharp contrast with the attitude she knew him for she’d have hardly believed it. The sole sign that seemingly still matched Captain Green was the heraldic eagle symbol he had on his… butt? Or was it a flank with equines? She didn’t know.

Idly, she wondered how a Captain that looked so… juvenile would possibly garner any form of respect in the future.

Hundreds of miles away from Georgia, Captain Lorelei of Rhine Forest sneezed cutely during a risk assessment meeting.

“Cut the chatter and get to the point Eng.” Captain Green ordered, his sour mood seeping into his tone despite the new high-pitched child’s voice.

“It could be worse, sir.” She replied, forcing herself not to mumble anything in Spanish in Green’s presence.

Graham had a habit of humoring her with that. The Captain though? Not too big on Hispanics.

“We’ve looked at every system aft, and patched up what we could, shutting down everything we don’t need. All electrical loads are on turbo-gen number two for now. The reactor is operating in Natural Circulation mode, steam plant is port side only, the cross connects are on for the steam and feed sides to keep the loops cooled, through our main condenser on the port side. We’re obviously not going anywhere, so the main turbines are secured. Shaft seals are holding without having to deploy the emergency seals.
The 10K evaporator is down, too much pressure on the brine pump at this depth. I have the 4K up and running, the brine outlet routed through aft ASW, so we will have enough potable water without the need to ration.
Air conditioning is stable, as is atmosphere regeneration. Due to the list, the O2 generators are not able to work at full capacity, but we have enough reserve to not to worry about the generators. Scrubbers and burners are also reduced, but still adequate.” Ignacio reported, keeping her voice cool and stable.

“What are you concerned the most about, Eng?” Green managed to growl, clearly unhappy, but his new little colt body made the voice less intimidating than it could have been. Still, knowing Green she knew better than wasting his time just from his tone.

“Two things in particular concern me, Captain. One: waste water. We would normally blow the sanitary tank with compressed air, but we’re down to one tank without replenishment, and it’s an awful lot of air we’d need to overcome the pressure at this depth. Sure there is the drain pump, but if it slips then we got a backflood. The other most important problem is the battery. I sent two griffins…” Ignacio started to say before being interrupted.

“Two what?” Green snapped.

“Griffins, sir. Some sort of cat-bird hybrids with front claws instead of paws, works better as hands than hooves.” Ignacio managed to say without snapping back. “To resume, I sent two griffins into the battery well. There is seawater leaking in from somewhere, but at a very slow rate. I have a pump rigged up to take the water out of the battery well bilge and into the diesel room, enough volume there to last a while at the rate it’s filling. I would like to disconnect the battery cells starboard aft, so if the leakage speeds up, we won’t worry about a short.”

“We got a good charge on the battery?” Green asked.

“On the float, sir. Full charge and both motor-generators working properly. We’re not going to die tomorrow, unless something unknown happens.”

“Very well. Now Graham, you had something to say?”

“Better news I’d assume.” The Earth Pony tentatively smiled. “Within a couple hours of switching the distress call to civvie frequencies, we got a ping. Someone acknowledged the call. That’s the only thing the system can tell us, but at least that means someone is coming. I took the liberty of passing the news to the rest of the crew, better for morale.”

Inwardly, Ignacio felt as if a weight had been taken off of her shoulders. Someone was coming. Hope. Something to hold on to.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.” Green reminded them. “The call was acknowledged by civilians, we have no idea whether or not they’re even competent enough to get us out of this sub, and most of us...” he waved his sole unbroken hoof at himself and Graham. “… aren’t even able to use the escape suits anymore.”

Ignacio’s face fell, suddenly reminded of one crucial little detail.

Griffons might be able to squeeze in a suit with room to spare. Maledogs too, they were actually just the right size. For ponies it was an exercise in futility since their body type was too far from human.

And her? A female dog? She’d noticed how much bigger she was than the males.

The suit wouldn’t fit.

“I’m going to check the atmosphere systems again.Permission to leave, sir?” She breathed out.

“Dismissed.” Green said.

Ignacio was sullen when she began making her way back down to the engineering section.





Utterly ignorant of Georgia’s plight – as well as most of the world’s problems-, a little fawn was just merrily frolicking in the woods around the castle that was now his home in Brittany. Martin was pretty content with his situation. Ever since that big white stag had come and nuzzled him all the animals in the woods had started acting like friends to him.

Rabbits and hares would pass by and greet him with a twitch of their little noses, squirrels would peer at him curiously from atop their trees, and birds would sing for him whenever he took a trot out in the woods. That was great! Lots of friends to make even though he had yet to meet kids his age.

Walking near the edge of the castle’s moat, he took a quick pause to wave a cloven hoof at a family of mallard ducks, the hen quacking back a greeting before disappearing behind the reeds that surrounded her nest, her ducklings following in an orderly line after her.

Next to the gatehouse, Miles eyed the display with an eyebrow raised so high it risked disappearing inside the pegasus’ mane.

“Is that normal or did I miss something?” She asked aloud.

“Started happening the day after the White Stag marked him according to Meadow.” Rockhoof filled in. “We don’t really know what it exactly intended to do by marking him like that, but Starswirl thinks it’s about stewardship of Broceliande.”

“Stewardship?”

“You heard me.” Rockhoof insisted. “I mean… look at him and how the animals are acting.”

Miles looked back towards Martin, only to see the little fawn cutely nuzzle a flower stem and coax it into blooming, the sight of its white petals eliciting a happy laugh from him.

“Okay, I’ll admit that’s pretty darn cute.” She admitted. “But why him?”

“Like I’d know.” Rockhoof shrugged. “For all I know the stag read his soul and decided he was a good successor or some stuff like that. At least that’s the reasoning I’m sticking with. So much for the kid living a simple life…” He sighed.

“I mean no offense, but assuming a kid living near a magical forest in a castle with Merlin in a post-apocalyptic setting is anything but a simple life. Protecting him from how it may turn out sounds like a vain endeavor.”

“I’m aware, won’t stop me from trying.” Rock replied acidly.

“No need to be bitter about it, I’m just saying.” Miles raised her wings in a shrug, ears flicking as they caught another laugh from Martin who was now making friends with a pair of hedgehogs. “I know kids gotta be kids and all, but a time will come where you won’t be able to shield him from his destiny.”

Silently, Rockhoof gazed over the moat and off in the distance. Why did so many folks show interest in the kid to begin with? Starswirl saw potential in him as an apprentice, so did Meadowbrook, and now the White Stag? This was ridiculous! Preposterous! What was next? Morga-

He halted his train of thought. Best not to tempt fate.

“Anyway, I’d rather not go down that rabbit hole again, never seems to do me much good.” Rockhoof grumbled. “Stay on watch and keep a tight eye, Star said he’d vectored a couple more returnees towards us.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. At this rate it won’t be just a castle but a fully-fledged village by the time fall rolls in.” Rock said. “At least I know we have the food stores to get through winter.”

“Well as long as you’re confident about the stores.” She shrugged. “I’ll give them the standard pitch when they turn up, ten thousand years and all. We gonna lodge them in the outbuildings?”

“Correct. Couple days of rest and getting acquainted to the place, then we get them to help with the farm.”

They still had plenty of room to spare if they wanted to increase the size of the settlement. The farm buildings around the castle had a couple free bedrooms – formerly lodgings for tourists visiting Broceliande- that they could lend to newcomers, in addition to some more rooms in the castle itself.

And while they could have hosted them in the castle, Rock would rather they start making use of the other buildings, if only to spread ponies around and make sure all buildings were lived-in and not deteriorating from being left vacant. Granted the outbuildings weren’t as well-defended as Trecesson Castle itself, but Rock had some plans to raise a wooden palisade to supplement Star’s wards on the outer perimeter.

But the palisade could wait a little while. What garnered his attention after he bade Miles a good watch was what their one lazy colony member was doing. Despite some continuous prodding, the doe he’d already had problems with – a former secretary called Sandrine- still refused to do her part in helping the colony.

As Trecesson’s Lord, it had thus fallen upon him to get her working. Which meant a dip in the moat for the lazy doe, and then sticking her with what was arguably their worst duty.

The charcoal kiln.

Kilns weren’t very complicated tech. Finicky, sure, but not complicated. It was essentially just a pile of firewood with a couple very thin air ducts, covered in dirt, clay and straw to ‘choke’ the fire. Whoever monitored the kiln just had to make sure partial combustion was maintained throughout the entire process. The fire couldn’t be allowed to breach the dirt dome covering the firewood – thus fully combusting and ruining the process-, and it couldn’t be allowed to die down.

And it was lengthy. A single kiln took a fair while to assemble properly, and it took up to a week for the batch to turn into charcoal.

That was the task Sandrine was now saddled with, something the doe with the spectacled fur pattern around her eyes wasn’t too happy with. When Rock came to the clearing they’d built the kiln in, he found her clad in a sooty set of denim jumpers, glaring a hole into the kiln as a thin plume of smoke rose out of the vent at the top of the brownish mound.

She barely acknowledged his presence despite his attempts at sparking a conversation.

Not that he minded. If she was going to behave like a petulant filly then he’d rather not waste his time with her, so he just reminded her how important it was that they get their supply of charcoal and not waste their first batch.

More than just for heating actually.

Emeric – the French LT that had come with Miles- was basically done with his pet project. The unicorn had completed his system in the castle’s courtyard after a couple days of trial and error plus an extra errand in the ruins of a nearby technical school (which had been swallowed up by the ever-expanding Broceliande by the time they located it).

So now they had a generator. In a fashion. The system Emeric had come up with wasn’t anything spectacular: it was a charcoal burner heating up a boiler, which then used the steam produced to drive two shafts.

That at least, Rockhoof mostly understood. From what little he knew about modern Equestrian technology, it sounded like a regular steam engine. Like the ones they used on the locomotive that pulled the Friendship Express.

What his admittedly medieval mindset couldn’t fully wrap itself around was what happened next. One shaft drove an ‘alternator’ – as Emeric had called it- that gave them all this electrical stuff and lighting inside the castle, while the other drove a centrifugal pump to give them running water.

Whatever a centrifugal pump was supposed to be. As if the piston pumps weren’t hard enough to understand.

Technology was hard. He wasn’t a scholar like Starswirl who could figure it all out in the blink of an eye. So he had resigned himself to sticking to the simple notion of: need charcoal for running water and electricity, and Emeric had convinced him and Meadowbrook that having the amenities would greatly facilitate the mare’s pregnancy, and even make her alchemy lab in the dungeon that much more comfortable with proper heating and ventilation.

Call him a fussy stallion if you wanted, but if there was one thing Rockhoof was, it was protective when it came to the mother of his foals. Much to her irritation, mind.

With that train of thought going through his mind he did a complete tour of his castle’s outer perimeter, idly noting how Starswirl’s wards had halted the forest’s growth before it could encroach on his domain and damage their fields.

Magic sure was running strong in Broceliande, making the plant life grow at a rate that was astounding even for him as an Earth Pony. For one he was pretty sure that little sapling he’d just passed near the potato field wasn’t as tall a few days prior.

The place really was an Everfree stoked on performance enhancers, and he’d known the forest way before modern Equestria could tame it and curtail its growth.

On the bright side it meant they’d never run out of firewood for heating or for making charcoal.

On the bad side, it meant life was going to be an unrelenting struggle between them and the forest. They seriously needed to get that wooden palisade going as soon as possible, because Rock doubted Starswirl’s siege-shield spell could be raised quickly enough, and it couldn’t protect them all the time.

The palisade would be necessary. And…

Rockhoof stopped in the middle of the path, casting a look around. He could see the pastures holding the larger farm animals on one side, with the fields on the other. What used to be a typical French bocage weeks earlier was now steadily transforming into an isolated patch of farmland around their castle in the middle of the forest.

Wood wasn’t in short supply, but having somepony to assemble the defenses was going to be a problem. The palisade probably should just wrap around the castle and the outbuildings. That would leave the pastures undefended and he was pretty damn sure there were more critters in the forest than just hunchback boars and Vivian’s piasts.

Would a fence really stop such critters? Maybe if he added some barbed wire on top?

Yeah, that would have to do. Fence for now, palisade later.

Rockhoof would spend the next few hours dropping stones here and there around the perimeter to mark where he intended to build his project, only making his way back to the castle once he was satisfied with its path.

Still, that was going to take a helluva lot of workforce and lumber.





Emergency Position Indicating Radar Beacon. EPIRB for short. A wonderful thing really, they were recognized worldwide by the Global Maritime Distress and Safety System, worked on multiple frequencies, and could allow rescue units to easily home in on a distressed vessel’s position. Most of them worked on two frequencies: one in UHF to communicate with satellites and report a simple digital message with basic data on the vessel and her GPS position, and another frequency via VHF that allowed vessels in range to be guided towards the beacon.

That was what Rhine Forest and Fugro Symphony were attempting as they came in VHF range of Georgia’s last reported position. On the barge carrier, watchkeepers were standing on the bridge wings with binoculars, hoping to locate the buoy that would hopefully allow them to locate the downed submarine.

In the Captain’s seat, Captain Lorelei straightened up in her seat, her gaze drilling a hole in the electronic chartdisplay in front of her, thinking.

The homing beacon part of the EPIRB had already proved useless. They did find the distress beacon, but considering it had been released from the sub and allowed to drift away, the location where they found it was vastly different from the one displayed in the original distress message.

By several nautical miles actually. The Gulf Stream and two days of travel time to the rescue site would do that.

So now there were two things she could hope for to locate the sub:

One, that Americans fitted their subs with distress buoys tethered to their ships. She was more or less certain there were a couple navies around the globe that did that.

Two, that Fugro could – maybe – make use of her multibeam echosounder to scan the seabed and find the sub. Equipment like that was frequently used to do surveys and locate wrecks, so a giant nuclear submarine shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. On her ECDIS, she watched Josselin draw a track depicting the scanning path Fugro planned to run to locate the sub, a textbook expanding square search pattern.

“Josselin… take our search pattern opposite to Fugro. Focus on visual. Oil slicks, sailors in immersion suits, hopefully the distress buoy. Tell the lookouts to focus on that.” She said, holding a pen in her telekinesis to flick the controls on her monitor. “Do we know the size of that distress buoy? Something we can spot on radar?”

“No guarantee ma’am.” Monika replied. “Only data I found was on Indian subs.”

Her secretary technically. The matronly gargoyle now wound up with a set of tasks similar to Roberto’s on Amandine as a de-facto intel officer, lacking an actual need to manage their paperwork. Rhine didn’t have the extensive array of servers of the more modern Amandine, but they did have more than enough room to store any kind of paperwork they found all over the world.

Might need to invest resources in a shipboard server network though, if only to make managing all that data easier. Worst case scenario, it would cost them one TEU of container space. Tragic.

“And what did you have on those Indian subs?” Lorelei pressed on.

Funny how quickly she’d taken to the nickname.

“Simple tech. A buoy about a meter wide with a radar reflector mounted on top. You have a tether tying it to the sub near the escape trunk, and it should have a sound-powered telephone too.”

Lorelei eyed the monitor in front of her dubiously.

“Well if it’s got a radar reflector we’re not seeing it, and it’s not like we can blame waves or rain for cluttering the radar.” She remarked, quickly checking the radar to make sure it was properly tuned.

Which it was, shame that wasn’t enough to locate the buoy.

Minutes later, Lorelei ordered a momentary halt in their search pattern so they could drop off some of the barge carrier’s auxiliaries and extend their search coverage. Having just the one torpedo escort down in the water screening the fleet wasn’t enough, and soon the single boat was joined by another escort and two trawlers that formed a line abreast formation and proceeded to comb the seabed with their sounders in search of USS Georgia.

For a submarine that displaced over sixteen thousand tons, it was proving surprisingly hard to find. The entire fleet wound up sailing in circles around the distress call’s assumed grounding position for hours before any advancements were made.

It was only after over twelve hours of searching and long after the sun had set over this part of the Atlantic that one of the trawlers radioed the rest of the fleet, the pilot sounding positively elated as he announced their discovery. They’d found Georgia’s buoy.

Turns out, American distress buoys were quite a bit bigger than those of Indian submarines. What a surprise...

All ships in the vicinity rushed towards the position as soon as the declaration was heard over the VHF, including Fugro in particular, which they counted on to do most of the leverage in the salvaging effort. The big red and white offshore support vessel slowly approached the area the smaller trawler was pointing her floodlights at, finding the distress buoy with its radar reflector damaged either by the sub’s impact against the seabed or by the waves on the surface.

Either way, it was no surprise they couldn’t see it on radar. The entire device barely protruded more than a meter above the surface. Low enough for most radar computers to discard its radar reflection as nothing more than a wave’s crest. According to their charts, the little buoy was positioned just above a sudden rise in the sea floor where it transitioned from sheer abyss to a more shallow underwater plain in a cliff the sub must have plowed into.

While Rhine was busy setting up an anchorage less than two miles west of the buoy – on the shallow side of the cliff-, Fugro’s crew began the careful process of getting the buoy to slide under their hull and into their moon pool without damaging it or disconnecting the tether that connected it to the submarine.

Moon pool indeed. It was a large square-shaped hole in the deck a few meters aft of the superstructure, originally designed to avoid having to lower diving bells overboard. It still was exposed to the weather by virtue of being outside (unlike some other dive support vessels who had their pools inside the superstructure itself), but using it proved little trouble to the well-trained crew of the offshore vessel.

Getting it operational required them to first open the ventral doors in Fugro’s belly to flood the pool with seawater, before one of their sailors manned the deck crane to remove the hatch covers that prevented random sailors from falling into the pool when they weren’t using it. Additionally they also rigged a quick rope railing around the hole to prevent such accidents, if only to err on the safe side.

Captain Skinner strode out onto the bustling deck to the sight of his ratings tying up the buoy inside the pool. The cold night wind was blowing across the deck, ruffling the hedgefog’s quills as he tightened his sea vest around his chest. Night had long since fallen, and the deck lights had been turned on, powerful floodlights that ruined a sailor’s night vision and made it near impossible to see the stars above them or even the rest of the fleet off in the distance.

“Is the phone line connected yet?” Skinner loudly asked Quinn – his Chief Officer- raising his voice to overcome the ever-present whine of the engines.

The short black dragon abruptly turned around on his heels, only then noticing his superior behind him.

“Not yet Cap’n.” Quinn replied. “Just got done mooring the buoy to the pool. We’ve switched to Dynamic Positioning to minimize tension on the tether, so now I’m just waiting for MacClelland to find us a reel of wire to connect. Phone line’s too short on the buoy side.”

“DP? You found something to maintain a position fix on?”

“At first I was hoping we could stick a laser marker on a weather sensor platform I saw on the charts a couple miles west, but it’s way out of range.” Quinn said.

“So what did you do?”

Really, what did he do? Dynamic positioning was one of the most cutting-edge technologies in use in the offshore industry. It was a shipboard system that allowed vessels to stay in position with an extreme degree of accuracy, with margins of error that frequently didn’t exceed half a meter.

To achieve that the system – of course almost entirely automated- made use of a vessel’s propulsion systems which in Fugro’s case involved bow and stern thrusters, plus the retractable azimuth thruster they could deploy out of a ventral hatch along the keel. The entire ship was essentially capable of moving in any direction, and the DP system could freely vector thrust in whichever direction it needed to keep the ship in place.

And how did the system know what to do? With a given point of reference. The one thing Skinner was now wondering about, because the system needed something stable to fix its position on.

There were myriads of reference systems like that. There was the taut-wire system they knew Rhine Forest used; essentially an extremely sensitive anchor on a gimbal mount that measured tension in the cable and adjusted thrust accordingly to stay in position.

There was the DGPS system, that improved base GPS accuracy using a ground-based reference station that they obviously didn’t have.

There was about half-a-dozen different laser-based systems that required stuff like reflective strips to be placed on a spar or a platform to serve as a reference point. They did have that system on board, though as Quinn had stated: they were way out of range of any spar to get a reference from.

Which left…

“You used acoustics?”

“Correct sir. I took the liberty of grabbing a couple transponders from storage.” Quinn said.

That was the last big system he could think of off the top of his head, one that was mostly used for dive support actions and when subsea templates were involved. Which meant with Fugro’s former role as a dive support vessel they certainly had it available.

Acoustic systems like that made use of two components: a transducer on the ship side of affairs, and acoustic transponders that could be programmed on different frequencies and placed (or dropped) underwater to set up a frame of reference the DP system could affix itself to.

And according to Quinn, that was exactly what he’d just done. Fugro always carried a couple spare transponders in her holds in case they had to replace one when working on subsea templates, pipelines or even well heads. The black dragon had elected to set up two of these and toss them down the moon pool so the computer would have the frame of reference it so desperately needed.

Judging by the whirr of the servos, the system was doing alright with keeping them in place, something Skinner didn’t hesitate to congratulate his Chief Officer on as they watched an engine rating finally emerge out of the engine room with a spool of wire under the Diamond Dog’s arm.

Silently, the two Officers watched the border collie put on a climbing harness and climb down in the moonpool to attach the wire to the distress buoy’s phone line. Not settling for just sticking it to a handset and calling it a day, they went the extra step and wired it to a station in the nearest office available, one that overlooked the deck through an observation window.

“Cap’n, the phone line is connected.” His Chief Engineer, MacClelland, announced crisply as the white unicorn mare led him and Quinn inside the office where her subordinates were just tidying up the place.

With a proud grin, she passed over the handset to her superior with her telekinesis before sitting down on her haunches, distractedly brushing off a speck of grime on a strand of her purple mane that peeked out of her bandana.

Skinner carefully eyed the phone. Just a regular, drab, black handset similar to household phones from the late eighties.

“Moment o’ truth I guess...” The Scot solemnly muttered, bringing the set to his ear and pushing a button that would make the other end of the line ring.

The phone didn’t even get to ring one time before someone picked up, though whoever that was also dropped the phone, swore a couple times about hooves, dropped it again, and then let someone else pick up the set.

“Lieutenant Gardner, of Sierra-Sierra-Golf-November Seven-Two-Niner, are you the rescue asset?”

Connection between the sub and surface units was now officially established.





Meanwhile, Amandine hadn’t wasted her time getting to Savannah. By the time the rest of the fleet finally connected a phone line to the downed sub, the large white and gray Ro/Ro was reaching the estuary of the River Savannah.

Up on the bridge, Dilip barked – pun intended- a few quick orders to get the ship to an anchorage by the fairway’s entrance. He didn’t want to take any excessive risks by heading upstream at night. River sailing was already tricky to begin with given Amandine’s sheer size, doing it by night and without any tugs or safety nets was just asking for a grounding. What data Roberto had managed to scrounge up on the region pointed out that, in addition to the fairway being a little over a cable in width and fairly shallow (for a ship of Amandine’s size at least), the banks of the river had a tendency of branching off into an extremely shallow delta that turned into mudflats and wetlands typical of the region that were just begging to swallow up their ship.

Idly, he wondered if a seapony might be able to fend off the gators native to the American south. Probably not, they’d best avoid dipping anyone in the water just in case, marshlands were nasty.

To make matters worse, Amandine was about as long as the fairway was wide, meaning if they needed to turn the ship around they’d have to use one of the few turning basins the locals had dug in the river banks prior to the Event.

In short: sailing up the river was going to be tricky. They were already planning to lower their sounding boat in the water to make sure the dredged depth shown on their charts was still the same as the actual depth, what with the tendency of estuaries to build up mounds of soil in odd places.

Plus there was the whole fact the buoyage system in America was inverted. That was going to be a mild annoyance as well, seeing the red and green buoys on the opposite side of where they’d be in Europe.

As he watched the anchor being lowered from its winch in the fo’c’sle, Dilip also signed the last passage planning and enclosed water detail documents Alejandro had brought him a few minutes prior before finally standing up from his seat, one eye flicking over to the ECDIS.

“Alright, good job with the anchoring.” He told Vadim. “Switch over to anchor detail until tomorrow at dawn. Entry into port is to resume as soon as the sun is up, we got a delivery to do and it’s waited long enough already, copy?”

“Aye Cap’n.” The griffon in the navigator’s seat nodded firmly, grabbing a new checklist from under his seat and beginning his procedures. “Anything particular to pay attention to?”

“Check out local data and monitor VHF channels, just in case some returnees are using them, and make sure the sounding boat is already fueled and rigged for entry, I want a crew list to man it yesterday. If there’s anything wrong, I’ll be in my office with Schmitt.”

Right now, he just needed to go give a notice of ETA.

To Eko. About time the HPI got their delivery.
> Chapter 68: Savannah
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just as they had planned, Amandine’s crew woke up with the sun and set to make their entry into Savannah. The time had come to make due on their delivery. Up on the bridge, Greet slid into the navigator’s seat, having just relieved Micha from her watch.

Grabbing a fresh checklist template and a pen from under her seat, the scarlet macaw brushed her talons through her crest before she started making sure everything was fine and dandy for their entry into port. And it sure was, most of the work having already been done by the previous watch and the engineering staff having long double- and triple-checked all the propulsion systems to make sure they were ready.

On that train of thought, most of the concerns down in engineering were focused on the bow thruster that had been damaged in their collision with Fugro. Sure, they’d repaired it in the meantime, but there was a very distinct possibility that the self-machined parts they’d made to patch up the system back in Belfast wouldn’t hold up to the strain.

A significant risk, though the system giving up on them wouldn’t necessarily mean they couldn’t reach Savannah. In all fairness, Amandine was pretty agile and speedy for a cargo ship of her size, thanks in no small part to her powerful engine and double-propeller layout (the variable pitch being the cherry on the cake in the equation).

“Everything in order boss?” She heard behind her as Ivan came up on the bridge after her own round of inspection.

“It’s coming together Ivan.” Greet nodded, checking off one more square on her checklist and standing up to go ensure the gyro compass was properly tuned.

“Ain’t Ivan anymore.” The osprey griffon shook her head.

“Oh really? Finally decided on a new name? Took you long enough.” Greet chirruped, going to grab the gyro’s logbook to measure the error…
… which turned out to be pointless since Micha had done it already. What was the point of having her go through the checklist if it was to check stuff that was already done?

“Long enough? Names are important, I wanted to pick something nice.” She replied as she served herself a mug of coffee.

“So what did you pick then?”

“Nastya.”

Greet paused in her inspection of the charts.

“Hold on, wasn’t that one of the very first names you thought of?” She asked, ears flicking in bemusement. “Like… before we even reached Derry?”

“Maybe? I think it’s pretty decent.”

Her superior looked right at her for a couple seconds, not yet awake enough to fully process it before she shook her head sharply with a quiet ‘nevermind’ and just told her to go fetch a kettle of fresh tea before the Captain arrived.

She didn’t expect the old sea dog (literally in his case) to turn up until after they weighed anchor, but it didn’t hurt to have his Darjeeling ready for action. 

Weighing anchor at this point was a triviality. They sent a team to the fo’c’sle to reel in the chain and blast it with a pressure washer to clean up the silt from the seabed before the anchor was locked back into position, the windlass all tidied up, and the large vessel turned her bow towards the estuary.

By the time Greet was done with the operation, Dilip was already present on the bridge with a steaming cup of tea. He took over command from her, setting himself down in his chair and ordering for the boat team to be deployed.

Lacking any kind of safety net in case of accident and not being able to trust that all the buoys would still be in their charted spots – what with being unattended for so long- they’d decided to pick the careful approach and dispatch a boat with an echosounder to locate where the dredged channel – the point of entry into the River Savannah- was. The boat wasn’t even the usual they’d use for man-overboard situations (a little glass-fiber orange boat with a fairly nippy engine), but a larger gray semirigidthey’d picked up somewhere down the line in foresight of that very situation.

A situation which soon proved to be true as the buoys turned out to have drifted no less than two cables off target. For a channel that was half as wide as that, two tenths of a nautical mile was nothing to scoff at.

Thankfully, poor buoy placement was the only real problem they encountered with the river. Currents were pretty mild in comparison to what they’d experienced in the North Sea, and soundings revealed the river seemed to have retained most of its dredged depth. A nice relief, if anything. Dilip ordered the boat team to carry on and show them the way while Amandine followed a safe distance behind, keeping an already sedate pace for extra maneuverability that was only heightened by the fact Amandine was sailing upstream.

It was thus at a snail’s pace that they entered the river, greeted by the sight of Fort Pulaski’s battered brick walls, a Civil-War era landmark that guarded the river delta, right on the border between Georgia and South Carolina. A tattered flag hung limply from its mast, the absence of wind making the humid heat of the American South all the more sweltering.

The river delta was an interesting piece of geography in its own right. There were countless little rivers, brooks and inlets that branched off from the main river as far as a dozen miles inland, forming a myriad of little creeks and shallow bays that blended in with the wetlands, digging into the low muddy relief like a tree’s roots. What tidal data they had over the area pointed to currents making a breathing pattern flow inside the delta, in and out, every tide.

All of these saltwater marshes were protected from erosion by the Atlantic thanks to long strips of lands, sandbars that had turned into island and which the Americans seemed to think made for excellent seaside resorts judging by the ruined villas the sailors had spotted when they passed Tybee Island, the first populated landmark upon entering the river.

Anything past these narrow bars seemed to be made up of wetlands, with the odd levies here and there to allow for the construction of roads that barely rose more than a couple meters above the vast expanses of swampy terrains. Cordgrass grew there, a kind of tall hardy weed that grew in saline waters like those, covering the more shallow parts of the delta in a green carpet that sheltered all the animals that lived there, be they manatees, muskrats, waterfowl or even gators.

Dilip was particularly cautious about the latter.

Bar the fort guarding the estuary and Tybee Island, constructions were a rare sight for the first few miles of their inland passage. Understandably so considering dry land was at a premium and required extensive infrastructure to be reached in the first place.

It wasn’t until they sailed far enough inland for more solid ground to appear – noticeable when little palm trees started to replace the cordgrass, a proof there was enough soil for trees- that human activity started to make itself more apparent. Jetties and small cabins first appeared along the banks of the river.

Or rather, the ruins thereof, as Dilip and Greet soon noticed through their binoculars.

Maybe it was one of the hurricanes Sandra had reported having observed via satellite, maybe it was a particularly nasty spring tide, either way some catastrophe had swept the area and caused a great deal of damage to constructions all around. Levees were collapsed, houses made uninhabitable by water damage, and infrastructure as a whole had suffered greatly when a flood swept the entire region.

Worse even, lacking any kind of handymen to repair the damage, it had only worsened when exposed to the subtropical climate of Georgia. Many of the buildings they spotted when they passed downtown Savannah proper had outright floundered without someone to drain their basements, and most of the formerly paved roadways had been rendered impassable for most cars from all the mud and debris blocking the way. And that was when sinkholes hadn’t collapsed them, taking with them any surrounding building, big or small. The sole exception they could see to that rule was the convention center on the bank opposite to downtown Savannah, along with an adjacent hotel, thanks in no small part to the hulking modern foundations they were built on.

A scene ripped straight from an apocalyptic painting in a way, made only worse by the general overgrowth that had built up in the meantime. Hanging tree moss and vines covered so many of the old brick buildings Dilip didn’t know where to turn his head.

Yet there was a bright side to all of this. For one the flooding hadn’t managed to damage sturdier structures, which explained why the fort in the estuary still stood. As did most of the quays in the harbor for that matter, meaning they could still berth safely.

Furthermore, despite the fact that the chemical and gas terminals had also collapsed and been damaged, the region’s marshy nature and the relative lack of water flow it involved had somewhat contained the pollution so that it at least stayed within the limits of the few storm basins that surrounded the plants. It was most likely hazardous to venture anywhere near these, but it didn’t seem to threaten to spill out.

Dilip also assumed that if the harbor’s rail yard had been damaged to the point where it couldn’t receive a train, then Eko would have told him so on their last call the previous evening and called off the delivery.

Amandine sailed on under the suspension bridge that marked the border between downtown Savannah and the harbor itself, the crew noting as they went how much better the harbor had fared compared to the older city center. Where the early 20th century architecture had been heavily damaged by the flood and where the gas and chemical terminals had been far more damaged by virtue of being closer to the sea than the rest, anything past the bridge had managed to weather the flood decently thanks to better positioning and a sturdier build.

They weren’t intact, of course, but they were serviceable.

Hence, it was with relief in his heart that Dilip handled the last maneuver when they approached the container terminal. Making use of the current to turn around and their own bow thruster, he had the ship line up with one of the turning basins that formed a semicircle on the bank opposite the container terminal before slowly pulling sideways on to the quays with the shadows of the cranes looming over them like skeletal giants. Lines were thrown out and lifted towards the bollards via telekinesis courtesy of the sphinxes among the crew, before they reeled themselves in as softly as possible using the winches.

They might have some issues offloading vehicles with just the side ramp and no stern ramp, but Savannah lacked a dedicated L-shaped terminal to use it, unfortunately.

Dilip gazed out at the expanse of container stacks from the starboard bridge wing. They were like a technicolor blotch in his sight, an eyesore of company logos of all shapes and makes. Some stacks had collapsed, some hadn’t, turning the normally straightforward layout into some kind of ruined maze that was nigh impossible to traverse except if you figured out the age-old trick of going around it. Behind him, seagulls cried and cawed at the sudden disturbance while some ratings were busy putting the sounding boat back in its cradle, its task of guiding them now done.
The Indian dog turned command over to Greet before he made his way down to his office. They had a delivery waiting.





Some hundred miles off the coast of Georgia, Rhine and Fugro were now well settled over the wreck of USS Georgia. On board the latter, Captain Skinner had had some lengthy talks with the CO of the stricken submarine and was still in the process of discussing how they would go about helping the Americans stuck below the surface, all from within the confines of Fugro’s office.

“And that’s how we wound up with the current situation.” Green finished with his tiny youthful voice.

Skinner put down his pencil and looked down at his notes, handset still in his hand and a frown on his muzzle. He had a status report on the submarine, an assessment of the situation on board from crew count with species to casualty list.

And it was a long casualty list. Many of them were lighter injuries, but even with the two docs they had across both ships treating the heavy injuries alone was going to prove difficult. He was pretty damn sure Lorelei didn’t keep enough of those health potions stashed in her med bay to take care of all of them.

Provided they could even get them to the surface that is. That alone was going to be a different kettle of fish. Apparently most of the crew was unable to use the escape suits they’d normally be able to don to evacuate quickly.

Meaning another solution would have to be found, and Green didn’t really have an accurate estimation of how long they had to do it. He told him the nuclear reactor was fine – mostly-, but that was one system, of many that could jeopardize the sub’s integrity.

Skinner drummed his fingers against the desk.

“Thank you for this information, Green. I’ll communicate this across the fleet so that we can prep medical facilities to receive those of your crew that are injured. You’ll find Fugro Symphony to be pretty well suited to deal with underwater operations.”

“Actually, this is one of my questions. Why aren’t there any US Navy assets present? We couldn’t be any closer to American waters.” Green asked.

Skinner winced internally. Guess now it was his turn to give the classic, post-Event, 10,000 years pitch.

He couldn’t see the pony’s face over the phone line, but judging by how long he stayed silent after he recited the details of what exactly it was that had happened, he didn’t take it too well.

But who would?

At least he could thank the transformation effect for making it more believable. He doubted the American would have believed his tale had he still been human. As a pony? It probably sounded far less outlandish to a submariner who had yet to see the state of affairs on the surface.

“Listen, I know time is of the essence, but there’s a lot we here on the surface can do to help. First things first, I’m going to order my crew to send down our drones to do a visual survey of your boat. See how’s the damage and all. There’s a couple things we need to do before I want to dig in proper, and I need to get off the line to do that. I’ll leave a sailor on standby to keep in touch, okay?”

“Fine...” Green slowly said at long last. “Anything we can do on our end?”

“I know most of your crew is unable to use them, but if there’s even one sailor you could send up to us using those escape suits, then an advisor up on the surface would do us some good. Tell them not to worry about the bends, we got some decompression chambers for divers up here, so just follow the distress buoy’s tether and you’ll emerge in our moon pool, okay?”

“I’ll check around for volunteers.”

“And… Green? Get those spirits up. You’re not going to go the way of Kursk, understand?”

He didn’t get a reply on that.

Not that it bothered him. He ordered Floyd – an Able-Bodied griffon- to keep an eye on the phone while he headed deeper inside his ship, to the dive operations center. Set in the deepest recesses of Fugro’s hull near their decompression chambers and the divers’ facilities, the electronics-filled room was, by his reckoning, the closest thing you could have to a navy ship’s CIC whilst remaining on the civilian market.  Screens and various displays and consoles covered the walls from top to bottom, feeding information to a few control stations over which Captain Skinner held a presiding seat.

This was the nerve center of Fugro Symphony’s underwater operations.

One of the things Fugro was fitted with was a pair of ROV’s – Remotely Operated Vehicles-. Drones. Skinner only had to call over the PA system once and order their deployment to have sailors filter in the room and begin booting up the various systems.

Above the waterline, two hydraulic hatches opened up on either side of the hull before rails slowly began to extend out of the openings, each carrying a drone mounted on a rack. The FCV 3000 was a great piece of tech, if a bit of an eyesore. They were pretty simple in build at a glance: a tubular frame as their skeleton mounted all the equipment they needed to operate: ballast tanks, batteries, motors, optics and floodlights facing forward that helped guide the two robotic arms they used to manipulate stuff when they weren’t able to deploy divers.

As they were right then, Skinner mentally noted. Fugro had been running on a skeleton crew at the time of the Event, meaning crew was pretty limited compared to what they’d usually operate with. To the point where the ship felt almost empty. Out of a maximum complement of 105 they only had twenty sailors aboard.

Not few enough to impair drone operations, but certainly not enough to be comfortable with timetables either.

Outside, the two drones were slowly lowered to the surface as the sailors manning their controls finished the pre-deployment checks.

As soon as the winches’ tension sensors felt the drones were well in the water, each separated itself from the gimbal mounts that kept them attached to the overhead rails before diving, still connected to the ship by their umbilical tethers that carried data back and forth between them and the ship.

It was a testament to the quality with which the system had been designed that Skinner could enjoy a general overview of the situation from his own screen. The multibeam sounder mounted on the forward section of the hull provided him with a 3D display of the seabed – not too clear though, what he assumed to be Georgia only appearing as a vague oblong shape-, above which was layered stuff like the acoustic beacons they had already dropped overboard, the position of each of the two drones – which were fitted with acoustic beacons of their own to track their position- and anything else he may need a mouse-click away.

Such as what the drones were seeing on their cameras.

Slowly, both drones sank, following the tether that now connected Georgia to Fugro Symphony through the distress buoy.  Light faded away the deeper they dove, most of the color spectrum unable to pierce the depths and turning what they got from the drones’ optics into a bluish monochrome display. Until the operators turned on the floodlights that is.

It wasn’t too long after that that the drones came in visual range of USS Georgia, her monolithic black hull rested against the smooth continental slope at an angle, stern partially buried in the sand after she’d slid backwards down the slope after the failed emergency blow. Rubble lay around her, bits of rocks from the seabed, dead coral, and wreckage from her heavily damaged outer hull. She was a sorry sight, with her bow crumpled from the impact, numerous rips in her outer hull, and the remains of her propeller and stern planes lying here and there around her along the trench she’d dug in the seabed after Lieutenant Gardner’s unfortunate attempt at salvaging the situation. Schools of fish scattered upon noticing the two drones, with some crustaceans burying themselves underneath the sand at the arrival of the two big predatory-looking machines.

“Not going to lie… that’s pretty bad sir.” One of the operators – Akshay, a Diamond Dog pup so young he was no taller than a pony- said. “And they say the inner hull survived the impact?”

“Damn lucky.” The other operator said.

That was Praveen. Another Indian (Bengali actually), this time not overly rejuvenated like Akshay but instead genderswapped and turned into a gray-furred Abyssinian with a white spot on her throat.

“Ain’t gonna argue, they were lucky. Alright then...” Skinner leaned forward and frowned. “Pay attention not to entangle the tethers. We’re lined up with the sub, so port drone surveys the port side, and starboard on starboard. You catch my drift?”

The two Indians nodded in unison, proceeding to line up their drones perpendicular to the submarine’s bow and starting to go down it length sideways on so as to do a visual survey of her hull.

While they were doing that, Skinner reached for the intercom and asked Floyd to patch him through to Captain Green. They may not have an optic fiber connection to share data, but at least he could relay the damage verbally.

And ensure they sent them a sailor. Crafty or not, they would need one of the submariners up there for advice.

Before the griffon could connect him to the sub though, another call was sent to his station from the bridge, Quinn’s voice telling him over the line he had a call waiting from Lorelei on Rhine Forest.

“Problem?” He blurted in the handset, eyes not leaving the live feed coming from the drones.

“Not at all, just thinking you don’t actually have any divers,” came Lorelei’s accented voice.

“True, but we got drones to make up for that.” Skinner replied matter-of-factly.

“Maybe, but I heard you were planning to get a sailor from the sub up. I just want to tell you I don’t intend to sit on my ass here waiting for you to get it done, and I can send sailors down to the sub. Hippogriffs. You know: seaponies. Divers that don’t need air and don’t get hypothermia.”

Skinner blinked.

“Oh… Ah kinda forgot ‘bout ‘em…” He mumbled, his Scottish accent shining through from being caught off guard.

“Listen...” Lorelei said in her usual high-pitched voice. “I’m already keeping my torpedo escorts in screening positions around our anchorage, but I’m sending a trawler over to you with my doc on board and some divers. She’s a seapony, so she can get down there inside the sub and help patch them up. Copy?”

“Sounds good to me, send her over then. We are still using the diving bell for the evac, yes?”

“They can’t all use escape suits, so yes. We need to use your bell.”

“Alright, just making sure.” He nodded. “But I’m not deploying it until I have one of them navy guys up there to confirm it’s worth a shot and it can dock.”

“Your ship, your rules.” Lorelei audibly shrugged before hanging up.

As soon as her end of the line went silent, another call came through as the phone line to the submarine was connected to his station.

“Captain Green, I have good news for you.” Skinner began cheerfully.





In Savannah, things had slowly ground down to a halt once they were done tying up Amandine alongside the quays. Much to the disappointment of most sailors, it turned out in a message Eko transmitted to them that the HPI’s freight train wouldn’t reach the rail yard until late afternoon because of some damage to the infrastructure encountered elsewhere.

Turns out, hurricane Ana as it was called had also caused an impressive amount of damage to the infrastructure further north in the Carolinas, forcing the HPI to backtrack and pick a new approach.

Hence: they had some free time before they needed to unload the cargo. Time enough to raise a rampart of containers around their mooring point for security, with a single gap in the barrier fiercely guarded by their CV90 and a team of lookouts.

Inside the Ro/Ro, it was chow as usual in the cafeteria. Sailors were gathered in various groups at their own tables, sharing discussions on various topics: the veterans were swapping tales of their previous service around a beer, the Officers were making friends with the new Air Crew, Roberto was bickering for no good reason with Rahul – cats and dogs these two-, there was even a group gathered around Miss Hawkins – the American seamstress they’d taken as passenger in Belfast to bring her back to the US- for a farewell before she left them.

She knew she was going to have a hard time getting back to Jacksonville, particularly with how badly the roads had been damaged, but it was her home, and if there was even a 1 in 10.000 chance that some of her family was there, then she’d take it.

“I’m glad I got to meet you all.” The Earth Pony mare smiled humbly at the sailors around her. “And I’m sure touring the world on a ship like that is fantastic, but a gal like me needs something stable. Some solid ground under my hooves. No offense, but if I can skip seasickness I will.”

“Eh, what can I say? The sea life ain’t for everyone.” Danny chuckled, the Filipino parrot sitting across from the mare with a glass of juice in her talons – a popular choice among parrots as of late- and Carlos by her side. “I’m sure any colony that gets you is going to be very happy with your skills though, you shouldn’t have much trouble with that. Right, Carlos?”

“Yeah, once we let you leave though.” The cockatoo pointed out casually, keeping an arm over Danny’s shoulders.

The eyepatch he had worn after the Gothenburg debacle cost him an eye was long gone now, no longer of any use, though it left him without the rugged charm it came with. There was also the oddity that the health potion Vadim had administered him had turned his eye golden.

Beyond some slight sensitivity to light, nothing more than a medical peculiarity though.

“Beg your pardon?” Molly quirked her head, cutely flicking one ear in confusion at the Filipino’s remark.

“We’re not holding you prisoner of course!” Carlos squawked out, quickly raising his talons. “I’m just sayin’… we can’t let you out in the wilderness with just your bags and your hooves. I overheard Scarface saying he had learned a technique in Belfast to modify cars so they can be driven by ponies. From Codsworth and his Vauxhall ah think. So... we’re going to grab a car from the harbor and fix it up for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” She beamed.

“C’mon. We’re not heartless, and all the stuff you’ve done to help us with our clothes certainly warrants the help.” Danny said. “I know we can’t give you a gun – not that any of us have any idea how an Earth Pony like you would use one-, but Roberto’s probs going to give you a satellite phone. Ya know, those smartphones with a sleeve for satellite comms we use all the time. Just so you can listen in on Sandra’s broadcasts and call us if shit hits the fan, you know?”

“How far is Jacksonville anyway?” Carlos asked.

“Oh it’s really close.” Molly reassured them with a wave of her hoof. “Done it in the past plenty, it’s just two hours down the I-95 by...” She paused.

All conversations in the cafeteria ground down to an awkward halt when they spotted the doors open up and reveal a certain shipmate of theirs.

Anton.

The peregrine falcon griffon looked over the crowd with a wince before she lowered her eyes and shuffled over to the buffet under what felt like the whole crew’s scrutiny. She was only dressed in her white track suit, form fitting, which made it all the easier to notice how large her belly had gotten over the last few weeks, so much so that she looked bloated and waddled around more than walked, the few times she was seen outside her cabin.

It hadn’t taken long for the news to spread down the grapevine about her ‘pregnant’ status, in that she was expecting to lay eggs, maybe in as little as a week from then. The bump wasn’t hard to miss, and neither was the engineering crew had built an incubator, the fact she was eating thrice the usual amount, or even how ridiculously protective Boris became whenever she was mentioned.

Even then Danny could see the goshawk griffon put himself between his mate and the crowd, a comforting wing draped over her back. Self-consciously, the parrot brushed her talons over her belly.

It could be her in that situation.

Worse even, was that the shipboard welder didn’t know whether to look at the prospect with outright dread or curiosity. Whispers spread around the cafeteria as they all watched the griffon couple take their food and take a seat beside Vadim and Micha, with even Andy innocently asking Anton a couple questions.

Opinions varied wildly among the crew about that little ‘incident’.

Some said it was disgraceful it even happened in the first place. Some looked at Anton with sympathy, others with disgust or just mild curiosity. Rumors had it there had been an argument between Boris, Artyom, Alejandro and the Captain about breaking the eggs when she laid them and-

A shudder ran down Danny’s spine.

“You know, that reaction really doesn’t match the tough sailor act.” Molly joked.

“Ex-cuse me?!” Danny squawked, recoiling slightly in outrage, her feathers all fluffed up.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s babies -err, cubs I mean. Or are they hatchlings? Whatev’, what I mean is: why are you lot acting like there was a murder on board where it was just the natural result of a solid dicking?”

Carlos choked on his drink.

“And there we have it.” Molly sighed. “Really, how long did you lot think you could last without that happening to any of you? And don’t start with the excuses, I got ears you know, none of you are particularly discreet when you get down to it.”

“A while longer?” Carlos deadpanned, wiping the juice off his beak with his sleeve. “I don’t know if you’ve figured but a cargo ship isn’t the best place to start raising kids, which is exactly why some of us bother using protection. Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe...” He leaned forward. “Bringing a child into this world isn’t the best of times with monsters on the prowl, natural cataclysms and demons over the horizon?”

“Plus you have the whole fact griffons should have it the easiest when it comes to preventing accidental conceptions.” Danny added.

“Alright, fine.” Molly raised her hooves, conceding defeat. “You got me, that is a pretty good reason. Doesn’t change the fact this will only be the first case of many to come. Maybe you could avoid it when the overwhelming majority of you were dudes, but that’s changed. Probs forever too.”

“The entire world has changed, crew relations being altered seem pretty minor in comparison.” Carlos snorted.

“Doesn’t make Nala getting railed by Thanasis any less weird.” Molly replied offhandedly.

Maybe a bit too loud too, because all of a sudden the attention in the cafeteria shifted from Anton to her, before sailors turned their heads towards Thanasis, the sphinx from Aleksei’s team suddenly looking suspiciously sheepish.

“Weird time to be a sailor.” Danny commented, taking a sip of her juice.

On the other end of the room, Anton was just glad the attention had been diverted from her. For the brief moment she raised her head from her plate she caught Molly throwing her a quick wink.

“Smooth diversion, American...” She muttered in Ukrainian.





Things were looking up for the colony in Brittany.

One day prior, Emeric had finally completed his makeshift steam turbine and connected it to the local grid, meaning they now had a stable source for electricity and running water provided their supply of charcoal didn’t dry up anytime soon. The whole system still needed a little fix here and there to fix its kinks since it was cobbled together from various pieces of machinery, but he had plenty of time to think it all through, and the simplicity of the system made it so that it shouldn’t need much more than a pressure relief tank here and a mechanical seal there to improve its performances.

He might need to read up on his electricity basics though. The current exiting the generator was nowhere near as stable as it should and had already flipped the fuses three times in the span of time since he’d installed it. He just needed something to regulate power going from the generator to the household installation.

“Everything in order over here?” Rockhoof asked in French, coming over to the little shed in the courtyard that now sheltered the coal turbine.

It wasn’t very impressive, just a little brick construction with a sheet of corrugated metal for its roof, but it did the job. The little shed contained the turbine and the breakers inside, with the water feed tank on one side outside, and the coal bunker on the other.

“Working fine and dandy.” Emeric confidently smiled, the unicorn wiping some soot that had built up on his camouflaged poncho with his hoof. “Believe me, with central heating and electricity from that thing, heating the castle will be a lot more efficient this winter.”

“Oh I sure do, never been too pleased with the open fires they put in castles. Longhouses are better to endure the cold.” Rock said. “And you said...”

“I did my rounds and inspected the electrical installations around the castle and the outbuildings. I had to disconnect it all from the regional grid for obvious reasons, but now it’s all centralized from here for electricity.” He stated. “Too bad I can’t do the same for running water, but that we can sort out later.”

“Well if you say so...” Rockhoof examined the coal turbine. “So with this thing...”

“You give it charcoal, you get electricity to light up the interior, electricity to heat up the outbuildings somewhat, and running water inside the castle. Plus some appliances.”

“And we also need charcoal to heat up the stoves and the forge too.” Rockhoof added in a quiet tone.

Which meant they would need to build up a pretty sizable stockpile to run it all. A stockpile of charcoal they made from wood...

… the very same wood they needed for so many things. They needed it to help refit the various buildings for use by deer and ponies and not humans, they needed it to build up the palisade and fences they needed to protect the castle and the farmland, particularly given it was the third time this week he had to repeal a pack of hunchback boars before they could reach the fields.

Given the kind of damage a regular boar could do to a field, Rockhoof wasn’t feeling too curious as to what kind of mayhem the gigantic pigs might cause if they were ever allowed anywhere near their farmland.

Faust almighty, the bloody things were so darn big they might actually attack the cattle, or worse: the colonists whose population had recently swelled up with a fresh influx of returnees, most of them reappearing as deer and unicorns, with some exceptions like the one centaur that had arrived with the last group.

That same population growth meant more fields and garden had to be prepped for production to feed them all, fields and gardens that attracted more hungry boars Rockhoof and his lieutenants had to repel while the colonists tended to them, only further highlighting the need to get that palisade built.

“Okay...” Rockhoof began slowly. “I think I’m going to send out a lumber party soon. Miles is calculating how much wood we’re going to need for the palisade, you think you can do a rough estimate of how much charcoal this thing here is going to need? I need to know how much firewood Sandrine needs with her charcoal kiln so that stockpile is big enough to last us all winter. Think worst case scenario: cold winter, early frost, late thawing, plus an extra margin and all. Can do?”

“Can do. Should be done this evening in fact.” Emeric confirmed. “If Sandrine keeps making the same batch size with the kiln that should be simple enough...” He added, glancing towards the charcoal bunker.

“Fantastic then! Also, with the new arrivals, try and pick out a few more guards. I’m not comfortable knowing it’s just you, me and Miles guarding the place. Ain’t enough for a castle and village this size.”

“I will.” He paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Rock smirked.

“Right...” Emeric snorted sardonically. “The military academy where Miles and I came from had some communications equipment. Radios I mean, and big ones at that. Merlin was pretty interested, and I think now that we have electricity we-” He stopped when Rock raised his hoof.

“That technology is beyond me, remember?” He pointed out. “Whatever it is, if you can get Star to help you, then you have my support to go and get it as long as there is somepony to guard the castle. Now, keep it simple, what does it do?”

“A radio might allow us to know if there are more colonies around us, or even further depending on how it’s set up. We could communicate with them.”

Rockhoof took a long pause to munch over the information, his eyes drifting away from the turbine and out towards the courtyard where Meadowbrook and Martin were unloading a cart of vegetables one of their new colonists had just brought in. A rich fruity smell came in from the kitchens, indicating the mare bearing his foals was once more busy canning the food for long term storage.

“You have my blessing, but make it quick. Ask Starswirl, teleport there to get the stuff, come back. The woods are getting more dangerous, no need to take risks.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Anyway...” Rockhoof sniffed. “I’m going to run some rounds around the fields just to make sure the boars stay away. See you for dinner, and tell Miles she got the night patrol.”

“Will do, boss.”
> Chapter 69: Signal Flag Alpha
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

On board the Rhine Forest, one hippogriff was seriously questioning his life choices inside of Dot’s cabin. Curled up in a ball on his girlfriend’s bed and holding a pack of ice against his aching nether regions, he let out yet another whine as more pain coursed through his strained testes.
Dot wasn’t in the room, the mare currently busy taking a shower in the adjacent room, leaving only Asha present, the centaur standing there and looking down at Carl with her arms crossed.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” She questioned.

“Bad? She was a freaking succubus!” Carl exclaimed, raising his head from the bedsheets and revealing the disheveled state of his blue crest feathers, sticking to his forehead and neck from all the sweat. “I lost count past thirty times! Fuck’s sake, look at the bin!” He whined, pointing a talon at the not insignificant amount of used condoms they’d tossed in the trash ever since the start of Dot’s heat season.

A pile of condoms that certainly didn’t help with the scent of sex that permeated the room despite the running A/C and the open porthole venting air. Asha just smiled in amusement, one thumb tracing over her breast pocket where she could feel the bump from the now empty vial of potion she’d given Dot a few hours ago.

“Well at least you know you’ve got endurance to spare.”

“Endurance hurts.” The hippogriff complained. “Wish I could be female again, that was a lot more simple.”

“Oh, quit your whining.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, it’s only because it was her first time that it was even that bad, and now I left a batch of potion in deep storage to mitigate the effects of future heat seasons. Think of it like Dot going through puberty, only worse because she has the body of a fully-grown mare.”

“Why, thank you for the free medical advice.” Carl snarked.

“Eh, hard to miss the details when I’m the one brewing the potions.”

“Doesn’t help. You got anything to give a stallion that’s been pumped dry?” He said, looking at her flatly.

“A pat on the back?” Asha smirked.

“Why, you sarcastic bitch.”

“Rude.”

“You get what you give.” Carl said. “Anyway… you say she won’t be… with the potion?”

“The heat season should be under control.” Asha shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, she’ll still be horny as-”

They heard some moaning coming from the bathroom.

“I think I don’t need to finish that sentence.” The centaur quirked an eyebrow at the bathroom’s door in amusement. “The potion doesn’t do miracles, so you’ll still have to bear the burden of your own masculinity, stud. That being said, so long as the potion runs its course, you can ditch the rubbers.”

“I wish it could just end quicker...” He groaned, falling down limply on the mattress, a whimper escaping the hippogriff’s beak as his balls protested at the sudden movement.

“Only way books say you can end a season quicker is with no potion and you becoming a daddy.”

“I’ll pass.” Carl quickly replied.

“You could look at it from the bright side then.”

“There is a bright side?” The hippogriff’s ears flicked.

“She got her time now, but wait until she’s done ovulating and menstruates.” Asha smirked. “Then you get your turn gloating.”

“She really doesn’t know what’s around the corner, does she?”

Another moan came from the bathroom.

“Self-explanatory.” Asha deadpanned. “Little Dot is going to experience the biggest downside to marehood soon. That’s what she gets for freaking out the whole crew.”

“Freaking out the crew? How?”

“Well, maybe not the whole crew, but she managed to spook all the genderswapped and equine folks. Including the Captain if the rumor’s true. I mean… I know I’m at least slightly concerned ‘bout what’s going to happen to me when it’s my turn to have...” She waved a red hand towards the bathroom. “That.”

“Centaurs go into heat too?”

“Once a year, or griffon-style through sexual activity. Both work, but I’m still going to make damn sure my potions are ready for when it happens. Do you know how long centaur pregnancies last?”

“I do not.” Carl blinked slowly.

“Nineteen to twenty months!” She exclaimed. “You think I want to wind up preggers for nearly two years just ‘cause my own body made me horny for a couple days? Hell naw!”

Carl blinked owlishly at the centaur. In the bathroom, they heard the water stop running, signaling Dot was done with her shower.

“Man, the coming years sure are going to be interesting, seeing what society becomes with that mess.” He mused aloud. “Just think of the chaos that would ensue if mares start going into heat at the same time.”

“You just defined an orgy, and that’s not going to help with teen pregnancies.”

“Depends, how hard is it to make the potion?” He asked.

“It varies, really.” Asha shrugged. “Book suggested young mares need a more potent version to mitigate the intensity of their first season, so the batch I made was particularly powerful. Any subsequent stuff wouldn’t need to be as potent, so I could tone down the concentrations and maybe even dilute it.”

She paused.

“Then again the potion manual only mentions doses for ponies. Centaurs might need more of it.” She added. “Gonna be fun...”

Carl was about to make a snide comment about that when he was interrupted by a knock on the cabin’s door. He quickly pulled the bedsheets over himself before calling in whoever it was that needed them. The two cadets were then greeted to the sight of a geared-up Doc Delacroix wearing a large medical satchel standing in the doorway.

“Something happening ma’am?” Asha asked, casually doing a 180 with her humanoid half to face the French hippogriff.

A strange sight even to those who were familiar with centaurs, them having a spine like an owl’s neck may be convenient for them, but it didn’t look any less bizarre to observers.

“Yes Asha, and call me Camille please.” Rhine’s resident doctor reminded the centaur. “We’re gathering all hippogriffs on board. Fugro’s above the submarine but they only have drones, so they’re sending us as divers. Carl, you need to go gear up, we’re deploying a trawler within the hour and...” She paused, only then noticing the pained look he had on his features. 

“Are you injured?”

“Nothing serious.”

“Well then if it’s not serious just take an Ibuprofen and get on with it,” she said. “One hour, geared up, by the gantry crane, copy?”

Carl parroted the order, earning a satisfied nod from Camille before she left in a hurry, closing the door behind her with her wing. For a few seconds he looked right at the door before slumping down on the mattress with a whine.

“Man, is it me or are dudes treated more callously? Can’t I just be female again so people give a damn?”

“Ups and downs on either side of the equation.” Dot laughed out loud as she finally exited the bathroom wearing nothing but towels around her mane and barrel. “Gotta live with it, liefje.” 

“Just get me an Ibuprofen please...” He groaned.





Deploying the hippogriffs didn’t take too long. With all ships in close proximity to one another, it was only two hours later that a trawler took position over the downed submarine and began unloading the seaponies they’d need to investigate the submarine.

In open waters like that, seaponies were a vast improvement over human divers, particularly considering they needed to reach a target as deep as Georgia. Sure, they needed their utility gauntlets to manipulate tools, but the design had been improved since their previous use at the Harland and Wolff yard in Belfast. They were now more comfortable around their fins, the mechanisms more accurate, and, more importantly, they could swap tools on the fly without needing to resurface.

Better even, seaponies weren’t afraid of the bends. Where a human would have needed to resort to saturation diving, setting up stations at different depths to replenish their air and slowly surface to avoid barotrauma, they could just surface whenever they felt like it. And with their fur coat worthy of a sea lion’s, hypothermia wasn’t a problem either. They could stay underwater for as long as they needed, not even needing to worry about water currents since seaponies were easily ten times as fast as Olympic swimmers.

In fact, the only real concern down there was that they could hardly see anything, meaning the half-dozen seaponies assembled on the team immediately began dropping underwater flares during their dive before starting to add marker ropes and chemlights all around the grounded submarine to make sure they kept track of where they swam around Georgia’s monolithic black hull.

They were deep. Very deep. So much so that the environment felt like another planet entirely to Carl as he swam around the submarine, exploring the trail of debris the large vessel had left along the trench she’d dug when she slid down the continental slope.

The sun felt so distant at this depth, only a pale blue light far above him, easy to ignore since its rays hardly managed to reach this far down. Particles floated in the water here and there, slowly drifting away with the soft current in the blue expanse that were the oceanic depths. Everything he looked at that was out of the light of either the flares of the ROV’s floodlights was like looking through a blue lens, mostly devoid of colors in this cold weightless world. The atmosphere was made all the more eerie by the noise: echoes carried through the ocean, groans and cracks from far away, the rumble from the ships’ engines overhead, the whirr from the drones’ little electric propellers, and the quiet chatter from all the seaponies working around the wreck.

It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Schools of fish sometimes passed by above them, headed for the great large. Heck, a frickin’ baleen whale had also come by with her calf, the gigantic mammal cautiously looking at them as she interposed herself between the divers and her offspring as she swam past, exposing her barnacle-covered, scarred hide to them in all its massive glory.

That was half an hour ago and the memory was still vivid in his mind as he secured another marker ropeto the seabed near a rip in the submarine’s outer hull. A safeguard if their underwater flares ever went out, so the seaponies wouldn’t lose their bearings. The seabed here was only covered in a thin layer of sand, with solid rock underneath it, jutting out in odd places, along with a couple coral reefs here and there.

Not the usual warm water, low depth coral, mind. It was more dull, easy to mistake with rocks if you missed the odd, organic shapes it formed in places on the rock formations. Georgia had broken a couple reefs, their shattered remains mixed with the debris. Some even lay near the tears along the hull and in the crumpled remains of Georgia’s bow.

Not a pretty sight.

Soon enough they were done setting up the area and Camille gathered them around one of the submarine’s hatches, somewhere aft of the sail near what she assumed to be their engine room. Prior to deploying the hippogriffs, Fugro had had some lengthy talks with the submariners, questioning them on how it was supposed to be used.

In simple terms, it was a big airlock. All submarines had a couple of these, with uses ranging from deploying SEAL teams to simply allowing for stores to be loaded on board. There was one outer hatch on the exterior side of the hull, followed by a chamber connected to an intricate valve and air system to cycle air in and out of the chamber, before leading up to a lower hatch that entered the submarine proper.

Going by what the sailors on Fugro told Camille, the airlock had been readied for entry by the submariners already.

And if it wasn’t, the pressure differential between the ocean and the chamber would prevent them from opening the hatch in the first place anyway. No real concern on their end.

Not a minute later, the hatch was open and Camille swam inside the cramped space, mindful not to snag her back fins on anything like the ladder connected to the hatch. Carl followed close behind, but only him. The rest of the seaponies would stay outside and make sure everything was kept tidy.

The chamber inside was built like a tall, large cylinder, big enough to fit two dozen sailors and with a myriad of pipes and valves lining the walls. In addition to that, the hatch coaming around the upper access above them extended out for about a foot, allowing for a little air bubble to form in a recess near an intercom that allowed divers to communicate with the sub’s crew.

She did her part, she swam up to the phone, told a Chief on the other end they were in, and proceeded to drain all water from the trunk. The two seaponies inside turned to their hippogriff form as soon the water was out of the compartment.

An indicator light flipped above the inner hatch as soon as pressure stabilized. The airlock was good to go.

Doctor Delacroix had now successfully boarded the stricken submarine.





Up North in Savannah, Dilip had ordered his teams to prepare for the delivery. Out of Amandine’s entrails rolled their fleet of vehicles, leaving the security perimeter around the ship to go secure the rail yard for the HPI.

Two of their Piranhas left, both APC’s fully loaded, heading south. Their target wasn’t actually the container terminal’s yard, but a smaller, more sheltered one situated between the oil terminal and a gypsum depot. This wasn’t a problem on their end, as it meant folks like Artyom and the veterans could easily cover all approaches from perches on top of conveyor belts and storage tanks that lined the sides of the rail yard while the Piranhas kept their .50 cals trained on the main road.

A lone train track slipped inside this industrial landscape before spreading out into multiple junctions that in normal circumstances would have allowed to load and unload multiple convoys at once, on one side with conveyor belts for the gypsum, and with manifolds and chicksans on the other for petroleum products. Artyom didn’t see any kind of pollution that warranted particular concern around the venue. The place had suffered from wear thanks to being battered by the elements that had swept the region and not repaired, but the oil terminal’s flare stack had managed to burn out all the volatile gases that may have accumulated in the meantime.

At least according to his equipment. The explosimeter he wore on his flak jacket next to his mag pouch had yet to detect anything, even when he took a perch with a DMR (one of the FAL rifles Greet had retrieved from the police station in Derry) on top of a storage tank.

A bit lower and on the other side of the rail yard, he saw Sri do the same on a conveyor belt. The gypsum depot had actually fared worse than the oil terminal, some of its conveyor belts collapsing outright on the buildings and offices that surrounded the place, coating everything in a thin layer of white dust.

Artyom checked the time. Fifteen minutes before the arrival of the HPI. From his vantage point, he quickly made sure every sailor was in position.

The Captain was waiting by one of the Piranhas, saber on his hip and Greet behind him with a clipboard.

The second Piranha piloted by Bart and Scarface was overseeing the main road, gun ready to act if anything popped up from that direction, while only needing to retreat behind a ruined office building if they needed cover or had to relocate to address any threat that might come from the river.

Plus they had him and Sri on overwatch with DMR’s, also overseeing half a dozen machine gun nests he’d quickly positioned to plug gaps in the perimeter.

Hence: they were ready.

“Bosun to Captain...” He called over the radio. “Perimeter secure, ready to proceed. Out.”

Dilip replied with a quick acknowledgment before switching frequency, calling for their cargo to at last exit the ship. A small convoy of trucks and lorries emerged out of the holds on that order, slowly rolling down the ramp with a heavy-duty forklift in tow – big enough to handle fully-loaded forty foot containers-.

Dilip eyed them all critically. In so few containers, they’d managed to cram stuff that would be worth millions before society went to hell in a handbasket. Antiques, paintings, statues, ancient furniture,… And that was without the magical artifacts accounted for, those same artifacts they had found on a stroke of luck in Derry. They weren’t selling all of them unfortunately.

Not because they didn’t want to, but because Eko had told him upfront that the HPI wouldn’t be taking too many risks with magical stuff. A handful of minor artifacts were all the Indonesian would accept, apparently because they were too hazardous to handle. Or something along those lines. Not that Dilip would ever expect the HPI to be clear about anything.

Thus: of all the magical artifacts they had found, the HPI didn’t accept the powerful stuff and only agreed to take in items like a few cups, bowls, and some pieces of jewelry secured inside a reefer container lined with extra protection. Asbestos? Apparently good at insulating against minor thaumic radiation when paired with certain alloys.

And the remaining artifacts? Like Greet’s fire sword and Dilip’s Congo Sword? That they could keep for themselves, study on their own terms… and sell the research data to the HPI.

Eh, at least that meant even the shadiest of organizations is prone to outsourcing.

“Is that all the cargo accounted for?” He turned his head ever so slightly to ask Greet.

“I see one sealed container with their prototypes, three FEU worth of art pieces, one TEU with the artifacts and corresponding high thaumic hazard warnings… Yes, that is all I got on the bill of lading, sir.” Greet confirmed. “I also have a list for all the parts we ordered, if necessary.” 

“We’ll see, keep it on hand.” Dilip replied before checking his watch. “Five minutes, let’s hope they’re on time.”

“With all due respects sir, I don’t think we have any right to call them out on being late.” Greet joked.

“True that.” He acknowledged.

And they were late. Which wasn’t even much of a surprise considering the news they’d received that damage to the infrastructure had forced them to reroute their train.

In the meantime they got the chance to bid farewell to Miss Hawkins. Scarface hadn’t needed much time to find a random F150 on a nearby parking lot and have it towed inside the vehicle bay for a quick repair-and-retrofit, just to make it so it could be driven by an Earth Pony. Comical as it was for a diminutive equine to drive around in a truck that big. It would allow Molly to make her way back to Jacksonville in decent time, though they also warned her about the shelf life of diesel and how she shouldn’t expect the truck to last her more than a few months.

That didn’t seem to worry the seamstress overly much, and soon she was driving away towards the freeway in her newly acquired F150, with all her possessions safely stowed under a net in the bed. Hopefully she’d find somebody.

One and a half hours later, they finally felt the first signs of the train’s arrival. Emphasis on felt, as a feeling of deep-seated uneasiness and dread crept its way up their spines before they even laid eyes on the train. A feeling Scarface recognized as that caused by thaumic shields, if slightly different from what he remembered from the facility in Chooz.

Strangely though, they also heard the crack of gunshots before they even saw the train, as if a firefight had suddenly erupted on the other side of town. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, the first shots being drowned out seconds later by a hailstorm of autocannon fire.

A few minutes later, the train finally rolled into the yard, rounding a junction that implied it had passed very close to the city.

First thing they saw were the drones. Not huge UAV’s like the ones used by the USAF, but little quadcopters some 2 meters in width with a sleek black casing protecting their components. They all flew in formation above the train, a dozen of them, each armed with a single gun attached on a ventral mount and connected to dull optics that carefully eyed the sailors.

As for the train itself, it looked ripped straight out of science-fiction. It was a diesel, albeit unlike any they’d ever laid eyes on. The engine was like a black monolith: angular, aggressive, leading the way like a knife thrust onward, with nary a detail emerging out of its heavily armored plating save for a few gratings on either side and a floodlight up front. Behind it emerged the cab, as heavily armored as the engine, its black tinted windows seamlessly merged with its shell, culminating above the whole thing in a remotely operated turret that mounted a pair of autocannons. There was a tender behind it, likely a larger cabin for the crew but also a docking port for the fleet of drones that escorted the train.

Right then, they could see one of them swoop down with a buzz of its propellers, quickly attaching itself to a port where its battery was swapped out before it took to the air once more, narrowly avoiding the communication array that sprouted out of the roof of the tender.

That was pretty much the layout of the train: engine up front, with a tender cabin behind it on both ends of the convoy. Anything in between was occupied by generic flat cars with a few shipping containers on them, with the odd exception of the central wagon, which they all immediately identified as the shield generator from gut feeling alone. It was far larger than even the engines, but equally as featureless save for the two autocannon turrets on its roof.

It was also covered in impact marks, white spots where bullets had harmlessly pinged against its composite plating.

Over the radio, they all heard Artyom order all sailors not to open fire on the admittedly menacing vehicle. Just to err on the safe side. A rolling black monolith that spread dread like that was an extremely tempting thing to shoot at.

Dilip eyed it all calmly, twisting a knob on his walkie-talkie and raising it to his muzzle. The feeling from the thaumic generator wasn’t too different from that of the Congo Sword, it just reached further. That and it didn’t feel actively malicious like the saber on his hip.

“WSU Captain to train operator, radio check. Over.”

“Operator here, loud and clear. Are you ready to exchange cargo? Over.” Came the reply on the agreed-upon frequency, the guy on the line replying with a thick southern accent.

“We have your delivery and are ready to proceed with the trade.” The Captain replied. “Interrogative: what was that gunfire about? Over.”

“Look, let’s cut the procedures, I can hear you clearly and I can bloody see you out the windshield.” The operator replied tiredly, as if annoyed by the common radio speech. “That firefight? Was a buncha hoodlum ponies over in the ‘burbs getting spooked by the train. We just chased them off, maybe thrashed their car, but they were looting the place so we don’t have much remorse with that.”

“So there are locals in the area?”

“Apparently.” The train operator replied. “Probably something you should look out for, we didn’t kill any but they looked shady as shit.”

“Hello pot, kettle calling.” Greet quipped.

“Well, thank you for the information. I’m surprised you’d sound so… ahem, casual, mister?” Dilip inquired after giving his youngest Officer a warning look.

“Keyes. Bob Keyes. I agree I don’t fit in with the crowd over at base, but they needed me and I’ve been in the trade for twenty years, Norfolk Southern. Not like they had a choice if they wanted them trains to run proper.” He chuckled. “That’s four peeps like me running this thing if you’re wondering. Five if you count that fella Lexington, but he’s just cooped up in the shield car doing his science stuff, so take that however you want.”

“Well met then Keyes.” Dilip politely waved at the engine, not seeing anything on the cab’s tinted windows. “I’m Captain Prateek. Glad to learn your organization has more variety to it than I first thought, now what do you say we get this delivery over with so we both stay in Agent Eko’s good graces?”

“You’ll make the boss happy the day I’ll grow a third nipple.” Keyes snarked. “Now, it’s not that I don’t trust your sailors – boss seems willin’ enough to trust your lot- but I’m not up to gearing up for EVA, did that for the last half dozen junctions and that was annoying enough, bein’ cooped up in an astronaut suit with a backpack to make an army ranger blush and a power cord trailing behind that. You feel me? Gonna need you to do the cargo handling. Manifest says all these containers here are for you, so if you could please swap them with those over by the quay so we can get back to base? Not that I mind the novelty but we’re behind schedule and the Upper Echelon is a bit stiff up the rear end this time of the year.”

“No worries on that end.” Dilip replied, turning around and waving the forklift over. “I’d rather it be done quickly too, that shield of yours does us no good.”

The exchange happened quickly, if a bit tensely because Keyes insisted his drone swarm remain up in the air throughout the whole procedure. Dilip could sort of understand the reasoning, what with the bandits nearby. The sailors got the cargo they’d ordered: parts, lots of them for the whole fleet, things they couldn’t machine themselves in their workshop like electronics and specialized designs with strict quality control requirements. Like the propeller shaft Fugro Symphony needed if they wanted their propeller pitch control back. With everything accounted for, the whole shipment boiled down to slightly more than a dozen fully-loaded FEU containers. About 380 tons of spare parts.

If that didn’t last them a good while he’d eat his own saber.

He blinked. Bad analogy. He was a Diamond Dog, for all he knew he might actually be able to digest the metal.

And in addition to that he managed to pry some information about monsters having also attacked the train on the way from wherever their base was to Savannah.

Had he known more about American railways, he might have managed to get a vague idea about which state the HPI’s HQ was in. With his current knowledge though? Keyes’ lips remained sealed, making only a passing mention of how Lexington was running some experiments in the shield car.

“I’m impressed.” Dilip commented. “Going by what my subordinates saw in France this shield unit is a lot smaller. And obviously more effective.”

Still big though. Even for a train car it was rather big.

“Thank Lexington for that.” Keyes said offhandedly. “Guy’s a genius. A creepy genius, but a genius nevertheless. Retooled the whole design under a few weeks and cut down projector size and power requirements by two thirds. Don’t know the details, but it’s a lot less massive than the first generator me and the guys delivered to base.”

“Nice to know you’re developing your gear. Hopefully those prototypes from France will help with your projects.” Dilip said, watching as said sealed container was loaded onto the train, still bearing the HPI’s logo of seven interwoven circles.

“Hold on for a second here… I must know, did you open it? ‘cause it’s important it’s still sealed.” Keyes quickly asked, one of his drones swooping down to take a look at the container.

“Seal’s intact, none of us touched it since we picked it at the French facility.” Dilip reassured him. “Only clue we got is that Eko said it was about cybernetics. Or robotics. Whichever.”

The drone flew a circle around the container, optics trained on it like a hawk looking for hares before returning to the swarm above them after a minute.

“It’s fine.” Keyes said. “Policy has it I gotta check the stuff’s still sealed. Nothing to check on the others though, ‘cept if you have a bill of lading? By the way, make sure the reefers are plugged, ‘cause they ain’t gonna last on battery.”

“We do, paper version. Want me to stick it in a container?” He asked, motioning for a sailor to go and attach the power cords that would connect the reefer containers holding the art pieces to the train’s power supply.

A necessity. Particularly when it came to atmospheric controls. There was no way the sweltering Georgian heat could do any good to paintings older than most countries were before the Event. If his memory was right they had painting in there that dated back to the Renaissance.

“Hold on...” Another drone flew over to Dilip, slowly coming to a hover in front of him. “Just… attach it to the drone so I can get the paper inside and sign it. You filled your part?”

“Paperwork’s all neat and tidy, you can have it.” He answered, struggling to find a place where to put the sheet of paper before deciding to just fold it tightly and stick it inside the drone’s gun barrel like a plug. “There, best I can manage.”

The drone buzzed back and went to dock itself on the tender car, a small hatch seemingly opening on the docking port and swallowing up the drone with a quick thanks from Keyes over the radio.

“Looks like everything’s in order Captain. My thanks for the delivery, I’d be happy to stay and chat, but duty calls and we’re already behind schedule. I’d advise you to stay safe, but it looks like you got that ground covered. Nice guns by the way, saw the L1A1’s your snipers got. Good luck and farewell.” Keyes said.

And on that sentence, the train’s engines rumbled back to life, slowly pulling it away from the yard and back the way it had come from. The assembled sailors watched it leave, some with visible relief as the feeling of dread the thaumic shield caused faded away.

“What shall we do now, sir?” Greet asked.

“Load up those spare parts and secure them for sea passage. Sort it per ship if it’s not already so we can pass it back to Rhine and Fugro when we meet up in Cuba. I’ll need to have a chat with Eko about our credit balance with the HPI and...” He frowned. “I figure if the rest of the fleet is still busy with the submarine then we probably should investigate this town. You know, locate the bandits and find out whether or not they’re the thugs Keyes declared they were.”

“At once, sir.”





The submariners had opened the hatch for them as soon as the pressure was stable on both sides, greeting them with the sight of Georgia’s interior proper. The loading hatch they had taken was aft,which meant they were now just ahead of the reactor, in the compartments that housed all the auxiliary equipment that the US sailors were watching like vigilant hawks.

Camille and Carl carefully looked around as the two hippogriffs stepped out of the escape trunk, with the former mindful not to snag her medical satchel on anything.

Most of the sailors she could see were hobbling around shakily, the submarine’s inclined state not helping the fact they were still unfamiliar with their new bodies. A lot of them were injured too, bearing makeshift dressings, most of them limb injuries that made it all the harder to move around.

They were also overwhelmingly ponies, which given the fact they likely had yet to discover unicorns had telekinesis and that pegasi could use their wings as hands, meant they couldn’t get much done. She could see a few non-ponies running around – griffons and Diamond Dogs-, looking disheveled from having to make up from their shipmates’ lack of hands.

Georgia was cramped, obviously, though maybe because she was on the larger end of the scale as far as submarines went she wasn’t as cramped as say, that one diesel-electric submarine Camille had visited once in Paris. The Argonaute it was called? Not that it mattered. Space was certainly used more efficiently than on a merchant vessel, with the slightest nook or cranny occupied by equipment, cabinets and wall lockers.

It was also surprisingly silent when compared to the ships she was used to. She’d have expected the reactor to be a lot louder than that, but it barely thrummed, the noise actually dwarfed by that of the air conditioning.

“Are you the doctor?” An Earth Pony asked her as he came over, the ranks on his collar depicting him as an…

Well she didn’t know the US Navy ranks by heart but she was going to assume the stallion was an officer. He was a fairly large stallion, managing to equal the two hippogriffs in height, though unlike them he didn’t have a wiry or lean build, looking more like a draft stallion. He had bay fur with a black mane, and with him only wearing the shirt part of his uniform they could also see the large white patch of fur he had on his rump, along with the dumbbell mark adorning his muscular flanks.

“Yes. I’m Doctor Delacroix, from M/V Rhine Forest.” She told, reaching up to shake his hoof. “And this is Deck Cadet Van Peij. He’s here to help me out.” She added, waving her talons over to Carl.

“Well met then, you can call me Gardner.” The pony replied. “I’m so glad someone could get to us so quickly. Can I ask… how did you dive this deep? I don’t see any diving equipment on you.”

“Carl?” Camille casually said.

The other hippogriff closed his eyes and quickly turned into a seapony in a flash of light, much to the shock of all the navy sailors inside the compartment. He turned back a few seconds later, calmly brushing his talons over his coveralls with a cheeky grin on his beak.

“Classic hippogriff skill, we do that and we can breathe underwater. Works rather well, we have half a dozen seaponies surveying the outer hull as we speak.”

“Right, fine, whatever.” Gardner rubbed a hoof over his muzzle. “You know what, let’s keep that for when it actually matters and focus on what’s needed. Doctor, we have a corpsman on board but he’s just the one guy and he could use the help. We have a handful of patients in need of treatment, and there’s so many of them we’ve had to put them back in their bunks. Think you can help with that?”

“That I do.” Camille nodded. “Just point me towards the sick bay and I’ll be happy to get to work, see what can be done. Is there any particularly serious patient I should be worried about?”

“A couple, Captain included, but you’ll have to ask doc about the details.” Gardner told her, motioning with his hoof towards a passageway that led further forward. “And there’s the other thing with the evacuation.”

The three of them slowly started making their way towards the med bay, where the amount of wounded sailors waiting for treatment had considerably decreased since Georgia had first settled on the bottom. Most of them were back to ‘work’ (for as little as they could do on a grounded sub), those with the light injuries. Those that couldn’t move around had been relocated to their bunks to rest in the mess rooms that lined the sides of the main passageway.

“Now that I’ve laid eyes on your crew I can figure why you can’t just use your immersion suits.”

“Escape suits.” Gardner corrected. “They won’t fit ponies.”

“Meaning Fugro will have to lower her diving bell at some point.” Camille guessed as they finally reached the sick bay where doc was waiting for them. “I’m going to assume we’re still planning to send a sailor up top so we can have a technical advisor?”

“Of course.”

“Okay...” She came to a stop, her gaze surveying the large orange canisters that housed the Tomahawk missiles.

She had been told Georgia didn’t have ballistic missiles with the nuclear warheads. That didn’t mean her weapons suite was any less impressive. If anything it was more, since the lack of nukes made her more likely to be used in anger.

“I need to ask, your escape suits, do they need a decompression chamber after use?” She asked.

“If only to err on the safe side. We’ve already picked a volunteer to get to the surface and play the role of advisor.”

Vàzquez. Male diamond dog, technically just a junior enlisted but he was bright enough to be trusted with helping the merchant sailors on the surface. Right then he was probably in control with the XO who was prepping him and cramming as many .pdf’s through his head as humanly possible.

“Okay then...” Camille mumbled, staring off into a bulkhead, her talons drumming against the floor in thought. “Let’s do it this way: Carl, you’ll accompany the advisor dog to the surface and make sure he gets to Fugro safely. Aim for the moonpool so they can transfer him safely without getting the bends. I’ll stay here and deal with the wounded, but you get back here as soon as you can manage, okay? I still need your help.”

“Aye ma’am.” Carl nodded.

Gardner didn’t have anything to say against that. Camille moved off inside the sick bay to do her part of the job, while the Lieutenant took the other hippogriff over to control where the XO and Vazquez were doing their best to prepare the ‘technical advisor’ for his work on the surface. They had a bit of a problem with getting documents from the submarine to the surface though, what with the water being in the way.

Something Carl was all too happy to bring a solution for when he mentioned one tiny little detail with hippogriffs.

Item retention. When a hippogriff switched form, anything he had on his person in one form would be stowed safely in the other. Meaning they were essentially able to carry twice as much as any other species.

He just knew there was a lot more a crafty person might be able to do with that inventory trick, he just didn’t feel the need to develop it too much.

Half an hour of being briefed by Georgia’s XO later, Carl and Vàzquez found themselves headed back towards the escape trunk.



	

On the opposite end of the submarine, someone stirred awake.

It had been days since he’d been inspected the sonar sphere, days since the incident where his shipmates had suddenly been turned into ponies and the submarine took an abrupt nose dive. He had been in the sonar sphere at the time, the foremost compartment in the submarine.

The first to impact the seabed and take the brunt of the damage.

It had crumpled upon hitting the ground, like a bent fender in a car crash, except there were people inside the fender. There had been screams, weps had started yelling, the sound of a hatch being shut over the rushing water that poured in from an open tear in the hull.

He hadn’t done anything. He couldn’t have done anything even if he’d tried. He had just watched on helplessly from where a girder had trapped him at the bottom of the compartment as water slowly built up and the lights failed and his shipmates battled with the water.

Why was he alive?

Cold seawater had rushed to cover him, so cold he couldn’t even feel his hands. He could barely move, stuck underwater and yet, somehow, alive. 

He knew the others were dead. For a while now. One of their bodies had bumped into him at one point, long drowned, lifeless, stiff. He couldn’t see them in the complete darkness, but he could hear them bump into things every so often.

Sound carried surprisingly far underwater. He should know, working in sonar.

How long had he been there? Was it hours? Days? Weeks spent trapped in limbo? Hard to keep track in the dark like that.

What did he do to deserve that fate?

Idly, he wondered what it was that had stirred him out of his slumber. Was that… voices? Outside the sub? He turned his head. That was coming from outside the rip in the hull he could feel next to him, where some colder water streamed in with the current.

There was a flash of red outside, and he watched an underwater flare come to a landing, the first light to reach his eyes in days.

Mustering what little strength he’d left, he started banging his arm against the hull.
> Chapter 70: Roof Kirins
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back inside the sub, Carl watched the Diamond Dog he was supposed to lead to the surface get suited up in his escape suit. It was a reddish-orange suit, pretty similar to the immersion suits in use on commercial vessels with the thick waterproof fabric and the loose one-size-fits-all type. The difference was, the submariners’ version was fully enclosed and came with a small supply of compressed air carried in a satchel. The air was for breathing until the surface was reached and while transitioning inside the airlock, to provide buoyancy that would pull the escapee to the surface, and to fill the inflatable liferaft integrated into the suit.

Needless to say, quite a bit higher on the tech ladder than the thick neoprene suits merchant sailors used to ward off hypothermia.

Vàzquez struggled a bit as he put on his suit. Male Diamond Dogs may have been the closest in shape to humans – at least of all the species found among Georgia’s crew, an Ornithian or an Abyssinian might have been a better choice-, but they still were different. Sure they were humanoid, but they were a bit closer to gorillas in their gait than to humans, and the dog’s large meaty arms stretched the suit’s sleeves to their limit.

“This going to work?” Carl questioned as a griffon Chief helped him squeeze Vàzquez inside the suit.

“Ain’t gonna be comfortable...” The dog panted, finally pulling the zipper shut and letting the Chief run a buddy check over him. “… but it should work. Correct, Chief?” He asked the griffon.

“Aye, ah reckon it will.” The griffon patted him on the shoulder. “Careful on the ascent, son. Remember, don’t hold your breath or you’ll crush your own lungs with the pressure differential. You got an air supply and this kid over here’s gonna help you up, so breathe steady, ‘kay?”

“Comprendo chief.” Vàzquez gave a thumbs up.

Tried to at least. He could move his digits alright but the fabric was so stretched he could barely move his arms. Carl would have to help him all the way up, because there wasn’t much the dog could do on his own.

“Just remember: this isn’t training, this isn’t a safe shallow swimming pool. It’s open ocean, you’re 600 feet deep, it’s cold, there’s current, and we’re counting on you getting up there and making sure the rest of the crew will follow.” The griffon insisted more firmly, tightening his talons around Vàzquez’s shoulder. “Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.”

The Chief then turned around and exchanged a few words with Carl to make sure the hippogriff hadn’t forgotten the procedure before they finally allowed the two inside the airlock. A griffon helped Carl pull Vàzquez up the ladder by the straps of his collar until the dog was fully inside before dropping back down. The hatch sealed up behind them with an almost solemn clang.

Time to get up to the surface then.

“Cadet, we just got a message from Fugro up top.” The griffon Chief told him through the interphone in the compartment. “They say: aim for the moonpool. Normally we wouldn’t need a decompression chamber but we’re so far deep we’re going to use it anyway just to be on the safe side. Get to the moonpool, pass off Vàzquez to the sailors up there, then come back down to assist your doc. I’m keeping the airlock ready, don’t make me wait, kid.”

“Understood.” Carl simply replied.

Hanging up the interphone, he made sure to open the air canister on Vàzquez’s suit and let it balloon up as it was supposed to before he turned the valves that would fill the airlock with seawater and equalize pressure with the outside ocean. Soon as water started flowing in, he switched back to his seapony form, inelegantly flopping on the floor because the water wasn’t high enough yet.

Eh, at least the display was enough to bring a chuckle out of the admittedly stressed out Vàzquez, though Carl had to make sure he stayed centered with the hatch coaming above them. Not like the dog could do much in the overly stretched suit.

Then, after what felt like hours of water slowly crawling its way up towards the ceiling, the airlock was full and a little light told Carl he could finally open the outer hatch, greeting him with the sight of all the seapony teams that were swimming around the stricken submarine and inspecting it, setting up stuff and markers to make sense of the field of debris lying around Georgia.

Not that he got much time to look around because Vàzquez rocketed towards the surface as soon as the hatch was open, his buoyancy pulling him up at breakneck speed and leaving behind a bewildered seapony. It took Carl a few seconds of realization to beat his tailfin and catch up with the dog before he drifted out of position and rammed his head against Fugro’s keel. He wrapped his forefins around the submariner and steered him back along the umbilical tether that connected Fugro to Georgia.

Mere seconds later, both of them emerged inside of the dive support vessel’s moonpool. Carl only had enough time to blink and brush a bit of seaweed off of his snout before a pair of sailors bent down and grabbed Vàzquez by the collar, pulling him aboard where he was immediately carted off towards a decompression chamber where Lilian would make sure he hadn’t sustained barotrauma from the sudden ascent and abrupt pressure change.

“Well, I guess that settles it...” He mumbled as he watched the USN sailor disappear behind a door while he scratched his snout with his fin.

“Was that the only one?” A parrot bearing cadet ranks on his shoulders asked in a Portuguese accent.

“Yeah, the rest is supposed to evacuate with your diving bell as far as I understood.” Carl nodded. “Guy should be enough to tell you what’s what, but could you haul me up on deck?”

“Uh… why?”

“Because the sea dog you just took inside may have it in his noggin’, but I got to hand you the papers and to do that I need to change back in the dry. Now if you don’t mind?” He asked, holding out one of his forefins.

“Sure.” The parrot shrugged, reaching down with a claw and pulling him out of the water with a heave. “And here you go.”

“Thanks...” Carl quickly shifted to his hippogriff form which kept the documents Graham had given him dry. He took off the satchel with the technical data and handed it over to the parrot. “Care to bring this to the Officers? I gotta get back to the sub and help Doc Delacroix. What’s your name by the way?”

“Garcia Almeida, you?” The Ornithian replied as he checked the insides of the satchel.

He was a military macaw now that he paid attention to it: mostly green feathers, with a blotch of red above his beak and bluish-yellow trim on his forearms, legs and crest feathers. Much like males of his species, he was of the stout, muscular type. A stark contrast with the tall and lean female Ornithians.

“Carl Van Peij.” He said with a curt nod, before rolling over his back and letting himself fall down in the moonpool.





	In Savannah, Amandine’s crew had fallen back to their ship after the transfer of cargo with the HPI. All the containers filled with spare parts were quickly stowed and secured inside the holds, ever mindful of not harming the ship’s stability. Their job done, most of the sailors were all too happy to return to their cabins and stick to routine maintenance and guard duty for the remainder of the day.

That didn’t extend to Aleksei’s recce team, as their truck was soon seen exiting Amandine through the side ramp and driving past the rampart of containers they used as a security perimeter. They headed for the town proper, the truck’s tall radio antenna bobbing up and down every time Scarface swerved to avoid one of the many obstacles that barred the way in the ruins of the city.

“Can somebody please remind me why we’re doing a recce here in the first place?” Thanasis complained from the back. “I mean, haven’t we done what we were supposed to already? Job’s done, time to catch up with the fleet.”

“So we’re just supposed to forget the fact there are some survivors in the area?” Scarface fired back from behind the wheel as he steered their Defender 130 around a part of the road that had collapsed in a ditch, turning half the street into a swamp.

“The HPI guys seemed to imply they were bandits.” Thanasis insisted. “We lookin’ for bandits now?”

“They claimed they were bandits.” Aleksei pointed out. “Now, don’t take it as me being naive but having felt those thaumic shields the HPI uses, I kind of understand why they’d shoot at the train.”

“They were looting the area though.” Radiant joined in on the discussion after getting bored of watching post-flood suburbs and the short mud-covered, damaged houses that could be found in the area.

“Don’t we loot some of the areas we go through?” She quirked an eyebrow at the Equestrian.

“Point to the Priestess of Epona.” Scarface snarked.

Aleksei huffed and threw the gargoyle a glare.

“I ain’t no priestess, satyr.”

“Sure feels like you are though.” He countered. “You convene with her in your dreams, you got an artifact from her, she gave you a daily-use spell. How long are you going to keep up the delusion, uh boss? And… satyr? That the best you got?”

“Eh, it’s accurate. Last I checked you ‘sampled’ pretty much any species you could get your dick in back in Belfast… horny bastard.”

“Antlers actually.” The Bulgarian quipped cheekily, tapping a finger on the two dark prongs that sprouted out of his mane. “Though now that you mention it, satyr’s pretty accurate.”

“I just can’t understand why you’d be so… varied in the lasses you go for, pal. Pretty sure most species don’t go for as many flavors as you do, even dragons, and they can pretty much reproduce with anything.”

“Actually I’m pretty sure I can explain that.” Radiant said from his position beside Thanasis in the back. “It’s normal for his species.”

Aleksei blinked once at the Pegasus, barking a quick order at Scarface to take the next right after she checked the map.

Just a matter of driving around a sinkhole that revealed what used to be Savannah’s underground tunnels, their moldy masonry for once in their existence lay exposed to the late afternoon sunlight amidst piles of rubble, broken pipes and collapsed buildings.

“Care to elaborate?” Aleksei prodded.

“It’s in gargoyles’ reputation.” Radiant shrugged with his wings. “Unlike most species they’re known as the big xenophiles of the lot. I don’t know the full details, but they’re generally the ones that get along best with other species, unlike – and I loathe to admit it- ponies for instance.”

“Ponies aren’t welcoming?” Scarface’s ear flicked in curiosity. “Hard to believe. You Equestrians seem rather… uh… priyatelski? Amicable I think is the word?”

“Then you’ve never witnessed herd instincts at play. With some groups it can get so bad ponies stampede to get away from the strangers. Even equine species actually.” He looked pointedly towards Aleksei. “Like hippogriffs for instance. Ponies that aren’t affected are more of a rarity than the norm.”

“You?” Aleksei inquired.

“Why do you think I went for that career in particular?” He chuckled. “Unlike most ponies I don’t mind frequenting other species. Guess that’s because even as a colt I traveled so much with my mom I never really  had a herd to stick with. Less herd behavior when there’s no herd to speak of.”

“Eh, gonna have to take your word for it.” Scarface just shrugged as their truck finished circling the sinkhole and resumed its path down the street. “Though I’ll admit, I’m not very picky when it comes to species. Still… I believe this distracted us from this priestess thing we were talking about.”

Aleksei glowered at her subordinate, though she didn’t reprimand him. So much for dodging the subject, but in all honesty the question was warranted. Her relationship with the Celtic horse goddess was certainly odd.

As of late, the goddess would summon her spiritual form to the Otherworld once every two days during her dreams to further teach her about the Celtic magic realm. She’d gotten to know some of the horses in the herd that inhabited Epona’s plateau – her children-, all of them having come to the realm either to seek refuge when magic faded away, or simply for their afterlife.

Like Morvarc’h for instance. He was a dark courser, very lithe in build with a short russet cropped mane and feathering around his hooves. His red eyes matched the fiery sparks he sometimes exhaled through his nostrils. Epona had presented him to Aleksei one night, proclaiming him to be so fast on his hooves he could go from the Isle of Ushant to Cornwall under two hours. Because he could gallop over water apparently.

The less impressive part was that the stallion himself had admitted to dying stupidly in a hunting accident with the King of Cornwall.

So much for being a demigod when your rider’s grip slips and he shoots you in the back of the head with a longbow. His brothers had been right: horse-archery should be left to easterners.

He was of the more impressive part of the herd, the magic kind of horse, though that didn’t mitigate the fact that the rest of Epona’s herd were all prime specimens of equine nobility in their own right, something which their goddess of a mother was all too proud to tell Aleksei about between two tales of the other realms that made up the Otherworld.

She had also granted Aleksei another daily-use spell a few days prior. Nothing too big, just a ‘relieve pain’ spell she could cast on touch after…

After she’d had to help Epona with giving birth to her latest foal. That was the one part she didn’t tell her shipmates, not knowing whether she ought to be embarrassed, alarmed, or… just plain disgusted.

She did help with the birth, and the foal was as healthy as they got. It was just that, as a marine engineer, she really never expected in her life to be summoned as a dream spirit in another realm to help a horse goddess give birth.

Brave new world...

“Al’, I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not in control of that situation, but it really sounds like you should have a serious chat with Epona.” Radiant offered.

“Guess you’re right.” She sighed, leaning her head against the dashboard. “I… I just assumed that wasn’t going to be a problem. She’s a Celtic goddess, I’m from the Baltic, I’d assume there are other gods that could lay claim on me or… something.”

“I believe for that to be true we’d have to make contact with them, and the Celtic pantheon is the only one we met so far.” Thanasis said. “Not that I don’t expect we wouldn’t find any back home in Greece and… was there a Baltic pantheon?”

“Eeyup.” Aleksei nodded. “Problem is the belief was so stamped out through foreign conquests and by Jesuits that they’re mostly forgotten about. Hell, if it’s like with the Giant’s Ring and you need an ancient site to reach them then I have absolutely no idea where to find one in my own country. Wouldn’t be surprised if they were dismantled or even turned into churches.”

“What about other Baltic countries?” Scarface asked.

“I don’t even know where to find one in Latvia, what makes you think I’d know about any in Lithuania? Nah, finding any would take some serious research and digging through archives back in Riga. Ain’t as easy as Greece where if you sneeze too hard your snot might land on an ancient altar or some shit.”

“Gross, but accurate.” Thanasis admitted. “So you going to have a chat with her then?”

“Sounds like I’ll have to.” Aleksei sighed, looking down at the magic bracelet she still wore every waking hour.





Back in the Otherworld, Epona stared bemusedly at her scrying pond while her foal nursed from her teats, having just listened to that rather interesting bit of conversation. It seemed like the topic would be brought up sooner than she wished to.

“Morvarc’h?” She turned her head slightly, beckoning for the stallion to come forward.

Dutifully, her son trotted over to her, taking a quick pause to nuzzle his newborn sister in passing.

“What is it mother? Do you require anything from me?” He asked her.

“Yes, I need you to journey to the realm of Oghma and pass along a message.”

“The Tuath Dé? What does he need to know?” The black stallion nickered softly.

“Nothing personally, but he knows how to reach a Baltic deity I need to contact. Please tell him I need to have a few words with Lord Ūsiņš of Latvia, and in as short order as can be achieved.”

“Then it shall be done.” Morvarc’h nodded firmly before turning around on his hooves.

Rearing up on his hind legs, he neighed loudly to signal the rest of the herd he was leaving momentarily before he rocketed off towards the edge of their plateau, hooves kicking up large clumps of dirt as he leaped off and disappeared behind the misty veil that marked the border of Epona’s territory.





Unaware of such dealings, the recce team had carried on with their task, carefully combing through the streets of Savannah in search of the so-called bandits the HPI train had come across. A task which turned out to be far from easy considering the poor state of roadways inside the city.

Numerous times, they had to stray off their planned patrol route to avoid a sinkhole that blocked the way only to then have to change course again when the next street was blocked off by a fallen tree or collapsed building. Sure, at some point Savannah must have been a rather quaint town, and fairly green too from the amount of trees lining the streets and all the parks, but now it was more of a labyrinthine maze Aleksei was doing her level-best to make sense of, repeatedly scratching out roads on the map she was using when they turned out to be blocked.

Outside the Defender’s windows she could see the buildings that made out downtown Savannah. They had their own kind of charm, being medium-sized square buildings with flat roofs, overwhelmingly made out of bricks with forged iron decorations and colorful-but-destroyed storefronts. Those that didn’t have brick facades were made of ochre-colored stone and concrete that didn’t clash overly much with the bricks. Most were also overgrown, covered in vines, Spanish moss and other plants.

A pretty nice blend of colors, but it was pretty damn clear in the layout that they weren’t in old, cluttered and cramped Europe anymore, no. The streets were a lot wider than any they had seen in Northern Ireland, and they quickly saw once they reached the suburbs that parcels were a lot bigger, and how much more popular wood was as a construction material, often painted in bright colors. For all the good that it did after the flooding, because a lot of these wooden, one-to-two stories suburban houses had suffered a lot more damage than the bricks and concrete of downtown Savannah.

And that was saying something.

“Wouldn’t it be a little faster if we… I dunno, flew?” Radiant pointed out after their third obstacle-induced deviation. “Last I checked all four of us had wings.”

“I second the alien.” Thanasis added.

“I’d share the sentiment, but there’s one thing the two of you forgot.” Aleksei replied after jutting down something on her map. “Scarface, care to tell them?”

“You two forgot to weigh in all the gear we have along.”

“Can’t be that heavy...” Radiant mumbled.

“Now, let me list things off...” Aleksei tapped a talon against the dashboard. “For one you got personal gear. Armor, ammo, walkie-talkies, weapons. Extra stuff like rations just in case. Then you have the water. Two jerrycans of that plus the canteens. The maps, GPS receiver, long range radio, first-aid kits and potions...” She listed off. “Pretty sure I don’t have it all, but do you feel like you can carry it all? We’re talking like thirty kilos of gear you want to fly – not walk, fly- with.”

“Given my performances up in the air I’d take the truck over my wings.” Scarface quipped.

“Fine then, be that way.” Radiant relented.

“I’m not dissing buddy.” Scarface said. “Just sayin’, with the experience I got from rucking with the Bulgarian Army I can tell you it ain’t the thing I wanna combine with flying.”

Unfortunately they didn’t find anything in downtown Savannah. There were traces of looting and spray paint marks to indicate which areas survivors had already gone through, but they didn’t actually find a colony there. And neither did they find any in the ravaged suburbs south of the town center. Someone had definitely gone through the area, and they even found hints of a fight having occurred between roving wild dogs and survivors, but they didn’t actually find anything.

It wasn’t until they veered west towards the interstate that they actually located something. The area was close to an airport, and thus far less densely populated than the rest with lower-value housing, geared more towards small industry and shops lining the roads that connected downtown Savannah to the interstate and what Aleksei assumed were more suburbs even further inland west. They hoped it would yield better results, being in an area that was further away from the river and thus spared the worst of the floods.

And right beside the I-95, they found it. A truck stop. Fortified that is, which is what spurred Scarface to stop their truck and pause to look at the thing in surprise.

It was just that… a truck stop with a gas station linked to a convenience store in the middle of a large asphalt area, with a couple adjoining buildings around a parking lot behind the station. They could see a small single-floor motel shaped like a U behind the gas station, with a garage, a long building that held a couple abandoned food courts and small shops, and a fenced yard filled with old caravans, campers and used cars.

Besides the yard, they didn’t see a lot of vehicles in the parking lot, barring the rigs left behind by the couple truckers that must have been in the motel at the time of the Event.

What caught their attention was the fortified convenience store in the middle of it all. They could see the boards blocking off the windows at ground level, along with rows of sandbags around the main door to provide a firing position, much like those set atop the awning of the gas station. And on the large neon sign that towered above the station, someone had spray-painted the words ‘Bandits back off!’.

“Well, looks like we found someone.” Scarface said after a minute of silence. “Boss?”

Aleksei gauged the building from a distance with a frown. Now that she paid attention to it there was a chain link fence surrounding most of the area behind the gas station, with a couple holes plugged with corrugated steel, barbed wires and plywood to reinforce the barricade.

“Let me handle it. You three, stay in the truck, don’t touch your guns and… here, keep my rifle.” She said, passing it over to Thanasis.

“You going in unarmed?” Scarface quirked an eyebrow.

“Got my pistol.” She said, tapping the holster on her flak jacket.

“Pistols ain’t worth shit at range.”

“Pistols are a lot less conspicuous than a biggass gun. Look...” She jabbed a talon towards the big red words on the sign above the station. “If they mention bandits, then that means they’ve been on the receiving end and don’t want a repeat of that. Showing up with a rifle might not get the best reaction out of them.”

“Pretty confident aren’t you?”

“With a magic speechcraft bracelet and an appeasement spell?” She fired right back at the gargoyle. “Worst case scenario, how far can you throw that shield spell of yours?”

“Pretty far, it’s a deflection shield. Repurposed telekinesis actually.”

“Then throw me one if you think it’s getting too heated. I’ll be careful. I promise.” She reassured him before leaving the relative safety of the truck with a confident smile on her beak.

Slowly, she walked over to the station, deciding not to take to the air lest she pushed the occupants into opening fire. She already knew the flak jacket she was wearing wouldn’t help, though she hoped the high-vis coveralls she wore under it would make it clear she was not military. The feathers in her wings bristled in anticipation as she approached.

“Halt! Who goes there?” She finally heard in a rough, accented voice when she got close enough.

Aleksei slowly lifted her head up to stare at the gas station’s awning, and at the pair of equines looking down at her from up there behind the sandbags. Kirins actually, her mind corrected when she took note of the poofy manes, scaled backs and single antlers both sported.

Neat, she didn’t expect to meet any in the US. Would have thought they’d be confined to Asia. They were both stallions sharing the same color palette: gray, yellow eyes, a dull red mane that matched the color of their antlers, and a set of jade scales running over the back, barely visible beneath the denim jackets they wore. The bigger of the two looked significantly older than the other, with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth and his horn ablaze with magic.

Telekinesis. He was lifting a shotgun aimed loosely in her direction.

“Lass I suggest you give me a name. Got a slug loaded in there, that ain’t the thing you wanna try out believe me.”

“Alright, alright.” She calmly replied, sitting down on her haunches and raising her claws. “The name’s Aleksei. Aleksei Klavins. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Now to let that bracelet work its magic.

“Then what are you doing here, pray tell?”

“Reconnaissance, if you were wondering.” She replied casually, clicking her beak and carefully gauging the two kirins. “My group caught word of bandits in this city, so we were just looking around trying to figure out whether that was true or not. Not trying to be rude, but I could stand to learn your name right now.”

“Ho-Jin Park.” He said, keeping his shotgun raised, though she noticed the tip of the barrel lowering ever so slightly. “The kid’s my grandson, Dal.” He added, jerking his head towards the younger kirin at his side. “Your group?”

“Crew actually. We’re sailors, merchant sailors. Just came in from Northern Ireland.”

“You’re awfully well-geared for merchants.” Ho-Jin pointed out.

“An unfortunate necessity. We’ve had several incidents popping up along the way. Monsters. Felt necessary to gear up at a couple military bases to fight back. About those bandits...” She trailed off, pointedly looking towards the spray-painted letters on the station’s sign.

She felt her bracelet thrum ever so slightly. Ho-Jin shook his head softly and put his shotgun back in a scabbard he carried on his back.

“I’m afraid whoever it was that told you there are bandits in town was right.” He sighed, leaning over the sandbags with his forehooves crossed. “Tell your buddies they can move their truck over to the garage, looks like we’re going to have a little chat, miss Klavins.”





“Hold on… run that by me again, you found what in the sonar sphere?” Graham repeated into the handset.

How he could even hold it in the frog of his hoof was a mystery he made a point of ignoring. So long as he could hold stuff again without resorting to his mouth, he wasn’t going to complain.

“Found is a bit of a stretch.” Skinner elaborated from his end of the line. “I just got word from the diving teams that they heard some banging coming from the bow section. Morse actually.”

“A SOS then?”

“Yep.” The Scottish Captain confirmed. “A bit garbled though, so we’re led to assume whoever’s doing it is stuck in some way.”

	Graham’s gaze flicked towards a pile of messily scribbled notes where they had written their damage reports, lists of all the systems that had sustained damage throughout the sub and an evaluation of the slow flow of water that was trickling inside through the damaged bulkhead that separated the main interior of the sub from the foremost compartment that was the sonar sphere.

“Problem with that is that the compartment is flooded. That I’m certain of. We did have a couple sailors running an inspection in there, no-”

“Seaponies.”

“Oh… right.” The XO blinked. “So one of my crewmembers turned into one.”

“Sounds like it, only way I can explain how there would be a survivor in there. Now to identify who that crewmember is...” Skinner trailed off.

“You think it can be done?”

“Of course. Blurry as it gets sometimes, there is a pattern to transformations. Griffons and dragons mostly come from Eastern Europe or have ancestry from there, for instance. As for hippogriffs-dash-seaponies, it’s island nations.”

“Hold on, I’m pretty sure the doc you sent down here is French. That’s no island nation.”

“Far as I know, she’s from overseas territories, not mainland France. Lots of hippogriffs in the fleet are Filipinos, Indonesians, you catch the hint?”

“Solid, hold a second I need to check out the casualty list.” Graham said, momentarily laying down the handset and going for one of the many pieces of paper they’d set down on what used to be the chart table inside of control.

He quickly fished a single spreadsheet, eyes flicking towards the end of the list where they had written down the names of the sailors lost in the collision. Of those three that had been trapped inside the sonar sphere at the time, he quickly found which was the likeliest to be the seapony.

Not Weps unfortunately. Seamus Young from Denver wasn’t exactly what he’d call an islander.

But there was one name on the short list that left him with little doubt as to who the seapony was.

	Kainano Mauga. An E5. He vaguely remembered hearing about the guy when he was first assigned to Georgia, something about him being of Samoan descent.

A rarity. There weren’t that many of them in the Navy, though he’d also heard that the little amount it represented was actually a fairly large share of American Samoa’s population.

Either way now he had a name to put on the mysterious seapony, which he quickly transmitted to Skinner up on the surface.

“I’ll go ahead and assume you can’t just open a hatch and get to him from the inside, no?” Skinner eventually said after Graham had to spell out the full name.

“Certainly not. We’re already taking on water. The rate is semi-negligible as of now, but if we were to open that hatch we would flood our battery well with seawater. Not going to risk our backup power supply over this.”

“… which means it’s up to the divers to get to...” Skinner paused. “Kainano. Got it.”

“You think you can manage that?”

“Most likely. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take considering we got to take some specialized tools. Probably going to have to cut open the hull and find a way to pry it open. That uh… how thick is the outer shell?”

“Two inches, give or take. Think your tools can cut through that?”

“Not fast.” Skinner said. “But they should. I’ll assign a team to that task for now. As for the diving bell, we’re still waiting for Vàzquez to get done with his decompression process then we can move on to prepare that. Then… we’ll see how that works out.”

“Alright, call back when he’s out then.” Graham nodded.

“Aight, will do.” Skinner agreed before hanging up.





“So where do we go now then?” Someone in the group asked in French. A deer, one of the newest additions to the colony.

“It’s only one more kilometer east to the pine grove, we’ll be there in a minute.” Rockhoof casually replied from his position leading the narrow file of colonists along the path, barely sparing a glance at the UTM map he had tucked under his trademark leather rig.

He had to thank Miles and Emeric for recovering local maps from the military academy. The standard in cartography was leagues ahead of what he’d grown accustomed to back in modern Equestria (let alone ancient Equestria). They’d grabbed an entire portfolio of them when the two had gone back to Camp Coëtquidan to fetch the radio equipment Emeric wanted, among other things that included getting some extra stuff from their former dorms.

Still no hope of getting inside the armory though, and Starswirl didn’t care enough to help with that.

Rock was pretty satisfied with the two ponies he’d quickly come to consider as his lieutenants (them having the rank in the first place helped, too). They may be overly reliant on technology that itself relied on supply chains that could no longer be maintained, but they couldbe crafty in a pinch. Case in point with Emeric’s little projects like the coal turbine and now the radio equipment.

Miles wasn’t as good with tech, but she made up for it by starting to train some of the recent additions to the colony. With a population that had jumped to three-dozen in the last week, she had felt it was necessary to get some more guards. One of these trainees was trailing behind Rockhoof right then. A dark-furred stag that was apparently a former lumberjack, which was exactly why the Earth Pony had wanted him along on that specific outing.

While Emeric was just guarding the castle and Miles was leading a salvage party looking for hardware stores, his team of half-dozen colonists had headed deeper into the heart of Broceliande towards a pine grove.

They needed lumber. Lots of it. Now, Rockhoof was no carpenter, that much he was aware of, but he was skilled enough with his own hooves to know how to make do, and he damn well knew picking any of the ancestral oaks that made up the vast majority of the trees in Broceliande would have been ill-advised.

For one simple reason: pine was an easy, supple wood to work with. Oak wasn’t. It was also far easier for their group to just strip felled pines of branches and haul them back to the castle. Oaks were gnarly, filled with knots and with twisted trunks. Not that they couldn’t grow with upright trunks, it was just that they did the complete opposite in Broceliande and sprawled in every possible direction.

In comparison, the pines’ trunks were so ramrod straight that processing them into planks and making a palisade out of them was going to be a walk in the park. Plus there was also the whole fact the bed of needles at the foot of all these pines made for a lot less shrubbery to clear and remove than it would have been with other species, something no one on the logging team complained about.

They got to work as soon as they got to the grove, selecting the best trees of the lot according to how much wood Rockhoof said they’d need. Some in the group still had difficulties working with their new bodies – mostly the deer-, so it fell upon Rockhoof and the lone centaur in the group to cut down the pines.

Over the next few hours, the relative silence of the forest was disturbed by the repeated clanging of axes against bark, followed by the cracking sound of strained wood, each time punctuating the forest canopy with a new hole.

They quickly found a routine in their system. Rockhoof and the centaur (a guy called Albert) would cut down the pines and then saw the trunks into multiple logs before moving on to the next. Meanwhile, two others would strip them of branches and collect them inside a crate someone had brought to their ‘logging camp’. There was some use for them, if only as firestarters and filling for the charcoal kiln.

As for the stripped logs, they were moved off to a pile to be dealt with by the two last members of their team. Probably those with the most arduous task of the tree, as it involved tying chains around each log and dragging them back to the castle.

Needless to say, they had to swap the stripping and hauling teams several times over lest some of them fall over from exhaustion. Deer and unicorns (the vast majority of the colony’s population) were not equal in strength to Earth Ponies, and unfortunately hard muscle wasn’t something they had a large supply of among the colonists. Nevertheless, they did manage to get the job done, if at a much slower pace than Rockhoof would have liked.

So long as they got the wood for making planks and charcoal, he wasn’t going to complain about delays. It was only by the time the sky started turning orange late in the evening that the very last log was carted off towards the castle. Rockhoof finally took a pause, the stallion sitting down on his haunches and wiping sweat off his forehead.

His circlet helped keep it out of his eyes. But only up to a certain extent.

“Hard work, uh?” Albert the centaur commented between two gulps of water from his canteen.

“I’ve had worse.” Rock shrugged, cracking his neck.

He might ask Meadow for a massage after dinner though. That always helped.

“Can’t say I have.” The centaur – a bay draft horse on his equine half- said. “But I’ll admit it’s a lot more fulfilling than office work. Feels like I’m actually doing something for a chang- c’était quoi ça?”He turned his head around, ears tracking coming from deeper within the woods.





Back at the castle, Martin was just playing in the courtyard under Meadowbrook’s watchful eye when all of a sudden she saw him stop and turn his head in a seemingly random direction, transfixed. She was about to ask him what was wrong when the fawn suddenly ran off into the woods.

Not a second later, Starswirl emerged out of his tower, the ghost’s cloak billowing behind him as he galloped after Martin.

“What the… what’s going on?!” She asked aloud, standing up and intent on running after the two.

Intent on. She didn’t get past the gatehouse before a wave of nausea hit her and made her retch in the castle’s moat. Right. She’d just hit the excessive nausea part of her pregnancy.





Rockhoof’s ears had swiveled on his head, quickly zeroing in on the stomping sound coming from the deep woods, paired with the rustling of vegetation. Something was headed their way. Something big.

Behind him, he heard Albert pick up his axe, pretty much echoing his own reaction as he took his combat shovel out of its scabbard. There was magic in the air, more than usual in the enchanted forest, making the hair on his back bristle in anticipation.

The stomping got closer.

Out of the bushes emerged a large humanoid creature, easily three times as tall as a fully grown minotaur even with its hunchbacked posture. Its head was made out of a deer skull, clean white bone from which sprouted a great pair of antlers covered in various green glowing sigils, their sheen matching that of the two magic embers that filled the skull’s eye sockets. A muddy beard of roots filled with clumps of dirt hung below its jaw and down to its stomach, as if it had laid belly down for a long time before finally standing up, a magical construct with rotten bark for skin and green magic coursing through artificial veins.

It held itself up like a gorilla on its four long limbs, each as big as trunks, with its forelimbs ending in wickedly sharp claws as long as a pony’s hooves.

The creature… or construct rather, was mostly hollow. Cracks in the bark plates that made out its skin showed wiry muscle-roots within, each pulsing with the green magic that gave it life. On its hunched back lay a mossy carpet, draped over its shoulders like a damp mite-infected cloak.

Yet that wasn’t what got most of Rock and Albert’s attention. And neither was it the wild fiery look in its eyes.

No. That merit went to the human skeleton trapped in its rib cage, clutching a staff that served as the constructs’ spine. A druid?

The construct stepped into the pine grove, eyes passing over the stumps left behind by the recent logging before tensely coming to a rest on the Earth Pony and centaur. The forest was silent, no trill from birds, no sound of the wildlife running through the shrubbery.

Just the wind softly blowing through the canopy as the evening slowly set in and the sunlight began to wane.

The Forest Guardian’s glare was palpable.

“Rock?” Albert whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I believe logging inside a magic forest may not have been the brightest of ideas.”
> Chapter 71: Georgian Banditry
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ho-Jin invited the whole recce team in the inner parts of his truck stop for a chat. Aleksei had them park the Defender inside the garage. The kirin wasn’t that bad of a guy actually, just a bit rough and wary of outsiders because of some incident involving bandits.

Getting their truck inside offered another for Aleksei to take a closer look at the fortifications. In addition to the patched-up and reinforced palisade the two kirins had erected to defend their territory, everything had been geared to use the roofs of the buildings that made up the truck stop as defensive positions that focused around the gas station that happened to be the only access left open, meant to funnel attackers where the defenses were at their thickest.

Cleverly designed as it was, she still didn’t think the defenses were quite as solid as those of the colonies in Carrickfergus and Belfast, though the utilities provided by the truck stop made up for it in their own way. Food courts, shop space, fuel tanks with the gas station, the garage, the motel for accommodation… Ho-Jin must have worked for decades to finance the whole thing.

A shame the kirins were the only inhabitants, the motel alone could have housed a couple dozen more colonists.

Ho-Jin’s grandson ducked inside the garage and pulled the gate open for them. It was a tall building made for repairing rigs, case in point with what they saw over one of the inspection pits. A black Mack sleeper cab, vintage build with all the sharp angles, chrome fenders, and a duck statue as its hood ornament that laid with its innards splayed out messily all around it. Scarface gave it an appreciative nod.

“That’s an impressive little fort you got here. Nice truck by the way.” The gargoyle commented, watching Ho-Jin emerge out of the garage’s office spaces with a beer-filled cooler, his grandson carrying a couple folding chairs behind it.

The shotgun hadn’t left his back scabbard though.

“Getting hooves hasn’t made me any worse at hands-on work, fortunately.” The kirin gruffly replied, using his telekinesis to pull out a new cigarette. “If anything the transformation cleared up all the little problems I’d accumulated over the years. 

Only shame is I don’t got the time to reassemble the rig, sorry for the mess. Cigarette?” He offered.

“No thanks, got my own pack. But likewise about the transformation, helps with the age.” Scarface said. “I’m Nikola by the way, though everyone calls me Scarface as of late.”

“Uh, I wonder why...” Ho-Jin snorted, throwing a brief look at the scar on the gargoyle’s muzzle before he cracked open a can of beer.

“Pleasantries aside...” Aleksei leaned forward. “I wonder how you wound up here. We’re trying to figure out what’s going onin town.”

“The long version?”

“With beer and cigarettes to spare? We’re all ears.” She told him.

“Very well then...” Ho-Jin shuffled around a bit, sitting on his haunches in his folding chair. “From the start:  we came back a couple weeks ago before the storm. I was getting Dal from school while his parents were watching the station and then, poof, gone.” He spread out his forehooves.

“What time of the day?” She prodded, getting her notebook from a cargo pouch she’d added to her flak jacket. “Just to add to our database. It didn’t occur at the same time everywhere, the uh… spreading pattern is a bit more complicated than that. More than just time zone differences I mean.”

Mostly because the Event’s wave spread out from convergence point. They had deduced that it did start at the same time (somewhat), but the further away you were from a ley line or a convergence point, the longer it took before the Event occurred for you.

Incidentally that was the one thing that led to them finding out about ley lines in the first place.

“No clue, car’s clock was broken.” Ho-Jin shrugged.

“Late evening, at least past 18.30.” His grandson Dal filled in. “That was after the extracurricular activities.”

“Well, thank you.” Aleksei threw him a smile. “That ought to fill a bit of our databanks. Now… you were saying mister Park?”

“Bleh, just stick to Ho-Jin, formalities ain’t my forte.” The kirin waved his hoof dismissively. “So we reappeared just the two of us in my car and we hit a fire hydrant. Going from hands to hooves without knowing telekinesis does that, so I heard.” He scowled.

Past that he told them they had made their way back to the truck stop on foot… hoof, to the sight of a deserted city save for roving packs of wild dogs and widespread destruction from the floods. The dogs were actually why he’d built the fence around the truck stop, the bandits only came later.

As Ho-Jin told, he was very attached to the stop, having had to earn it off the sweat of his back over the course of several decades ever since he’d emigrated from Korea as a teen. And once it was all paid off, he had passed it off to his eldest son, leaving him free to tend to the garage and work on his projects.

Having a vast cluster of buildings like that was actually fairly practical for survival, giving them fairly large stores and utilities to get by. That had been very useful when the tropical storm hit, as the kirin explained. By his assumption, it was a nasty combination of a spring tide and a nasty storm that hit the coast at the same time and brought a massive influx of water back up the river with the rainfall. Massive enough to overload all the storm basins and flood most of the city.

With most of the region as low as it was, it was no surprise the damage was so extensive. The area around the truck stop had been hit too, but was thankfully spared the worst of it due to being somewhat higher. They still had to spend quite a lot of time fixing the damage and pumping out the water, but it was nothing compared to the unmitigated disaster that had swept the old town.

The truck stop was Ho-Jin’s little piece of American Dream, a treasure he sure as hell wasn’t going to let be trashed by anything, be it floods, wild animals, or a bus’ worth of escaped convicts.

“That’s oddly specific.” Radiant remarked.

“Because it’s the truth. Dal discovered it along the ‘95 when he was exploring the area, ain’t that right boy?”

“Yes sir.” The younger kirin nodded firmly. “Blue prison bus. Probably went on an unwilling offroad trip when they reappeared. I don’t know if it’s the crash or the inmates that got the wardens, I… I didn’t have the heart to check the insides you know? Crows and broken windows, figure the rest. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with it, boy.” Ho-Jin reassured. “Matter is, said convicts elected to take residence on the other bank of the river. Inside the Westin.”

“Drawing a blank there.” Aleksei blinked slowly.

“If you sailed upstream into town, then you probably saw it on the way in. It’s on the side of the river opposite to the old town, just downstream of the convention center. Big hotel, light brown facade, posh stuff, too pricey for my tastes.”

“I think I remember the general area.” She nodded. “And the convicts? If they have the whole town to loot, I don’t see any reason why they’d bother you. Or any other of the locals. Are there any?”

“I think?” Ho-Jin hesitated. “I mean last time they did im-”

The kirin hadn’t finished his sentence when the relative quiet of the garage was interrupted by the sound of an air horn going off outside. The two kirins swore in tandem, Ho-Jin immediately taking his shotgun out of his scabbard.

“Come on out freak, we’s wantin’ some words witcha!” A voice called out loudly through a megaphone.

“Ho-Jin?” Aleksei queried.

“Stay hidden and keep quiet for now, I’ll see what they want. C’mon boy.” He called to his grandson, jerking his head towards the outside.

Without sparing one more word for the sailors, the two raced outside towards the stairs that allowed them to climb onto the gas station’s awning from the backside. Aleksei watched them leave in a hurry before she turned towards her team.

“What now?” Scarface crossed his arms.

“Observation. Get your guns ready just in case, I’ll sneak around the back and fly on the garage’s roof. Anything goes wrong, I tell you on the radio. Thanasis, you contact the fleet and tell them what’s what, got it?”

“Aye ma’am.” The Greek sphinx nodded before he padded over to their truck.

It was easy to find the service exit in the back of the garage, she only had to push aside a makeshift ashtray and a couple empty boxes before she sneaked out of the building and opened up her wings, taking to the air just long enough to grab the edge of the garage’s roof.

Better not fly too high and announce her position to the whole block. She pulled herself up – with difficulty, carrying a patrol loadout didn’t help- and slowly crawled on her belly towards the opposite edge. She’d better hope the bandits didn’t look up. High-vis coveralls, light green coat and white crest feathers? She stood out like a sore thumb.

The bandits weren’t very hard to find either, having formed a group of about eight of them in front of the gates. Most were ponies of all four tribes, with the odd exception of one big Diamond Dog in the back wielding an AK.

They had come in a pair of black Cadillac Escalades, each vehicle’s formerly pristine paintjob covered in orange graffiti shaped like a scowling face on their hoods under a layer of makeshift cage armor that Aleksei doubted could actually sustain any kind of impact.

Not a particularly skilled group then, or at least they lacked proper technicians. The D-Dog was dressed somewhat correctly thanks to his resemblance to humans, but such wasn’t the case for the equines in his group with their hastily thrown together clothes and makeshift armor.

They were armed though, with the unicorns in the group blatantly levitating their guns loosely trained towards the two kirins. She could understand the technique, but she sincerely doubted that it could be very accurate. There was a dark green unicorn leading the group, a stallion with dreadlocks and a spiked chain wrapped around his barrel. He was the one levitating the air horn and megaphone.

“Hey freak! Get down here, we’s gotta have a lil’ chat with you!” He called out to Ho-Jin with a sneer.

“I can hear you just fine from here. And I got a name. It’s Park. Use it.” The old kirin quietly said.

“Oh, he’s gotsa name? You heard him guys? Freak’s got a name?” He laughed out loud. “Like ah give a fuck.”

“What do you want?”

“What we want? Ah! You know, that wasn’t very nice of you what you did the other day to mah guys, shootin’ at them and all.”
“They were breaking down my gate and threatening me. This station is my property, and I’ll defend it. What else do you expect?” Ho-Jin flatly stated. “Again: what do you want?”

Aleksei saw the pony smirk.

“Oh, tis pretty simple actually. You see, ah’m a concerned citizen o’ this nation, and ah couldn’t help but notice the present lack o’ law and order in this here town.” He chuckled grimly. “Now, ah can’t in good conscience let the citizens go unprotected, there be so few o’ us left. Thankfully, me Boss and Mister Councilor, they’s got us a plan. Society needs a savin’ ya git?”

“I don’t.”

“Tis very simple ac’ually.” The pony nodded sagely. “Our boss, he’s a kind guy. He sez he wanna overlook what you did shootin’ at our guys. But he wants a service. You be good, drop the guns and shit, you come down, and then we got our plan: wez collectin’ the citizenry, we do the protectin’, and in exchange, you folks gotta work fo’ us all. And you’s gotta need the protection, they be attackin’ folks with drones an’ trains an’ shit out here.”

The look of disbelief on Ho-Jin’s muzzle was almost a perfect match to Aleksei’s. Did that goon believe for a single second that his pitch was going to convince anyone? They were just rounding up servants, and his attempt at a masquerade was like lipstick on a pig. Smelt like shit from a mile away.

Though it did explain why the looters couldn’t just leave locals alone. It sounded a lot like they’d come to realize looting would only bring short term comfort, and now that there weren’t any cops they could just capture servants to do the work and live like kings.

“So? What says?” The dreadlock-wearing unicorn asked expectantly.

“I’ll think about it.” Ho-Jin scoffed.

Apparently that didn’t please the convict because she saw him square up on his hooves and angrily stomp on the asphalt with a neigh, dropping the telekinetic grip he had on his megaphone. Before he could say anything, Aleksei quickly fired off her daily appeasement spell in his direction. His eyes glazed over for a second, but he didn’t seem to notice he’d just been bespelled. He just shook his head, now a bit calmer, chuckling lightly.

“You’s a clever ‘un init? Yes-yes, ah can see, tis an important decision ‘fter all, right hey boys?” He called back to his goons. “So Im’a set the example. The boss is a kind guy, so today’s the day Im’a follow the leader. You got.. uh… twenty four hours to decide! We gonna come back tomorrow, and you gonna tell us whether you wanna follow us kindly, or we gotta make you follow us, you get?”

“I… I guess?” Ho-Jin blinked, surprised at the sudden change of mood.

That satisfied the convict pony. He turned on his hooves and barked a couple orders to his goons who piled back in their vehicles, driving off back towards the Westin hotel where Ho-Jin claimed they’d set up shop.

At least they were gone, but now what?





For the first time in the last few months, Lexington felt happy. Not unbridled joy, but content, satisfied with the outcome of the past few events.

The HPI train he’d been on had finally made it back to base, now laden with the spoils of the sailors’ art collecting spree for their cultural preservation initiative, the prototypes from the lost European facility, and some potentially useful artifacts to study ancient human magic. That was something that would make the Upper Echelon pretty happy for at least a couple months, and if they were happy, then they weren’t all over his back questioning his ethics or pestering Eko.

Because if they were pestering the damn Indonesian, he would invariably find his way inside his lab and that meant he had to chase him off with threats of blackmail. For a guy so intent on climbing his way to the top, their contact agent with the sailors proved surprisingly easy to get dirt on.

Outside, the train was just chugging along a normal Appalachian valley when it slowed down for no apparent reason before taking a junction, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. With its swarm of drones trailing behind, the train dipped into a narrow trench that led to an out-of-the-way tunnel entrance. Up in the front car, Keyes didn’t even slow down the convoy as their transponder pinged a sensor at the junction that activated the tunnel gates.

The train then dove inside the tunnel, the thick armored gates sliding back in place not a second after the last drone was inside. They drove down the tracks for about five more minutes in complete darkness before finally reaching a much larger cavern that was lit up with a myriad of powerful floodlights hanging from the gantries that ran overhead, the train tracks junctioning off into a half dozen different quays, each with its own separate decontamination system and cargo handling gear.

With the sole exception of the hydroponics section, this was by far the biggest single space inside the whole facility. And while the hydroponics had been made larger than strictly necessary for the sake of having green spaces for the HPI operators to hang around in (a stark contrast with the much smaller facility in France), the rail yard and adjoining hangars were strictly utilitarian, with drab concrete, steel gantries and aggressive neon lights highlighting a space that would make Cheyenne Mountain look like an overhyped prepper bunker.

Each quay of the yard would first run thaumic scanners over the entire train before they were allowed to roll further inside to discharge their cargo and replenish supplies. Some lesser operators would man the cranes and offload all that gear where it was carted off towards the multiple gigantic lifts that either led up to the hangar and launch bay for their fleet of VTOL crafts, or down towards the rest of the facility. Already a gang of operators had made off with the container housing the artifacts, intent on bringing it to the secure storage that lay below their thaumaturgics department.

Lexington walked out of the shield car, its generator powering down with a loud thrum at the same time as he rolled his shoulders, letting the artificial wind of the facility’s ventilation brush over him. The closest approximation to wind he might ever get nowadays, what with the stringent requirements that came with EVA.

They weren’t certain about it, but contamination from thaumically-charged objects held a risk they weren’t willing to take. Which meant NBC suits for all EVA, tethered to the train via a power cord, and forced to stay in range of a shield unit, train car-sized as they were… for now.

He ignored the bustling of activity on the quay as multiple operatives of all ranks began drilling the train’s crew for info on the outside world. Instead, he breezed past them and made a beeline for the container that held the prototypes from the French facility just as someone was breaking the seals on its doors.

Soon as they were open, his satisfaction about the current day increased threefold. It was just as he’d expected, and just as the R&D departments needed it. Mind, not all HPI facilities were fitted with the same tech prior to the Event, some of it was on purpose (chiefly the shield tech, most of it being untested meant they all used different concepts and hoped at least one would work and see them through the cataclysm), some of it was due to different policies (the Athena protocol being another example: their version was much more extensive than the version found embedded in the French facility’s mainframe, what with AI-induced paranoia).

And some of that tech difference was also owed to research priorities, and what kind of faculties could be found nearest each HPI facility. Case in point with what he was seeing: research projects shipped from all over Western Europe prior to the Event, cybernetics, drone components, optics sensors, high-precision servomotors and...

Exoskeletons. The one big thing the French (or European rather, it being a joint venture) facility always boasted about prior to being lost to shield failure during the Event. There were a couple of them strewn about inside the container, various models from the barebones, clunky Mk.1 that struggled to carry its own bulky battery pack to the Mk.5 that completely wrapped the wearer under multiple layers of ceramic plating.

“Like what you see?” Eko suddenly asked as the Indonesian came up behind him.

Lexington threw him an annoyed glance and put up a neutral mask.

“Quite. I’ll have to consult with the engineering section of R&D but we should be able to make our own copies in short order. They will need some upgrades though.”

“How so? The armor looks just fine to me.” Eko contested, idly smoothing a wrinkle on his suit.

“The facility in France didn’t have access to our advances in battery tech and power storage. Their version is made to operate on site with a steady supply of batteries available, but we could use these for something else entirely if I were to outfit them with our platinum-palladium fuel cells.”

“Do explain.”

“It’s something that’s been in discussion among the R&D folks. As you know, in addition to my oversight on the entire biology department, I’ve been working on thaumic shield tech and I’ve made use of this little excursion outside the wire to try out a miniature shield array. With the tech used by the failed shield unit from France, except updated.”

“I take it there was a point to it?”

“There is.” Lexington nodded, momentarily forgetting his animosity towards Eko. “The shield used in that facility may not have been as useless as we first thought. It was unable to protect an entire facility, but according to my observations it does actually offer protection, if in a different manner due to its projector unit. In my own notes I’ve taken to dub it the P-type shield, in opposition to the S-type we use to protect the trains and this whole facility.

The S-type stands for safezone. It has its own shortcomings, but overall it works great to protect large areas because of its projector unit. The P-type is the contrary, it's better geared towards shielding on a very short radius, but it’s several times more efficient than an S-type at doing it. The ‘P’ I chose stands for ‘personal’.

That means the shield in France actually did work, but the shielding range its operating parameters allowed was several orders of magnitude too short to protect a facility.”

“And you may have found a use for the P-type.”

“Correct. I’ll need a long time improving upon it to miniaturize it and it’s still going to be very heavy, but with these exoskeletons – provided we remove the ceramic plating to shed weight- we could have a long range EVA suit that’s not dependent on staying in range of a larger S-type shield projector like we need to with the train. I might even be able to make a larger version to shield the interior of aircraft and road vehicles. The tech is ready, it’s more a matter of balancing between battery, shielding, armor and general utility within the weight constraints the exoskeleton allows for.”

“That sounds excellent. I’m sure the security department will be happy to know they might get to do more stuff in the future besides piloting drones.” Eko smiled, crossing his arms over his chest.

What went unsaid between them was that the exoskeletons were but the tip of the iceberg. Along with the artifacts that had been carted off into thaumaturgics (which were probably undergoing extensive scanning at the moment) came all the biological samples Lexington had ordered from Doctor Delacroix, and their arrival released a lot of his more secretive project from limbo as well. Biology projects that is, Lexington’s actual turf that was all about making humans able to tread the Earth once more.

That was a long way away though. Before that could be done, they had to either find ancient human genetic material (intact that is, mummies were… inadequate) or find a way to isolate what made animals and returnees immune to thaumic radiation and integrate it into current human DNA. Not an easy process, nor was it a fast one even with all the ethical shortcuts he was taking in the secrecy of his lab.

Turns out, the removal of ethics committees greatly sped up testing. Who would have thought? Not his lab mice.

“You’re being awfully silent.” Eko commented.

“Just thinking is all.” Lexington shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “There was this idea we’ve been throwing about in the labs about making it so we don’t even have to put a guy from security inside the exoskeleton.”

“Androids?”

“We’re a ways away from that.” He shrugged. “It’s in the backlog, but expect it to stay there for a while. We have the power, the frame with the exoskeletons, but our comms and onboard sensors aren’t up to par yet. Androids are more complicated than mere UAV’s.”

In a few years maybe. Might be worth making a bet which of their far-fetched plans would see the light of day first: the gene therapy on animals or the androids.

And that was without mentioning that one thing they were developing in tandem with the Asian HPI facility. The biological remote control.

“Either way...” Lexington sighed and slumped slightly at the prospect of more long hours. “Gotta go, I need to make sure the guys down in thaumaturgics don’t damage all the samples and artifacts we just receptioned.”





Diving bells. In principle, nothing really complicated insofar that it was only about getting an air bubble underwater for the sake of divers. In fact the general idea was so simple that even the ancient Greeks had used them to explore the Mediterranean.

Fugro’s was a little bit more complicated than an upside-down cauldron however. Millennia of technological advancement had a habit of doing that. Near her moonpool, a large hangar door opened up to reveal it as it was rolled into position on the main deck under the watchful eyes of all crewmembers and a slightly worried Vàzquez who kept going over his notes, almost not noticing when a sailor mounted one of Fugro’s deck cranes and proceeded to raise the bell above the pool.

As they called it, it was a dry diving bell. A type ideal for prolonged dives at extreme depths that provided divers with a sheltered habitat that would normally connect to the sea via an airlock system. It had an umbilical tether to connect it to the ship to provide air and power, power that was required for the little electric propeller and hovering pumps that would normally keep the bell in position under the ship despite situations like the presence of a shearing current – having a current on the surface that’s not the same as on the bottom-.

The other neat perk with a dry bell system was that they could ascend however fast they needed to without having to adjust inner pressure along the way. They could also raise it out of the water and connect it to a decompression chamber for transfers without ever exposing the divers to the bends.

Inside the control room, another console had been turned on to allow the bell’s operator – Floyd, a griffon- to guide it towards Georgia. Slow-going as it was. The diving bell was nowhere near as nimble as the ROV’s, and neither were its optics particularly good. Plus, there was the whole clutter that had sprouted around the submarine as of late:

There were at least a dozen various tethers and cables that Floyd had to avoid on the way down, all in close proximity of one another as they connected Fugro to Georgia. Too many times he had to stop the descent to ask one of the seapony divers to get a cable out of the way to let the bell through and avoid entangling the umbilicals.

Standing beside Captain Skinner’s chair, Vàzquez couldn’t stop himself from gnawing on his pencil as he watched the feed on the cameras, his mind flicking from that potential problem to another faster than he ever thought he could think, unhelpfully bringing up memories of felled submarines.

Squalus

Cocino

Thresher.

Scorpion.

Kursk.

“Worried aren’t you?” Skinner inquired in a calm tone.

“Sir, they’re my shipmates. I’ve known some of them since I enlisted.” The D-Dog’s voice trembled, Hispanic accent seeping through. “If anything happens, it will be my fault that they’re trapped down there. And I, I was lucky enough to get out...” He trailed off.

“There’s the Samoan we got out of the sonar sphere.” Skinner reminded the young petty officer.

And that hadn’t been easy. Grinding their way through the hull and into the flooded compartment had taken several shifts of cutting through the thick metal that was Georgia’s outer shell, made all the harder by the fact seapony divers weren’t very dexterous even when given tool gauntlets.

But they did get to him. A disturbing scene from the description Skinner had been given. Petty Officer Mauga had been trapped in there, in complete darkness for several days, immobile with the drifting corpses of his shipmates floating lifelessly around him.

He hadn’t said a word ever since. Psychological trauma most likely. He had been transferred to Rhine Forest and kept under constant surveillance ever since thanks to Nurse Marta but… there were genuine concerns he might try to end his life, and he’d panic whenever he saw anything more than a cup of water.

A cruel fate for a seapony/hippogriff.

“With all due respect Captain, I hope they won’t suffer Mauga’s fate.” Vàzquez slowly said.

“I’m sure they won’t.” Skinner reassured before the Scottish hedgefog turned his eyes back towards the screens just as Georgia’s looming black shadow came into view of the floodlights, all the underwater flares and chemlights the divers had dropped around it for visibility looking like Christmas streamers without the obnoxious blinking.

“Aim for the aft launch tubes.” Vàzquez pointed towards an indent along the sub’s spine. “They’ve been modified for diver transfer. The lockout trunk is bigger, that’ll transfer more crew.”

“Diver transfer?” Floyd queried.

“Some boats of the class can carry SEAL teams to their AO, it’s a retrofit. We converted two of the missile tubes into dive transfer chambers. Hell, if we mount the proper gear along the back we can also have a DSRV   – a minisub- at the ready for them. Just wasn’t in use this time ‘round, t’was just a regular deterrence patrol.” He shrugged.

“You heard the guy.” Skinner nodded sharply. “Aim for the aft tube, port side. And someone get on the line with Captain Green to tell him we’re making our first docking attempt.”

“On it sir.” Quinn piped in from the back before the First Officer left the room to go inform Georgia’s CO.

At a speed worthy of a snail, they watched the large orange-painted bell in its steel frame approach the hatch, its operator positioning it as carefully as he could above it with little bursts of the propellers.

“Ready to connect.” Floyd called out.

“You may proceed.”

Floyd depressed the joystick he was holding in his talons, and the bell moved onto its last maneuver to press itself against the hatch. The size of its docking clamp was easily large enough to fully encompass the sub’s outer hatch. Behind the controls, Floyd frowned as his eyes passed over a few readouts.

“Experiencing difficulties with the docking. Can’t align properly.” He warned.

“The sub’s heeled. Do your best. Can you pressurize the seal?” Skinner queried.

Floyd leaned forward, talons flicking over a few ballast controls to try and heel the bell to match the submarine’s resting angle. Georgia had quite a bit of an angle to her, being heeled both backwards and to starboard.

“There, maybe…” Floyd uttered as he pushed the throttle to press the bell against the hatch. “Okay, I’m sending air in the seal. Let’s see if we can pressurize that.” He finally said, pressing a large button on the side of his screen, eyes riveted on the readout that would show him the pressure inside of the connection.

Up on the surface, Fugro’s compressors started running overtime to send large volumes of air down the umbilical to overcome 600 feet of water pressure… but the readouts didn’t change. Outside, on the ROV’s cameras, they just spotted a cloud of bubbles escape the seal.

“Too much angle sir.” He shook his head. “The bell ain’t made to work beyond a 5° operating angle, the more I try to heel it, the more it tries to wrench itself upright. Can’t do shit without causing a leaky connection, sorry.”

Vàzquez’s face fell, and the D-Dog couldn’t help but let out a very canine whimper at the revelation as he stared at the floor. He vaguely heard Quinn transfer the call with Captain Green over to Skinner who revealed the news, much to his CO’s dismay.

His eyes drifted to the printed documents he had on rescue subs and evacuation procedures and… he spotted a picture of a REMORA. Really Excellent Way Of Rescuing Aussies as it was humorously called, the Australian Navy’s own version of a rescue submarine that they could airlift wherever they needed it. The thing wasn’t exactly rocket science, and it had been in service for a while, but there was one little thing…

Instead of a rescue bell’s flat connection with a gasket like that of Fugro’s diving bell, the Australians had mounted some kind of segmented ball seal to the bottom of the vehicle to improve its operating arc, just so it could dock to heeled submarines.

Vàzquez frowned, a trickle of hope starting to fill his heart as he flipped through his documents. There was this little project he knew they had been working on in Kings Bay prior to their departure. He was pretty sure some on the crew had even worked on it, if only just a bit.

Thing is, the US Navy had started creating a replacement for the minisubmarines (the Mystics) they would normally deploy to evacuate submarines. They called it the SRDRS. Based off of the REMORA, most of it wasn’t completed as far as he knew but…

The segmented docking clamp was.

“Captain.” He interrupted, suddenly beaming as if he’d just struck gold. “I have an idea.”





Rockhoof’s combat shovel was held firmly in his mouth, ready to strike as he tensely stared at the… forest guardian? Yeah, he could settle with the name for now. The guardian was staring right back at them with its malicious gaze, the claws on its forelimbs kneading the forest floor.

Behind him, he heard Albert shift his stance, the centaur pawing at the ground and readjusting his grip on his axe.

The sheer adrenaline in his bloodstream made Rock grit his teeth, each heartbeat making his eardrums thrum, strength-improving magic coursing through his muscles and making them contract frenetically.

One beat.

The forest guardian’s claws tightened around a root cluster at the base of a tree stump.

Two beats.

In the distance, hoofsteps.

Three beats.

The world exploded into motion. The guardian raised its arms and hurled the tree stump at them in a cloud of dirt and debris. Rockhoof expertly ducked under the projectile, immediately galloping towards the guardian with a determined look on his muzzle.

Albert wasn’t so lucky. Still fairly new to his body, the centaur was hit by the stump full-force, making him collapse and drop his axe as the magically-enriched roots wrapped around him and tied him to a nearby pine, painfully constricting around his form.

Rock didn’t see that. He was in range of the guardian’s attacks now, pushing on his hind legs to catapult himself over a swipe of its claws before he brought down his combat shovel in a hit that connected with its shoulder. In a display of agility that belied the Earth Pony’s large bulk, he proceeded to switch his grip on the shovel that was still planted in the guardian’s shoulder, somersaulted over the construct and wrenched out his weapon in a spray of sap and rotten wood.

He landed on the other side of the guardian in a well-practiced roll, carefully gauging the damage his attack had caused as he turned around on his hooves.

The construct didn’t cry out in pain. It didn’t collapse. It didn’t flinch. It simply turned around to face him. Rockhoof watched its wound pulse with green magic and knit itself back together with only the groan of wood as the root-muscles filled the gap caused by his weapon.

The local equivalent of a king timberwolf then? Only that one seemed much better at putting itself back together. More disciplined too.

He glared at the construct and reared up on his hooves in challenge.

The forest guardian didn’t react to the taunt. Slowly, it lifted a forelimb in the air and held it above its head for a few seconds, letting it build up little orbs of green magic. Then, it plunged it into the ground with an earthshaking tremor. Rock’s eyes widened when he saw the ground churn and ripple, something racing towards him at breakneck speed.

He tried to dodge sideways, but the ripple just followed his movements, forcing him to brace for impact and…

“Stop!” He suddenly heard Martin yell.

Rockhoof cracked an eye open. Not a hoof’s width away from his muzzle were roots that had just sprouted from the ground, their sharpened tips halted in their charge towards him just before they could hit. He glanced towards the now immobile forest guardian.

Soddin’ thing was actually a lot more capable than any variant of timberwolf. On the other end of the clearing, Albert gasped as the roots that had been keeping attached to a pine retracted into the stump. Judging by how he stood up, he may even have a few cracked ribs.

No small feat. Centaurs tended to be pretty tough, particularly the draft variants like him.

“They’ve done nothing wrong!” Martin cried out as he came in the clearing from the path that led to the castle, jabbing a thin cloven hoof at the guardian.

The forest guardian just stood still for a couple seconds before it slowly turned its head towards the deep woods. Out emerged the White Stag in all its regal appearance, it strode into the clearing and cast an imperious look upon the premises, mutely scoffing at Rockhoof and Albert before it moved over to Martin.

Rock almost moved to interpose himself between the fawn and the Stag before he felt a cold grip hold him back, only then taking note of Starswirl’s magical grasp. He threw the ghost – his court mage technically- a questioning look, only for his friend to point back towards where Martin and the Stag were staring into each other’s eyes, eerily silent under the forest guardian’s hulking shadow.

The silent exchange kept on for a few more minutes before the White Stag finally let out a snort and stamped its hoof on the ground.

“No! They don’t want to destroy the forest!” Martin protested. “They just need wood for building and fire, they don’t want to raze it.”

The Stag looked over towards Rock in contempt and threw the younger fawn bearing his mark a dubious look.

“I promise they’re good people.” He insisted, dropping on his haunches and addressing the White Stag a puppy-eyed look. “They just need some space, but they can replant and-”

He was interrupted when it nuzzled him on the forehead, nudging him towards Rockhoof before jerking its head in a direction the adults were pretty sure pointed to the Golden Tree. Then, sparing a look for the forest guardian, it trotted back into the woods, followed shortly by the guardian.

Martin took it as his cue to head back towards Rockhoof where he nuzzled up to his adoptive father.

“So what was that all about?” Rock questioned him as he rubbed a comforting hoof over the fawn’s back.

“He wasn’t happy. He said your cutting the trees upset the guardians.”

Rockhoof’s eyes trailed towards the sharpened roots and the uprooted stump.

“I think he got his point across.” He chuckled with a small smile. “But what were you two talking about?”

“I said the castle had good people and that we just want to live. He said...” He scowled cutely. “He said… that it was time to introduce me to Lord Cernunnos? He said it like he’s someone important.”

“Talk about an understatement.” Starswirl quipped from where he was examining Albert’s wounds and throwing a quick healing spell. “I figure he said something else?”

“Yes Mister Merlin!”Martin nodded his head eagerly. “He told me to bring the catel-, the calet-, the castel...”

“The castellan?” The wizard filled in. “That’s the lord of a castle.”

“He told me to bring him to Lord Cernunnos too, at the Golden Tree. To, uh… to broker a deal, I think he said?”

Starswirl blinked. He could picture the Horned God of the Celts recruiting the fawn in his fray. In a fashion, it made sense (though that didn’t help the burden that was piling on poor Martin) because deer as a whole fell under his purview.

Brokering a deal with Rockhoof though? That was unlike him. Last he checked Cernunnos preferred to keep to his own affairs and only ever kept in touch with the outer world through his various followers. Negotiating in person – nay, negotiating at all – was unlike him.

That was going to be interesting.
> Chapter 72: Clerical Matters
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t long after the bandit’s appearance at the gas station and a few parting promises with its residents that the recce team made it back to Amandine. They drove their Defender up the port ramp and back to its designated spot in the holds, and Aleksei just had enough time to order her subordinates to tidy up all the gear before the Captain and Alejandro made their appearance for her overdue report.

The Spaniard stopped a few steps short of her vehicle just as she was taking off her flak jacket, Dilip having apparently decided to let him handle the report.

“So how did that go?” Alejandro asked after a few seconds of expectant silence.

“Coulda been better. Most of the city is a wreck unless you go real deep inland where the flood couldn’t reach. You got sinkholes and collapsed buildings all over the place – all mapped out by the way-, and some of the buildings have already been looted.”

“By whom then?” The Spaniard tilted his head sideways in a very avian gesture of confusion.

“That’s where it gets interesting. We found two kirins holed up in a truck stop. Korean immigrants from what I gathered. Gave them the standard pitch, but here’s the thing: the bandits the HPI train dude complained about, they’re actual bandits. Convicts. Violent too.”

“Were you attacked?”

“Nē.” She shook her head. “But I had to use my appeasement spell to prevent a gunfight. They’re threatening to capture the locals.”

“Why?”

“From what I understood – and that was some shitty accent if I’ve ever heard any- they want to make servants out of them.”

“Uh... probably too lazy to take care of themselves, and violent enough to capture people. Figures.” Alej’ scowled. “Are you sure about what you’re saying?”

“I am. Even erred on the safe side and checked out the kirins’ claims that the bandits came from a prison transport. And there it was.” She pulled out her phone to show him a picture of a wrecked blue bus by the roadside. “Likeliest location for their hideout is the Westin. Big hotel on the other bank of the river by the convention center. On the bright side... from what I observed they don’t seem too heavily armed, and they’re not too skilled either. They got a head honcho named ‘Boss’ and a guy they call ‘Councilor’ leading the fray, but the rest doesn’t seem to be too bright.”

Dilip raised his head at the mention of the convention center.

“Hold on. If they’re holed up around there then that means they should have noticed us when we came in. You can’t just miss a bright white 200-meter-long ship as it’s passing right in front of your door. So why haven’t they shown up yet?”
“I’d wager the CV90 by the ramp made them realize we’re not as easy a target as lone colonists. Hell, with the gear we’re toting I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought we were from the military.” Alejandro reasoned.

	Both Aleksei and Alejandro then expectantly turned towards their Captain, awaiting his decision. Dilip just stared off in the distance, thinking.

“I take it we’re going to get rid of these fools, right?” Aleksei ventured.

“I don’t think it’s as easy as you seem to think, Klavins.” Dilip finally shook his head after a minute of silence.

“How so?” She tilted her head in confusion, a gesture that was mimicked by Alejandro.

“I’m tempted to remind you of our neutrality clause and vow of not interfering in local governance.” The D-Dog started.

“Captain!” Alejandro’s crest feathers bristled. “They’re criminals! Bandits!”

“I’m aware, that’s why it’s only my weakest argument. Still, they technically classify as a local authority, lacking anything else.Because where do we even draw the line on whether a local colony is a legitimate form of government or not? Semantics maybe.And if they’re not a governing body... think about the submarine.Lorelei and Skinner’s rescue operation tells us there are technically some US officials still in existence. If we go in and ‘get rid of them’ as you would suggest, then we’d be acting as complete foreigners entering US soil without authorization and killing their citizens – however bad they may be-.” He crossed his arms behind his back. “I know some of that is just me playing the devil’s advocate against myself, but caution should be taken when handling such topics. And that’s only getting into the matter of whether or not we should intervene. Were we to indeed attack the bandits, we would need a plan.”

“We got the firepower though.” Aleksei pointed a talon towards the spot where they stowed their Piranha APC’s.

“It may make things easier, but that’s not the whole deal. They’re capturing locals, remember?” Dilip tapped a digit against the side of his head. “It’s not just going in and neutralizing them-”

“Neutralizing?”

“I’m loathe we kill anybody in a world where the number of intelligent creatures has been reduced by a factor of ten thousand. Life is precious. Anyway, as I was saying they’re capturing locals to do their dirty work. Chances are they already got a couple of them in the hotel and will use them as hostages if we poke the nest too soon.” Dilip explained. “The situation is nowhere near as easy as you two think it is. Hostage situations are the stuff that typically requires special forces and negotiators. We’re just sailors with guns.”

“So what do we do then?” Aleksei inquired. “I don’t think my speechcraft enhancement...” She hefted up her magic bracelet for emphasis. “… would be enough to convince them to release the captives and the ultimatum they gave the kirins at the truck stop will run out eventually.”

Dilip stared at the APC’s.

“Ain’t easy. Would be better if the rest of the fleet was there but we only got about 25 people to deal with this.” He slowly said. “So here’s what we’re going to do for now: I want one team with APC on station at the truck stop. If the bandits attack they’re free to let loose, but let the bandits shoot first. That will give us an excuse at least. Alej’, you find me someone that can get us eyes on the Westin. Sniper most likely. There should be plenty of buildings on our side of the river still standing to post someone, copy?”

“Solid sir.” The Spaniard nodded before he pulled out a notepad from his breast pocket to jot down the orders. “Anything else?”

“For now? No. But expect something to pop up. I just got a message from the fleet, we might need to stage an expedition or something. And I need to ask permission for that. If only so we get a semblance of legitimacy.”

And on that sentence the sea dog walked off back towards his office, soon followed by his Chief Officer which once more left Aleksei on her own.

She was about to head for her own cabin to finally have that much-needed chat with Lady Epona, only to be interrupted by a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, a tugging of sorts that drew her towards the ratings’ cabins.

Somebody there was in pain. Somebody needed her.





A couple decks above the holds, one griffon hen was really starting to question her life choices as her nether regions were wracked with contractions. Turns out, childbirth was hard, or in her case plainly laying eggs. Anton swore profusely as she could feel herself dilate increasingly wider to accommodate the eggs that needed to get out.

Funny thing was, at first she’d been pretty damn sure that… that giving birth to her kids as eggs would be easier. Damn that train of thought still felt so weird, realizing she now was on the feminine side of the equation and experiencing it first-hand.

But having eggs came with its own set of… inconveniences to put it mildly.

Another contraction hit her like a sledgehammer and she felt like she was being split in half.

“C’mon lyubyy, you can do it.” Boris comforted her.

Her mate. He was doing his best to help her, holding her claw and rubbing his talons over her back.

“You try it and tell me how that feels, jackass! This is all your fault!” She screamed in his face, swearing profusely as yet another contraction hit her.

She didn’t really mean it of course. Griffon pair-bonding and all. She loved her mate with all her soul, it was just the sheer gut-wrenching (literally) pain talking.

Why couldn’t it just be like with chickens? They didn’t have the difficulties she had!

Of course egg-based reproduction had to come with its own set of inconveniences that mammalian pregnancies didn’t.

For one, nutrition. Mammal-style at least had the perk that you didn’t have to somehow eat all the nutrients to make two whole babies, yolks and eggshells under the course of two weeks. She’d been pigging out like crazy going off some wild urges for the past two weeks, and beyond the obvious egg pump she was more or less certain she hadn’t even built up that much fat.

For second, it was just… so fast. The eggs developed at a blistering rate inside of her body, so much so that her lower belly region had ballooned out to nearly three times its normal size withintwo weeks. That had made her sore like no one’s business, tired as all Hell, forcing her to waddle around with her back and legs arced in the most ridiculous fashion, and she couldn’t even sleep normally. Hell, the eggs also compressed her bladder and lungs making her short of breath at times, and ridiculously prone to going for the nearest toilet.

Needless to say, that and the myriad of other little things that had come with bearing eggs of that size made her cranky from dawn to sunset, and prone to lash out at an ever-confused Boris.

Yet for some reason she couldn’t bear to hate the pair of hatchlings she knew would eventually come out of the eggs. Blame griffon instincts for that. She wanted to know what they’d look like. Would they share her snow leopard traits? With hints of goshawk like Boris? What were they going to name them?

She just wanted to protect them.

Damn hormones.

Anton screeched as another contraction hit her and her tail went rigid.

Vadim was in a corner of the cabin, hopelessly flipping through one of the biology books the Equestrians had given them in search of some pointers while Micha stood behind her and monitored her… her dilation.

So far, she’d spent the better part of an hour trying to lay her eggs.

“I don’t understand.” Vadim ran his talons through his feathers in exasperation. “The books never said laying eggs should be this hard.” He said in Ukrainian.

“What did you say hun? Can’t speak Ukrainian.” Micha squawked back, pushing Anton’s tail out of the way. “I still can’t see the eggs by the way.”

“I said none of our books mentioned anything about laying eggs being this difficult.” He bemoaned, slamming his book shut with a frustrated trill.

“Shoulda asked for a midwifery manual then.” His own mate quipped before turning her head back towards the other hen. “C'mon Anton, keep pushing.”

“I am pushing!” She snapped. “They just don’t want to actually come out- yeeowch!!” She let out a very feline yowl of pain as yet another contraction rushed through her body.

“Vad’? Idea?” Boris pleaded, the griffon at a complete loss at the sight of the difficulties his mate was going through.

She also wouldn’t let go of his talons, so he was a bit stuck there.

“I. Am. Thinking!” Vadim growled as he paced inside the cabin, throwing intermittent look at the three other griffons by the bed and thinking about what they’d observed so far.

They’d done ultrasound scans the day prior. He’d compared the results to other… avians they knew of. Turns out, griffon eggs were big. Like, really big, even when compared to birds the size of ostriches.

And griffons were half the size of an adult ostrich. That skewed the egg to hen size ratio quite a bit, so it should be no surprise that laying an egg was more of a hassle to a griffon than it was to an ostrich.

Still, was it really supposed to be this hard?

Vadim carefully eyed the struggling Anton.

Should he start considering a C-section? How was he even supposed to know?

“I- I think I need to call Camille.” He slowly uttered. “She should know better.”

Without waiting for a reply, he moved over to the door and opened it to make his exit, only to come face to face with none other than Aleksei. He was about to ask the hippogriff what it was she was doing there when he took note of her eyes.

Instead of their usual dark green, they were pitch black. Vacant.

“Al-?” He asked.

She ignored him. He tried to interpose himself between her and Anton, only for her to raise a claw over his eyes.

“Fanacht socair.”

A warm, soothing sensation swept through his entire being and he collapsed to the side with a goofy grin upon his beak.

Micha had noticed, but the hen just gaped at the sight, leaving Aleksei free to approach Anton and place her talons over the back of her head. The distressed griffon threw her a pleading look, with Boris straight up too confused to know how to react.

“Epona sees you, young hen.” The strange, otherworldly words left the hippogriff’s beak in a voice that definitely wasn’t hers, yet resounded around the cabin in a warm and motherly tone.

Then, much to the surprise of all four griffons around her, her claws lit up with a soft golden glow that wrapped around Anton like a warm blanket.

“Bíodh mo bheannacht agam. Leag do chuid uibheacha gan phian.” She uttered solemnly in Gaelic.

Comfort washed through Anton’s entire being and the grief and pain of laying her eggs disappeared in an instant. She felt herself finally dilate, and out came two very large white mottled eggs that tumbled onto the mattress before their mother quickly brought them close to her breast and draped a wing over them.

The incubator could wait. For now, all her instincts wanted was to gaze lovingly at the two orbs and protect them from harm as she huddled back in a corner of her bed and beckoned Boris over to her with a squawk. It was only once the eggs were clean of her own secretions and that she had her mate by her side that she looked back towards Aleksei.

Amandine’s Third Engineer looked spooked. Her eyes were back to normal, but she was staring at her claws with an unreadable look.

“That was Epona wasn’t it?” Anton finally said after a pregnant – pun intended- pause.

“I-” Aleksei blinked. “I need to go meditate. I need to have a chat with Lady Epona.”

“No shit you do.” Vadim said grumpily. “Go. I’ll handle the rest.”

He didn’t have to blink twice before the Latvian scampered out of the cabin, talons and hooves clicking rapidly against the floor.

“I just witnessed a possessed engineer put a spell on my mate and magically help a genderswapped sailor lay her first clutch of eggs.” Micha stated in disbelief. “Kurwa, what a world. Anton, are you okay there?”

The peregrine falcon/ snow leopard hen of a griffon just nuzzled closer in the crook of Boris’ neck with her eggs safely between them.





Dilip took a seat in front of his desk with a sigh, one paw gliding over to the button that would boot up his computer as the other dug inside of a drawer in search of the little cigar box he used to store his drill bits.

He had to admit the habit of having a metallic chew toy had grown on him as much as it did on the dragons. It would never overtake tea in his preferences, but the different alloys made for some nice variety in their own right.

On that note he plucked a chrome-vanadium bit from the box and stuck it between his lips just as the screen in front of him came to life. He had to wait another minute or two for the satellite connection to boot up as well before he engaged a video call directed towards Fugro.

Dilip allowed himself to recline a little further in his seat as it took yet another couple minutes for someone to answer on the other end of the line.

Yes he was aware satellite comms never were the fastest. That didn’t make the wait any more enjoyable, he was already busy enough without the communication delays.

Finally though, a new window popped up on his screen as his request for a call was accepted and Skinner’s hedgefog figure appeared on screen, along with the brightly decorated office he knew the Scot kept on Fugro Symphony.

“Morning Edgar.” The D-Dog nodded towards his webcam. “I got your message earlier. A turn of events in your rescue operation I take it?”

“Hi, and… yes, I’m afraid that’s correct.” Fugro’s Captain rubbed a digit against the base of his ear. “We’ve done our first docking attempt earlier today. Didn’t go well.”

“Accident happened?”

“No, but no docking with the sub for evacuation either.”

“Okay...” Dilip leaned forward, elbows propped up on his desk. “I’m going to assume if you’re messaging me for assistance then that means you got a plan?”

“Yes. See, the thing with the submarine is that it’s resting on the seabed at an angle. We tried to dock our diving bell to it, but it’s not meant to be heeled. Its own buoyancy makes sure that it’s always upright, so attempting to angle it just rips out the seal before we can pressurize it. Now… we got one of them Navy guys up here on the surface. D-Dog mind, could use an escape suit, if with difficulties. He says the Navy had the means to combat that specific problem.”

“Go on...” Dilip motioned with his paw.

“They had this project underway at their base. Kings Bay they called it. It’s some eighty miles south of Savannah where you’re at. If we want to be as fast as possible, we’re gonna need your helicopter.”

“I’m not sure the AW-189 can lift a whole evacuation submarine.” Dilip pointed out. “Though range wise, that seems feasible...” He ran a quick calculation in the back of his mind. “… yes, feasible, though the chopper could use a refueling when it reaches you. You got a kerosene tank on hand, right?”

“Of course, of course. We keep it just below the landing pad for that specifically.” Skinner replied quickly. “And we don’t need the whole thing. Just the docking seal. It’s segmented so that it can be angled to dock with listed submarines.”

“And you would adapt it to your own bell then?” He paused. “Can you do that? I mean… wouldn’t you need an adapter for that?”

“We can fabricate the adapter on site, that much I can assure you. Gasket, rubber joint, adapting clamp, we got this. What matters is if your chopper pilots can fly over to Kings Bay and hook that thing in a sling carry.”

Dilip reclined in his seat, eyes flicking over his shelf where he knew was a folder containing all the specifications about their ‘air arm’. They most likely could. The AW189 may not be as beefy as a Sea King, but it did have some hoisting power, and its passenger capacity was nothing to scoff at either.

“I’ll need intel.” The Indian dog eventually said.

Because there was only so much Roberto could find on his own. They needed pictures of the project they were supposed to take the docking seal from, diagrams, measurements, weight estimations so the pilots would know how to rig the helicopter’s ventral winch.

They’d need a location. Knowing it was in Kings Bay was one thing, knowing where on base was another entirely, because as big as military bases could get, they didn’t want to have to scour one in its entirety with just what sailors they could cram on board of the helo.

And those limitations only brought other problems back to the forefront of his mind. Namely, his already limited pool of personnel. Two dozen sailors were about all the personnel he had on paw, and he already needed to spare some for the potential hostage situation and to defend the gas station. And the ship of course.

With a resigned sigh, he told Skinner they would do it and pulled out a crew list.

On the bright side, that cast aside any doubt as to the usefulness of having a helicopter on board.





Aleksei slowly exhaled and opened her eyes. She wasn’t in her cabin anymore, instead finding herself back near Epona’s scrying pond in the Otherworld. Tír na nÓg. Except now she somehow knew far more about the uses the Goddess had for the unassuming pond than she’d ever been told personally. More than just a means of observing the mortal world, or a connection to the convergence point near Belfast, it was a pool of power, one of many found in the Otherworld.

She was having trouble thinking ever since the fertility goddess had possessed her. A wealth of knowledge had suddenly filled her mind the moment she’d been in control once more, from different dialects of Breton, Gaelic, Welsh and other languages to an obscenely intricate understanding of the Otherworld and how it worked.

It came with a skull-splitting headache of course.

Looking down at herself, she wasn’t surprised to find she was – as usual- in ethereal form. A projection of her own mind supported by Epona’s will and the Otherworld’s inherent magic. The realm encompassed far more than she’d first thought, being an amalgam of all perceptions of the concept across the Celtic Nations divided in hundreds of smaller domains each assigned to a specific purpose, magical folk or deity.

Aleksei pinched her translucent beak. Those spurts of random knowledge were getting annoying. And as if that wasn’t enough, Epona’s influence on the Roman pantheon meant bits of lore about that had also been inserted in her mind. Somehow.

Well at least now she knew Latin.

She bit back a groan and looked out towards the rest of the plateau, finding it occupied as usual by Epona’s descendants forming one big herd as they grazed on the opposite edge under Morvarc’h watchful vigil.

There was also the stomping of very heavy hooves right behind her, signaling the goddess’ actual loca- and what was that enormous stallion?! She could see Epona – along with her recently birthed foal, of course- in all her gigantic splendor, but beside her was an equally large white stallion with eyes and a mane the color of honey, his entire being radiating a soft light.

Reflexively, she inclined her head in a small bow if only to err on the safe side.

“Greetings milady, I have come into your presence today to request an audience.” She said in Latvian.

For what little languages mattered in the Otherworld, she might as well make it simple and use her native tongue.

“Hmm, proper form and address, looks clever enough and healthy.” The stallion rumbled. “I can see why you’d want her in your herd Epona. She’s a fine mare.”

Aleksei tentatively peeked at the two larger equines, finding the as-of-yet unnamed stallion inspecting her carefully.

“She is.” Epona neighed softly as she nudged her foal towards the rest of the herd with her snout, once she was certain the filly was done suckling her teats. “Rise Lady Klavins, I know we have much to talk about today and little time to do so.”

“Milady?”

The goddess just motioned with her head towards the pond, beckoning the hippogriff to come lay down between her and the stallion by the bank.

“This is Lord Ūsiņš of the Baltic. I have invited him in my realm precisely to address certain concerns of yours.”

“Milord...” Aleksei inclined her head to greet him, only to be surprised when he took the opening to nuzzle her crest-mane of feathers and take in her scent despite the ethereal form.

“Ah...” He sighed softly. “I can sense some of my people in you, but the tie is tenuous. You’re not fully Latvian are you?”

“There was always that accusation that my mother was a cheat...” Al’ whispered.

“Then I’m afraid that confirms it. Your soul may in part be of my people, but it also bears a southerly tang I cannot quite recognize I’m afraid. Nevertheless, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance young lady. Lady Epona seemed quite intent for me to meet you, and I can see why. As she said, my name is Ūsiņš, Equestrian God of Latvia, and also Warden of Light, Bees, and the Livestock.”

“Oh… You’re Lady Epona’s likeness then.” Aleksei nodded. “I understand.”

“Lady Klavins, I believe we all know why you came here today, do we not? You’re overdue an explanation, and me and Ūsiņš have a proposal for you.”

“I could have used a warning for the possessing.”

“For which I’m terribly sorry. I do not normally inflict my consciousness upon mortals in such a manner, but egg binding is a serious matter for a hen and I did not wish to take the risk the mother or her hatchlings be endangered. I promise this will not happen in the future, but its ties in with my...” She eyed Ūsiņš. “… our proposal.”

Aleksei looked down into the scrying pond, its inactivated surface like a mirror that only showed her her own translucent features.

“Priesthood I bet?”

“Priesthood would imply the offer is about you overseeing a temple. It’s not. Call it a role of… cleric, rather.”

“What’s the difference then?”

“You would have more leeway as a cleric.” Ūsiņš explained. “We’re aware of how much you travel. That’s part of what makes you appealing as a follower and representative. You would keep your current job, but as a cleric you would also act as an envoy of sort to your chosen god, spreading word of their existence and doing good in their name. Hosting ceremonies. Rituals.”

“And what would the particulars of either of your proposals entail then, highnesses?”

“It is simple. Both Epona and I have come to the conclusion that we have an equally legitimate stake in you. You are thus free to choose whether you wish to become one of mine or her followers, and we have the benediction of both the Dagda and Dievas in this endeavor.” He told her.

“Should you accept this role, then the range of the powers I have already bestowed upon you would extend. In either case they would be very similar, as we both fall into the same divine category of equine and fertility gods. You’d have powers concerning procreation, midwifery, basic healing, charms, and some ties with nature and appeasement spells. This is the basis of our domains.” Epona said. “Furthermore, all clerics may experience moderate physical alterations depending on which god and domain they serve, and they also gain more… standard powers. Spells and rituals that are common to all types of clerics. Purity spells, banishments and the like, though they tend to require more energy and training than those that would fall in your domain. Those would be the powers you would gain upon accepting, in addition to the support of your patron god in times of need.”

“That...” She worked her beak a few times. “… is a lot of power. I expect the catch to be just as big, is it not?”

“It is asked of clerics that they remain forever loyal to whichever god they serve, quite obviously, though the punishment may vary depending on the divinity. In my case it would involve sterility and withdrawal of all boons provided, though the Dagda and the Morrigan both have the right to intercede in the decision, be it in favor or not of the offending cleric. Should you die, you would also live out your afterlife in this here realm, though you would be free to roam the Otherworld at your own desire – and peril-. As per the duties of a cleric...” Epona trailed off, looking over towards Ūsiņš.

“Clerics must spread the word of their divinity so that they may gain more followers, they accomplish boons and miracles in their name, and they are also sworn to assist in whichever domain their divinity covers. You’d have to ensure that no equine suffers without due reason, to provide assistance and blessings to expecting mothers, assist in matters of fertility pertaining both sentient creatures and livestock, teach regular people basic rituals on how to summon divine favors and provide basic religious services up to and including uniting creatures in holy matrimony.” He continued.

“Wait… so I’d be able to do weddings?” She blinked.

“In another sense than the type you’re acquainted to without magic.” Epona warned her. “I believe you would compare it to a griffon’s pair bonding in this case? Though that may have to be revised seeing not all creatures may be as exclusive in partnership as humans shouldbe.” She nickered at the last sentence. “Thus, Lady Klavins, what do you think of our proposal?”

It took a minute or two for the hippogriff between the two giant equines to come up with a decision. She carefully glanced at the two divines that were gazing upon her expectantly, working her beak several times as her feathers bristled from the sheer power in the air before something actually came out of her mouth.

“Lord Ūsiņš, I’m regretful to decline your offer but Lady Epona has already been by my side for some time...” 

“It’s quite alright young mare...” The stallion smiled. “I didn’t come here expecting to gain a cleric, though it has been a pleasure to visit my western likeness after such a long time.” He said as he stood up and quietly nuzzled Epona as a goodbye. “Fare well fair lady, but I must depart now, for I have eyes on a potential cleric of my own roaming the streets of Riga. May we meet again.”

And with that sentence, he was gone in the blink of an eye, the disappearance of his aura making the surroundings of Epona’s scrying pond suddenly darker.

“I’m flattered you would accept me as your patron divinity.”

“Hard as it is to say after the difficulties that have occurred, I deem you trustworthy milady.” Aleksei said. “There is however a little catch. I am afraid for my quest in seeking Bayard and the mage Maugris.”

“How so? Do you not think you can achieve it?” Epona looked down towards Aleksei with a gentle smile on the mare’s muzzle.

“I have reasons to fear I would be… turned away from my endeavor following changes I’ve been experiencing. I thus wish to take a geas upon myself.”

The goddess’ benevolent smile turned into a frown and Al’ was almost certain she felt the temperature drop.

“Geas are no simple matter, mortal. Cù Chulainn himself fell to one such enchantment.”

“I am aware.” She nodded solemnly. “His tale was included in the knowledge your possession imparted upon me. Mine is simpler. I only wish that upon swearing fealty to you as a cleric, that it will be made impossible for me to abandon my quest of seeking to regain my masculinity. As simple as it sounds. No granted power means no counterweight. Just a simple geas, an unbreakable vow.”

Epona stood up to her full, gigantic height, looking down upon the mortal at her hooves as her eyes came ablaze with magic and the sigil she bore on her forehead shone like a miniature sun. Solemnly, she laid one large hoof over the hippogriff’s forehead.

“So be it then.” Her voice boomed, words probably echoing from one end of the Otherworld to the other. “Let it be known to all divinities of this realm that on this day, I, Lady Epona, accept this mortal under the name of Lady Aleksei Klavins within my herd. May she serve me both in life and afterlife, may she wield my name and powers wisely, and may the geas she so wished upon herself be now tied to her very soul. I have spoken.”

The sigil flashed once. A deafening thrumming reverberated throughout Aleksei’s very soul as the goddess’ magic surged through her, remodeling her, warping her body. The last thing the hippogriff saw before her vision went dark was Epona’s head, her features unreadable.





	Savannah looked as desolate from the air as it did from the ground. If anything, the sinkholes and collapsed buildings were made all the more apparent at the altitude Sri was currently flying, albeit low enough to ensure none of the convicts would spot her from afar as she moved into position. Flying did have the advantage of making traversing the ruined city a lot faster, though the obvious weight limitations also forced her to keep her loadout light.

Above her, the cloud cover had turned to a mix of orange and pink as sunset finally came, and with it the promise of making her job that much easier.

In principle it wasn’t that complicated. She’d just been ordered to move into position by the river banks and monitor the going-ons at the Westin without being noticed. A marksman’s job is better assigned to a veteran like her.

The only hitch with that plan was that very few post-Event species could boast about not standing out like sore thumbs. Hippogriffs like her were no exception, even though with her ivory coat and orange feathers she was far from the worst offender.

Good positioning and discrete clothing would have to make up for it then...

After a few minutes of flying, Sri eventually decided she was close enough and landed in an overgrown alleyway. Flying any closer to the Westin would just be begging to be spotted (and likely shot at). She took a moment to flip her backpack around and tied it firmly to her back – a mild inconvenience, flyers like her had to fly with their pack on their belly lest it impeded their wings- before she pulled her rifle out of its scabbard, pausing briefly to chamber a round.

It was a FAL – L1A1 actually, not like anyone was going to bitch about the difference- that they’d salvaged from the police station in Derry. Normally she’d rather be using the SCAR-L’s she and the rest of the veterans had become accustomed to, but the DMR was just a better fit for the mission in this case.

She carefully crept her way ever closer to the river bank that would bring her in sight of the Westin, carefully gauging each and every building she came across in search of the most viable sniper’s perch, which she eventually found in the form of a dilapidated dirty brown brick building with wrought iron decorations. Brighter colors on the ground floor depicted a former use as a burger joint, though flooding damage had made sure its culinary role could now only ever be about food poisoning.

And with the broken windows, she could just crawl in without making too much noise and slip to the upper floors where she gathered a couple tables as a stand for her DMR before laying down on her belly with a pair of binos in her talons.

Then…

She observed.

The only sound that came from her was when she briefly pulled out her walkie-talkie to radio the ship and tell Alejandro she was in position. Or maybe the scratch of a pencil on her notepad whenever she drew notes and diagrams of the bandit camp she could see across the river.

In another time, the Westin may have been a reputable hotel. It was, what? Sixteen? Eighteen floor tall maybe? A massive beige stone building with numerous square windows for each bedroom, a couple skylights on the roof with terraces for the suites, subtle but tasteful decorations on the facade, and even an adjoined luxury restaurant and a swimming pool surrounded with palm trees. Either a decent honeymoon destination, or a good lodging for convention attendants going to the center it was built next to, both of them directly connected to a highway exit. That was about all she could see, along with the parking, though her maps also said there were other amenities beyond her view range she couldn’t see, like a golf course and a drag racing lane.

In short: a fancy four-star for rich cunts she could have never afforded prior to the Event anyway. Sri exhaled an exasperated trill as she took note of some of the cars in the parking lot, further cementing her opinion of the place.

Why vacation in a city when you could go far longer out in the wilderness for the same price? Urban life was just so constricting, so why force that upon yourself when you’re supposed to catch a break? She could never fully understand the reasoning.

The convention center stood beside the hotel like a massive hunk of pale stone and broken glass with its banners left in tatters, now nothing but a broken husk of cold, impersonal modern architecture. The bandits didn’t seem to show much concern for the building, what with the amount of graffiti and bullet holes covering the facades.

Comparatively, the hotel had fared a little better under their rule, though not by much. Its grounds were now surrounded with a makeshift palisade topped with barbed wire that prevented intruders and prisoners alike from crossing. And she could see some of them.

There weren’t many, but she could see a pair of little mares serving drinks by the pool to what she soon identified as convicts by their demeanor alone.

Sri scowled. Given a chance of complete freedom, these guys chose to take others’. She was very tempted to just flick the safety off her DMR and light them up, but that would just make the rest of them hunker down inside and possibly endanger their prisoners.

All she could do was watch and take notes. They needed to know how many prisoners they had, where they kept them, what were the convicts’ routines… Plus the obvious stuff like locating the gang’s two supposed leaders.

Judging by the lights she saw coming from the top floors and the activity up there, she’d assume the two (so far identified as ‘Boss’ and ‘Councilor’) had taken residence in the two penthouses on either wing of the building.

Useful as that was to know, that didn’t make her role as an observer particularly entertaining. In fact it was rather mind-numbing, but it came with the opportunity of being on her own, away from the ship, to reflect in relative silence.

That was something she could use a bit of. Artyom may have gotten her to stop the lone drinking and the self-pitying about being turned into a female (she really didn’t give two shits about the hippogriff part), but that didn’t stop the thinking once she sobered up.

Sri had never been particularly effusive about her problems. Maybe it was the way she’d been raised to deal with them on her own to avoid upsetting the ‘social harmony’ and not soil her group’s image with unwanted displays of ‘bad feelings’... Okay, maybe she was being a bit disingenuous, but there sometimes was this bad habit of sweeping problems under the rug to save face back home. Her feelings about the loss of her manhood? That was something only Artyom had ever been privy to, and even then that was only because of her then-inebriated state.

The drinking coming to a halt didn’t stop the thinking. Like it or not, her transformation and general attitude put her in complete conflict with her own religion, but what in the blazes was she supposed to do about it? The only other ‘Muslim’ on board was Mohammed and the Tunisian sphinx had about as much in common with her as a dog had with a cat. Plus he was as pious as a prostitute doing politics.

What then? She couldn’t forever ignore the feelings brought on by her transformation, and the ideological conflict wouldn’t disappear of its own. Artyom’s suggestion to not get hung up over it could only do so much.

It looked like she was due for a change of faith.

Eh, for what it was worth she might as well convert to Celtic Paganism. Those were Gods they knew actually existed at least. And with the jokes going on about Aleksei, they might even have a priestess on claw for religious advice.

“Fuck it, better than sticking to Islam. Who’s gonna give a shit anyway?” She muttered under her breath as she watched the convicts turn in for the night.
> Chapter 73: Horned God of the Celts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Broceliande was rather quiet when they made their way through the lush vegetation and down a game trail towards the Golden Tree. The enchanted forest seemed oddly bereft of the usual life they’d come to expect, no birds singing in the branches, no hogs prowling the soil for roots, no hares peeking out of their warrens. The morning fog faded away with an eerie quiet to let the golden rays of the rising sun through the gaps in the canopy, each reflecting off the myriad of dewdrops that had accumulated over leaves and cobwebs, shining like little pearls.

The sole exception to that solitude was the presence of the White Stag. The creature didn’t hide, just leading the way in front of the trio with a solemn air about it.

Rockhoof assumed that was out of caution. The logging stunt and being summoned by Cernunnos seemed like a good reason for the fauna to steer clear until judgment was passed. He had asked Starswirl how he expected that to turn out, only for his court mage to come up blank.

Cernunnosreally wasn’t known as one to meddle with civilization, so announcing he wanted to broker a deal with Trecesson Castle was entirely out of left field.

“By the way, I’m rather curious...” Rock paused, making sure the still-drowsy Martin was well settled on his back. “… you keep mentioning clerics and druids, but if Cernunnos is a forest god, then what’s the difference?”

“That would be about where they get their power from, friend.” The ghost mage told. “You see, unlike in Equestria where magic stems from your species’ abilities... with maybe the exception of warlocks and even then they’re incredibly rare, human magic is more flexible.

I already told you about humans generating their own magic whereas ponies process the surrounding magic field. It gets more complicated than just that when the time comes to cast spells. If they don’t become wizards, the magic is released passively and it forms a field, with the belief system I already told you about. The field is similar to Equestria yet… unique in its own right.

Clerics and priests are, by and large, the easiest to explain. Like warlocks, their power comes from their association to an entity, except this time the entity is a divinity. Divinities that are, in essence, guardians of pools of magic coming from humans sharing the same beliefs. That’s why they want followers. The more of them, the bigger the pooled magic. How that comes into effect varies a lot across the board, that’s why the definition is rather loose: entity controls a pool of magic, bestows third-party powers to an individual.

Druids however, their powers come from nature itself. No god or entity involved. At least not a common god... Some circles follow a proto-god concept like Gaia or some such, it can vary… To be fair, they do tend to side with nature gods, but they don’t have obligations towards them. That being said, they’re still constrained by some practices. They need rituals, equipment and a lot of alchemy to achieve their magic, and most of it is dependent on natural cycles like the moon and the seasons.

I may not be completely a druid myself but I do know a few tricks of the trade, as do many wizards. The greatest druid I can remember off the top of my head would be Maugris.”

“I recall you mentioned him when talking to Morgane. Not in a good way.”

“I blame the attitude, not the skills.” Starswirl shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, when they manage their rituals and cycles properly, and have a sacred grove to back it up, druidic rituals can blow regular wizardry out of the water a couple times over. It’s just… a different school of thought.”

“Sounds like human magic is extremely flexible.”

“It’s not so much that it’s flexible as that it’s not consistent around the whole planet. Blame the ‘belief makes truth’ system for that. If you were to visit another continent you’d find practices to vary wildly, and by my own opinion wizards like me are those it affects the most.

Because in our case, our ability to accomplish magic is dictated by how local belief says it’s possible. If you stay in this part of Europe you have the system where we need staves to throw our spells, and though we’re able to do it in other parts of the world as well – we’ve tried-, there are also other completely different schools of magic where it works in a different manner. As I said: human magic hardly is consistent.” Starswirl said. “And believe me, that sole thought is enough of a headache for an academic like me.”

“I’d imagine.” Rockhoof chuckled softly, a heartfelt rumble that echoed through the woods. “So alchemy falls under druidic magic?”

“You’re using natural ingredients and combining them to obtain magical effects, why would it not fall under druidic magic?”

“Fair point.” Roch nodded. “And the guardian from the other day?”

“A common burial practice for dying druids, though I’m pretty sure Cernunnos does the same with some followers if they want to. Druids serve and protect nature in life, and so do they in death by powering guardians. They also get to be part of it when it’s dormant. Butif a grove is ever threatened, then its guardians  will rise to its defense.

That cost the life of many an unaware logger back in the day. You and Albert were lucky.”

“I’d say. That thing, it was powerful.”

“Not surprising. Guardians soak up stray power from their grove when inactive.” He pointed out quietly as the light of the Golden Tree pierced through between the trunks just as they started to sense the powerful magic that permeated the area.

Gently, Rock nudged Martin awake and let the fawn hop off his back with a cute yawn. He stretched, not unlike a cat, and he rubbed his stubby antlers against a nearby tree before finally turning to Rock with a smile.

“Are you ready Martin?” He asked him. “Remember, you must behave because Cernunnos is very important and if you don’t he will punish you, okay?”

“Yes papa! I’ll behave! Pinkie promise!” He said eagerly, making a motion with a hoof.

Rockhoof blinked at the kid. Papa. Now that was first. Not that he minded, it was accurate in a way. It just came out of the blue.

“Good, good.” He said, giving him a quick rub between the antlers. “We’re doing this because it’s important, but it’s not just about the castle. Remember he wants to meet you too, so you shouldn’t disappoint him, eh?”

Though… a god summoning a fawn that couldn’t be much older than eight? And here he was blaming Starswirl for wanting to put too much weight on Martin.

With a nod from Rock, the trio finally pushed on and into the clearing, quickly denoting how different it felt that day. The Golden Tree for instance. It had doubled in size since their last visit, now finally turning the six charred trunks around it into proper receptacles for the Elements, along with making a very organic ‘display’ for the seventh white Element just above where it kept Excalibur.

But those changes weren’t why the magic in the clearing felt different.

That was owed to Cernunnos himself.

The deity has his back turned to them, sitting cross-legged in the grass and staring at the tree while surrounded by a herd of deer that stood up and scattered when the ponies entered the clearing, with only a stag pausing to grunt at the White Stag.

Cernunnos wasn’t a small creature by any stretch of imagination. He was easily three times as big as your average minotaur – with the musculature to match-, except that unlike the bovine species his appearance was derived from that of a stag. A thick, shaggy brown pelt covered his entire being with the addition of an intricate white vine pattern on his upper body.

A lush beard of braided curls – each ending in a wooden bead- garnished the underside of his muzzle, because Cernunnos sported the features of a proud buck with a rack that would have brought any hunter to his knees in awe such that it glowed with a crackling green aura.

He didn’t wear much. A cloth belt wrapped around his waist held up a simple loincloth, all tied up by a neat golden triskelion buckle. To go with that was a cloak of ivy leaves covering his back, rustling gently in the morning breeze.
He was Cernunnos, Horned God of the Celts and Protector of the Forest.

Starswirl made them all bow their head as soon as they were inside the clearing, a gesture that seemingly pleased the divinity as they heard a rumble emerge from his otherwise immobile form.

“At long last you are here...” They heard in their heads, more of a succession of emotions that conveyed his meaning than actual words.

“As you commanded milord, for who are we to refuse a being such as you?” Rockhoof started.

“You would be the castellan I asked for.” Cernunnos said, still not moving or tearing his gaze away from the Golden Tree. “There is much we have to discuss for the betterment of Broceliande, and I’m pleased to see you’ve brought me the fawn as requested. That leaves one of you then...” He trailed off.

“I’m his court mage.”Starswirl said.

“And what a court mage you are.” He chuckled, a deep rumble that reverberated through the entire clearing. “The likes of you are not what one would expect of a minor castle like Trecesson, yet here you are. I assume this is tied to this peculiarity of a tree in front of me?”

“That is correct, milord.”Star nodded. “I have decided to remain in this forest to ensure the safety of the tree.”

“A noble cause it would seem.” Cernunnos inclined his head. “There is great evil at large, I can understand why mortals would have the need for such magic… but it is not the reason behind my presence on this day.” He said, finally standing up to his full height and turning around to look down at the two mortals and the ghost. “You have collected lumber from the forest. Harmed the trees, cut them down and caused great damage to nature.”

Slowly, the God stood up and turned to face them, a towering giant whose antlers nearly reached the treetops. His eyes flicked over to Martin and then to the White Stag that had taken position beside the fawn.

“Yet… one of my most faithful servants has chosen among you a pure soul and told me he was worth having in my fray. And this same soul has interceded in your favor saying you wished no harm to these woods. You should consider yourself lucky, for many loggers or even noble hunters have succumbed to my guardians for such transgressions.”

“What is your desire then, milord?” Rockhoof asked politely.

“To broker a deal, as has already been mentioned. Young Martin here told the White Stag it was possible for civilization to coexist with the forest.” Cernunnos bent down to Rockhoof’s level, the hot air his nostrils exhaled enough to ruffle the large stallion’s mane. “Do you perchance share the sentiment?”

“I most certainly do.” He nodded calmly. “Population in the region is but a fraction of what it was in the past. I do not believe that what little remains in the castle is enough to pose a threat to the well-being of the forest, and with proper management both may prosper over the ruins of what humanity once was. We do need wood for our houses and land for our farms, but ponies like me are able to foster growth and efficiently use little terrain to produce a lot.”

Cernunnos rose to his full height and looked up towards the sky.

“An interesting assertion. I would not normally care for mortals, but mortals forgoing us is one of the reasons – among many, need I admit- why my pantheon faded away from memories. I have one proposal for you I believe may be suitable and profitable to us both.

“Broceliande shall remain hallowed grounds, yet I shall allow you and your people the right to fell trees for lumber and farmland, if you are willing to raise a temple where I and the rest of the pantheon shall be revered. From this temple we shall expect offerings, a share of your harvests that will be used to foster the forest’s growth and compensate for what you take from it. You would benefit from my and my fellow divinities’ protection from ill, while the forest would benefit from your harvests.

What say you then, oh Lord Rockhoof of Trecesson?” He concluded.

Rockhoof craned his neck up to look the Horned God in the eye, carefully weighing his words.

“Aye, I reckon it’s something we can do. I’m always behind a deal that profits both parties.” He slowly uttered. “This forest is a beautiful place and I’d like to make it my home for my latter years with my wife. There is but a problem though, milord. When I said there were few of us… I really meant it. We’re stretched thin as is making Trecesson a suitable village and erecting what’s needed, we haven’t been here for long. May I then request that we only raise an altar this year before winter rolls in? I’m not refusing the temple of course, milord, but maybe we could have it erected next summer and inaugurated come winter solstice with a festival to compensate for the delay?”

“That is something I can agree on.” Cernunnos nodded after what felt like an eternity of hesitation for the trio at his hooves. “Be aware though: there is more that will have to be discussed later regarding your status as a colony and what it implies. Some agreements regarding that have already been settled by higher gods than I. You shall be summoned for that matter, but only in due time. As for now...”

The Horned God turned towards a corner of the clearing and raised a four-fingered paw. A swirling mass of magic emerged out of it and dug into the soil where it created a standing stone covered in green glowing Ogham script.
“This stone will stand as a mark of our current agreement so that it may not be forgotten. Now… there is one fawn I wished to meet today. Come forth, Martin of Broceliande.”

Meekly, the little fawn moved away from the trio to come in front of Cernunnos who bent down on one knee to get a closer look. Silently, he examined the fawn for what felt like hours before he finally turned his head towards the White Stag and nodded.

“I see… it’s now clear to me why my servant felt the need to mark you in such a manner.I believe the age has come for me to become more… proactive, in a fashion. Glad as I am to have creatures as the White Stag under my fold, they are ill-suited to deal with the matters of mortals. You however, young fawn… I’d be most happy to have you represent me.”

“Represent?!” Rock exclaimed. “Milord, Martin is but a child!”

“It is precisely what makes him such a good pick.” Cernunnos replied, deciding to ignore the transgression as the outburst of a concerned parent – adoptive or not-. “Far too often in my own time have I witnessed adults being chosen only to tarnish my reputation because they only sought the position out of a lust for power..

I understand your concerns, but I do not require of him that he begins his duties at once. I only will ask of Martin that he become what Broceliande will need as a protector in the future. Of course it comes with certain… transformation and newfound abilities, but young Martin will grow and mature with them over time.”

Rockhoof threw a quick look towards Martin who seemed to be struggling to comprehend what they were talking about. He could relate, at that age he was still just a starry-eyed colt looking up to the Mighty Helm.

“So he wouldn’t be serving you immediately?”

“No, but I expect you and your court mage to raise him and help him get in control of his powers so that he may later protect this forest when he comes of age. I looked at his soul, a great many things await him...”

Martin visibly perked up when he heard that.

“… whether you like it or not his fate will steer him towards great events. His soul shares the mark of many heroes I have met. I needn’t mention it is up to you to raise him so he may be able to face these challenges.”

“So be it...” Rockhoof looked down at the ground and let out a resigned sigh.

Well at least Martin wouldn’t need to serve until he was of age. Didn’t say anything about how extensive his training would have to be though…

“Very well.” Cernunnos smiled down at Martin. “Child, I await many greatthings from you in the future. Until we meet again.”

In a flash of green light, the Horned God’s gigantic frame was gone, leaving nothing behind but a few ivy leaves and a spot of flattened grass. The White Stag took a sniff of the air and departed soon after, wherever it was it spent its days.

The group from Trecesson didn’t stay much longer than that, leaving a few minutes later after Rockhoof took a moment to temper Martin’s sudden bout of enthusiasm when he finally realized what it was that Cernunnos actually meant.

Neither the Horned God nor the ponies stayed long enough to take note of one last little detail. A God’s presence was a powerful factor in ambient magic, and Cernunnos was no exception.

Next to the Golden Tree, a little cloud of white magic coalesced into existence, flickering a couple times as the wisp manifested itself for the first time. Not a minute later, it was gone, recessed back into the tree, resting.

But the milestone was passed.





	It wasn’t until late into the morning on the next day that Amandine dispatched their heliborne expedition. It had taken quite a bit of overnight work and research to get all their intel ready for the mission, call Fugro again to ask the submariners where on base the segmented seal should be, print the charts, get the gear ready...

Along with that came additional information their two pilots were adamant was needed such as – obviously- ensuring that meteorological conditions had at least been evaluated prior to sending them off on their expedition.

That part was for the pilots to worry about. The rest of the team consisted of Greet as the supervising Officer, along with Bart and Nastya (formerly known as Ivan, the new name stuck) who occupied themselves with piling up all the gear they needed inside the cabin.

Considering there were only five of them on the mission and that they needed to save weight to pick up their payload, said gear didn’t amount to much beyond tools, the very necessary sling hook to carry the segmented seal, weapons, ammo and some communications equipment. Initially Bart had wanted to fashion a pair of pintle mounts so the helicopter would at least have some door guns, but lacking enough time that idea had to be shelved and replaced with the Vietnam-era method of having machineguns tied up to the ceiling of the cabin with bungee cords.

Not very stable for the gunner, and it prevented them from arming the chopper with .50 cals, but installation was a triviality. Their MAG would have to do. Given that, barring a few notable exceptions, most monsters could be taken down with regular 7.62 fire – albeit in high volume-, that shouldn’t be much of a problem.

“Yeah, you say that and then it turns out there’s a hydra or some shit waiting for us on base.” Nastya pointed out as they walked out on the main deck towards the helicopter.

“Can hydras fly, uh?” Greet countered absentmindedly while perusing a small checklist containing their mission data. “Anything that we can’t kill, we can fly away from safely. Ain’t ideal, but that’s gonna have to do us until we can get mounts for something bigger.”

Which was a bit disingenuous in all honesty. A MAG (or M240 as Americans called them) was a pretty big gun already, back when humans used them. Now that they could see Bart working on setting up both guns, the size difference between a pony and the guns was actually rather cartoonish.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes of filling the tank with kerosene and running the pre-flight checks before the two pilots ordered the passengers in the back to strap up and close the doors.

“Have you three ever flown in a chopper?” The lead pilot, Flynn Hawthorne, asked them over the noise of the engines as they revved up.

For what Greet had come to know of the pegasus, he was of that type of swept-maned, sunglasses-wearing pilots that may have overindulged on Top Gun, which wasn’t helped by the fact he now found himself attached to an actual ship.

That being said, from the way he grinned confidently at them and how his wings’ primaries flicked expertly over the controls, she couldn’t fault his judgment.

“Nah, first time. Fair warning though: none of us got the helo-dunker training in Aberdeen, so don’t drown us.” She yelled over the engines.

“No worries we won’t.” Flynn laughed out loud and gave his co-pilot a playful hoof punch in the shoulder. “This thing practically flies itself with all the electronics, and there’s barely any wind out there. This will be a breeze. Owen, tune in on the UHF and call the bridge.” He told his co-pilot. “I wanna get airborne yesterday.”

Ironic considering that as a pegasus he had yet to learn how to fly. Owen didn’t comment on it, the young gangly hedgefog radioed Alejandro on the bridge and requested permission to take off. Not a minute later, Flynn was throttling up and their white-and-orange helicopter rose above Savannah, making a wide turn above the ruined city before he pointed them south, towards Kings Bay.

The Georgian landscape flew by underneath them. The helicopter showed no problem and left Savannah behind them in a matter of minute as Flynn and Owen pushed the twin engines to cruise speed and settled at an altitude just short of the cloud cover.

At air travel speed, Kings Bay wasn’t far. Some eighty nautical miles to the south of Savannah, their route made them pass over even more of the wetlands that marked the local coastline, with very few constructions left standing in proximity of the shore save for a few old Civil War era forts whose masonry was enough to endure the rough conditions that had come with the storms and floods.

As for the rest… the only notable town they passed on their flight was Brunswick. Being less protected from the shore than Savannah, the smaller town had been devastated by the floods so much so that most of it had basically sank and been swallowed up by the swamp. Out of all that urban landscape, only the larger buildings remained, along with some industrial constructions and a few suburbs in the drier parts further inland and close to the Interstate.

And let’s not get into the fate of the seaside residences that had been built on the strips of lands that functionally sheltered Georgia from the worst of the Atlantic.

Thankfully though, Sandra’s satellite observations indicated that it was about the worst they would see. Brunswick was just badly protected and the hurricane behind the floods had hit the northern parts of the state at its core. The further south you went, the lesser the damage… and Kings Bay was basically on the state border to Florida.

The damage wouldn’t be absent… but hopefully tame enough that it didn’t hinder their expedition.





It was the sound of the helicopter taking off that broke Aleksei out of her slumber. Blearily, she opened her eyes to realize from the light streaming in from her cabin’s porthole that the sun had been up for a while... and that she may have some explaining to do.

Her entire body also felt like she’d just attempted to run a marathon, drunk, and then got beaten up over the attempt by a gang of angry monkeys. In short: she’d felt better after the party way back in Belfast. Shortly after she opened her eyes, her neurons finally sparked together and memories flicked to the forefront of her mind, memories of her new obligations towards Epona.

Now to figure what the deity meant by ‘changes’…	

With a grunt, Aleksei rolled over to her belly and pushed herself up on all four limbs. That’s when she took note of the first change.

Hippogriffs are already pretty tall by quadruped standards. Sure they don’t have the bulk of a griffon, much less that of a sphinx (who were actually pretty darn big when you looked into it); but they had this lean, wiry stature that usually made them stand above most other quadrupeds. Even the females, since there wasn’t too big of a size gap between mares and stallions for their species (there was, just not as bad as ponies).

Now though? When she compared herself to the furniture around her it looked like she was about a head taller, and her coveralls felt a lot tighter too. She may not know it herself, but her transformation had brought her near alicorn-height.

The change had also highlighted the fertility part of Epona’s domain, because even though she had gained a fair bit of muscle, her curves were where it was the most noticeable. She had a more swan-like neck, a wider rump, narrower midsection, and judging by the size of her wings’ primaries she had also grown in wingspan. Epona hadn’t touched on her original color scheme of a light green coat with white crest and tail feathers, but she did make them noticeably fluffier and glossier. The fur on her breast in particular was a lot thicker, and now that she noticed it the feathering around her hooves and talons had undergone the same treatment. That, and Epona had switched it from light green to white.

Getting to the bathroom on longer limbs proved a bit harder than expected as she had some difficulties judging how close things were, but reaching the mirror allowed her to note the last big changes. Her eyes were still their usual light green, but now they had gained some kind of mystical glow to them, and finally…

Of course Epona had to put her mark on her. She now bore the goddess’ equine version of the triskelion on her shoulders, one fist-sized symbol of three horses chasing each other around a Celtic curl at the base of each wing, standing out sharply against the rest of her fur coat.

In short: she looked the part as a servant of a fertility divinity. Very… feminine, which was in stark contrast to the lingering feeling of the geas inside her mind that compelled her to resume the quest for her manhood. 

The geas wasn’t too bad, thankfully. She could probably put it off for a while until they headed back to Europe. At least it was a guarantee she wouldn’t fall victim to the first rule of gender-bending.

But the physical and mental changes weren’t the only thing to have happened, as she soon noticed after a brief shower. Epona had left her some gifts on her bed in the form of a leather bound spell book and…

A set of robes. Guess with the duty of a cleric she should have expected it. Worse even, her sudden growth spurt meant the robes were the only viable clothing in her wardrobe. They didn’t look bad, just… not what she really wanted as a marine engineer.

The robes… they looked simple but she soon found them to be more intricate than expected upon inspecting the bundle of brown leather and white linen. In addition to just the robes, cloak and a satchel, the clothing also came with some light leather armor that embraced her frame and provided a measure of protection, plus some sandals/gauntlets for her claws and some iron, rune-engraved horseshoes for her hooves.

Did she put it on? Like she had a choice… Did she like it? Nothing she would admit in a public setting, and the way it hugged her frame really left little doubt as to which domain Lady Epona covered.

In short: she was a fucking sexpot. With a magic oath that made her want to be male again.

“Uh… not looking half bad I must say.” She heard Angelo speak up half a second after her ears caught her cabin’s door opening.

Aleksei practically jumped up in the air from sheer surprise, a shrill squawk escaping the hippogriff’s beak. She turned around and threw her direct superior a glare, wings fluffed up from the surprise.

“The fuck Angie?!” She yelled at him.

“Chill, chill.” The large gray minotaur raised his hands in a placating manner. “Only reason I’m bargin’ in is ‘cause you didn’t turn up for your watch.”

“Sorry about that. Making it up to you ASAP.” Aleksei shook her head. “I didn’t expect my visit to Epona to turn out this way. What did I miss?”

“Both much and not much. We salvaged some fuel from the local terminal with the oil recycler to top off the tanks, dispatched an heliborne expedition down south to help the sub’s rescue effort, and now the Captain’s twiddling his thumbs ‘cause he can’t decide whether or not we should intervene against the local bandits.”

“Really?!” She exclaimed. “Why in hell is it even a question? They’re bandits!”

“Oh I dunno...” Angelo rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Between intervening on US soil, our clause about remaining neutral and not risking our lives without reason, I can’t fathom why we would have good reasons not to intervene.”

“Fair point I guess...” She deflated.

“What happened to you by the way? You look like you hit a growth spurt and suddenly found yourself interested in cosplay.” He asked, surprised to find she wasn’t as short as he remembered.

And quite shapely too, but that he didn’t say out loud.

“In short? Got possessed by a goddess into playing midwife for the griffons, was upset about it and decided to meditate to confront Epona about it. And now...” She lifted a wing to show Epona’s symbol. “… I just agreed to being her cleric. That means-”

“You don’t need to tell a geek like me what a cleric is, I know.” He interrupted. “But that explains the changes, though I would have expected more armor than just leather. Maybe it’s something you need to get on your own, I dunno.”

“I’m not quite sure your idea of what a cleric is matches Lady Epona’s.” Aleksei pointed out. “Anyway… if I missed the helicopter and the oil, what’s left then?” She asked him, idly adjusting her satchel.

“We got a meeting with all the crew in the cafeteria in about an hour when Sri gets back from spying on the bandits. I don’t know what you can do in the meantime, but maybe you should fix yourself a new wardrobe. Those robes look nice, but I don’t want you down in the engine room with them on, got it?”

“Komprenet em eus.” She replied.

“What?”

“Oh sorry… I got all these Celtic languages plus Latin in the package.” She tapped a talon against the side of her head. “It’s all mixed up in there, I think that one came out in Breton. But, yeah, get my coveralls fixed, then get down to the cafeteria for the meeting. I’ll be there.”

Angelo eyed her dubiously for a couple second before he deemed it just wasn’t worth worrying about and left her to her own devices.

Now to convince Carlos to come pump some iron with him in the gym.





The situation with the bandits… wasn’t good. That at least was very clear to all sailors present in the cafeteria when Sri came back from her round of reconnaissance to tell them what she’d observed so far. After a quick power nap and a bit of work putting all her intel together in a presentable manner, she’d gone to Alejandro to tell him she was ready to relay the information.

Why the Captain insisted it be told to the whole crew at once (at least those that weren’t on expedition with the helicopter or protecting the two kirins at the truck stop), she couldn’t quite fathom. The Indonesian navy veteran just stood in front of the crowd in the middle of the cafeteria, idly checking the laptop in front of her to make sure her presentation was top-notch while they waited for Dilip.

To make things even weirder, Third Engineer Klavins had turned up clad in some sort of priestly robes and having seemingly undergone a growth spurt. Just when she wanted to have a talk with her about Epona. Great…

“Nervous? That’s unlike you.” Alejandro commented. The blue-feathered Ornithian was standing with his back against the wall, arms crossed.

“Not nervous, frustrated.” She corrected. “Boss, why does the Captain want the presentation like that?” She asked, waving a claw over the assembled crowd.

“You’ll see. Captain Prateek has his reasons, I can tell you that much.”

“So he didn’t tell you either.” She mumbled flatly.

“No he didn’t, but I trust him.” The parrot shrugged.

“Maybe you do, boss, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.” She huffed.

“You? Why would you think that?” Alejandro quirked his head, his feather crest raised in bemusement.

“Pretty sure he isn’t too fond of Muslims...” She started.

“For one: he probably doesn’t care and neither you nor Mohammed are prime examples of Muslim faith anyway.” He countered after a short pause. “For second: even if you think he’s standoffish… which I’ll admit is kinda true for you ratings, that’s just Indian Officers in a nutshell. You wouldn’t be getting too used to working with Spaniards like me now?”

Sri opened her beak to quip back with a witty reply before she blinked and closed her beak. Now that he mentioned it, he was surprisingly informal for a Chief Officer. Whether that was due to him being a Spaniard as he claimed or the fact she’d been working watches at the helm with him for the past few months, she didn’t know.

All things considered she didn’t answer to a lot of Officers beside him. Hell, most of her daily duties outside of watches were given to her by Artyom, him being the bosun and all, and the Russian was probably her closest friend on board.

“You know what, maybe you’re right, I’m getting a bit too used to you, boss.” She blinked.

It was only a few minutes later that Dilip finally strode into the room, clad in his dress blues and with a serious air on the dog’s muzzle. He didn’t say much at first, simply repeating to the crowd what it was Sri had been doing and inviting her to tell them what she’d put together so far before taking a seat in the front row.

She was all too happy to finally comply and not have to awkwardly stand in front of an expectant crowd and began telling them what was going on at the Westin.

One of the first things she started off with was the head count. By her observations – though she may have missed some- there were roughly thirty ex-convicts occupying the hotel. Slightly less than what the prison bus transported, but casualties happened. From the weather, from monsters, from blue-on-blue and...

All of the convicts she’d spotted patrolling the hotel were males– with the odd exception of a D-Dog bitch, bigger than males as they were-, so there was that.

Most just hung around the hotel and the convention center to keep an eye on the two dozen prisoners they kept as servants and to enjoy the spoils of their looting sprees. The convention center next to the hotel was used both as a pet project for their prisoners to grow them food, and as a general ‘recreation’ spot where they screwed around with stuff they had pillaged like their guns and a fleet of luxury cars that had been defaced with spray paint.

The rest of the convicts would leave at dawn to explore the region, returning whenever their trailers were full of loot or they grew bored. It didn’t seem to go much further than that, or at least she hadn’t stayed long enough to make sense of a possible long term plan. She didn’t think they really had one, what with how poorly equipped they were and how badly they treated their rides. Routine was a stretch for them, and mostly revolved around monitoring their prisoners and rotating them from a floor where they kept them at night to the convention center where they all toiled with the exception of the…

Sri wasn’t sure whether to call them servants or concubines. One thing was sure with them: at least four of them would always be found on the top floor, two per wing.

“Why two per wing?” Carlos interrupted.

“Top floor is divided into two penthouses, that’s why.” Sri told the cockatoo. “One per leader. Going by what was said at the truck stop, I’ve decided to name one ‘boss’ and the other ‘councilor’. East wing and west wing respectively. They don’t go out much and just live the life in their spot, but they do come out at times. Councilor...” She switched to a slide of her presentation that showed a distant picture of a dark unicorn. “… the brains. Monitors looting raids, manages the works at the convention center, decides what to do with the loot.”

She switched to the next slide to show a much larger green Earth Pony stallion with a Mohawk, clad in enough gold to make a dragon salivate.

“This is boss. The brawn. He… asserts dominance over the rest of the gang. Saw him shank a bandit in cold blood, and from the brawling I’ve witnessed he’s pretty tough.”

She tapped a key on the laptop and the presentation came its last slide, just a generic blank screen with the words ‘the end’ plastered on it.

“I believe the Captain has a few words for us, then?” She turned towards her superior.

“That I do. Thank you Miss Wibowo.” Dilip nodded before he stood up and turned to face the crowd of assembled sailors. “On the legitimacy of intervening here… I have had a few words over the phone with the Captain of the American submarine they’re rescuing off the coast. With the HPI too.”

Not that he knew which of the two held more legitimacy as an American institution. The HPI was just a UN offshoot after all.

“Both told me this one thing: it is up to us to decide whether or not we want to intervene. And I want to stress that: us.” He insisted. “This is a very dangerous situation, I want you all to know that. It’s more than fighting monsters or making sure the Irishmen don’t start a brawl over Northern Ireland. It’s more than looking scary with a big APC to make sure bandits don’t attack a truck stop like some of your shipmates are doing. If we intervene, people will die.”

Dilip took a short pause to survey the reactions of the crowd.

“I’ve worked with the military. As a reservist. Some of us here are veterans. But remember, we are not the military, even with all the weapons and tanks and body armor. We don’t have half the training needed to claim that, and we don’t have a drop of the discipline to call ourselves that either. I cannot in good conscience order any of you to risk your life over this, to save prisoners of a country not your own, that the bandits may very well decide to execute.” He sighed. “I could go on for a while, but I think you are all clever enough to make your own opinion. You know what we’re up against. Some of you were at Yancy’s burial in Copenhagen. Some of you…” His eyes lingered over the griffons in a corner of the room. “… are lucky enough to have families to worry about.”

Another pregnant pause, he checked his watch. Two in the afternoon.

“Tomorrow at nine there will be a meeting in the ship’s office. Come if you want to rescue the prisoners and get rid of those bandits.”
> Chapter 74: Kings Bay
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kings Bay wasn’t a small base, at least as far as Greet could judge from up in the sky. It certainly looked bigger than any of the European bases they had visited in the past, with an extensive array of facilities designed to support the Ohio-class submarines that would have been stationed there prior to the Event.

A narrow strip of land on the sea side – Cumberland Island- kept the base from being directly exposed to the Atlantic, with a single sinuous channel dredged south of the base allowing for access to the docks through a narrow gap in the shoreline and into the Georgian wetlands.

One thing was for certain: Kings Bay was nothing like those Swedish underground naval shelters. There was nothing even remotely ‘compact’ about the whole installation, and where other navies would try and use the landscape to camouflage their submarines from prying eyes, the Americans had taken to erecting ginormous shelters to hide their vessels. Tall, looming hangars rose up above a couple of berths and the base’s graving dock to ensure no satellite could ever pry into their affairs. Being made of concrete and steel, most of those structures had fared reasonably well, past a couple of collapsed cranes and some weeds slipping through the cracks in the stonework.

But the dock side of the base was just the tip of the iceberg, as all occupants of the helicopter quickly noticed when Flynn flew their helicopter in a wide circle around the base while Bart hitched his harness and grabbed the door gun from the cabin’s ceiling. Just in case.
Greet mimicked the unicorn manning the door gun and hitched her harness before moving closer to the door as wind whipped at her large ears and crest feathers. Carefully, she surveyed the ground and compared it to a diagram she’d already memorized, that being a rough drawing of the base facilities that had been transmitted to them prior to departing.

There was a lone damaged railway track going from the docks to a cluster of short buildings she quickly identified as the ammunition depots, with a myriad of perfectly lined bunkers that looked like blisters from up in the sky, before the tracks moved further inland and split towards multiple secondary facilities.

Kings Bay looked well compartmentalized. Each different section was separated from the others by vast swathes of lush forest, swamps and shallow reservoirs, one of which was so close to the tracks that it had collapsed the levee and cut off the dock from railway transportation.

Was the base in good shape? Yes. Unscathed? Absolutely not.

If she let her gaze trail further west she could see a bigger cluster of buildings, more varied in shape and size that she soon identified as the section where the barracks and training facilities were, along with some base housing, and an adjoining town outside the security perimeter.

Not their goal, but spotting it allowed them to better get their bearings and finally locate the cluster of hangars and research facilities where they had been told the segmented docking seal should be. It didn’t look like much from the air, though the white roof and reflective windows of the nearby office building made them stand out sharply against the surrounding vegetation.

Flynn brought the helicopter down in a parking lot right in front of the buildings, touching down smoothly just as Owen in the co-pilot’s seat called the fleet to signal they had reached their objective.

“There we go, Officer.” Flynn called out to Greet after he throttled down and the blades stopped spinning. “Got you to your AO, time for you to do your part of the job.”

“Thanks for the ride, sky taxi.” She replied, hopping off the chopper and readying her SMG, mimicked a minute later by Nastya and Bart behind her, the griffon and the unicorn having picked some of their modified assault rifles instead. “Keep an eye out while we’re busy, there might be monsters out there. And ready the cargo hook, last thing I want is us wasting time out here.”

“Don’t like the place, uh?” The pegasus smirked.

“Dunno...” She shrugged, eyeing a cluster of disarmed ballistic missiles that had been put on display by the parking’s entrance, one of which had collapsed on the road, taking with it an electric pole that would have connected to the research facility’s substation. “… it’s being so far away from any kind of support that puts me on edge.”

“Nah, chill out. You seen the size of the door guns? We got this.”  Flynn waved a hoof dismissively.

“You ever seen a hydra?” Bart brought his hoof down and threw the pilot a warning look. “Omdat I did, and I’ve seen monsters like that shrug off .50 cal in Zweden.”

Mostly. With all the haze in the air at the time, it hadn’t been too clear whether or not the Piranhas had done any damage. It did get the beast to back down though.

“As he said.” Greet put a claw on her hip and gave Flynn a flat stare. “I know it’s hard, but don’t get cocky. You spot anything, radio us and we’ll see if we got to bail out, OK?”

“Yes ma’am.” Flynn let out a very equine snort.

The Ornithian scowled at him for a few seconds before a gesture from Owen made her decide to ignore the attitude for now. She conspicuously threw the hedgefog Flynn kept for a co-pilot a look that clearly told him to keep his colleague in line, before she waved her two companions over and moved off to the hangar.

There was no need to bother with the office buildings. In other circumstances, they might have looted them for the intel and stuff, but they were there for the rescue submarine’s docking seal, not miscellaneous paperwork. And by her reckoning it would be no small thing.
Her hunch soon proved correct, as the prototype came in sight as soon as Bart bucked a side door open for them to enter. Various pieces of gear and components littered the cavernous hangar as they made their way inside, they being illuminated for the first time in months of abandonment by their weapons’ flashlights.

The SRDRS wasn't exclusively a rescue submarine, it was a complete system that also came with an extensive set of supporting gear like A-frames for deployment, containerized decompression chambers so that it might operate with any ship, enough stuff to fill the entire hangar and turn it into a dark sinuous maze that only lit up when they managed to pry the hangar doors open with a makeshift pulley they made on the spot.

Perks of being sailors and all.

But they didn’t care much for the supporting gear.

They were there for the yellow submarine. They found it in the center of the hangar, mounted on a mobile frame so its big docking seal wouldn’t rub against the floor. In a similar fashion to Fugro’s ROV’s, the rescue sub was built with a light skeleton frame around it to protect the pressure vessel from impacts and support the many electric propellers, ballast tanks and the like that made it mobile, all of this keeping it at about the size of a standard forty-foot container.

A pretty impressive piece of machinery, and it took them about three hours to manage to pry the docking seal away from the pressure vessel, some of the work being wasted locating the right tools for the job and going to their resident hedgefog to ask him if he could use his electric powers to jump-start a forklift. And even then they had to thank Nastya for her technical skills because Greet was damn well sure she and Bart wouldn’t have been able to remove the docking seal on their own.

Yet in all the time it took them to get the job done, not a single soul manifested itself despite the conspicuousness of a bright white-and-orange SAR helicopter landing in the middle of a base that normally housed nuclear submarines. And no monsters either.

It was thus completely uncontested that they rolled the docking seal out of the hangar with a forklift and attached it to the belly of their helicopter in a sling load.

Not five minutes later, all five of them piled back inside the chopper and took off, headed east towards the fleet that awaited their delivery, leaving the Georgia shoreline behind them to the droning beat of the main rotor.

What followed was pretty straightforward. They flew away from the coast for half an hour until Rhine and Fugro came into sight, whereupon they called over the radio for the latter’s ship deck to be cleared for the arrival of their cargo.

The helicopter was fitted with an umbilical winch long enough for Flynn to cautiously remain above Fugro’s deck cranes – one of the two was actually pretty darn tall- and lower the docking seal for a gang of sailors to hastily detach it and carry it off inside what he assumed to be their workshop, where they would mount it to their own diving bell.

But the burden was off their shoulders. In a maneuver he must have practiced a couple dozen times over the course of his career, Flynn rotated the chopper’s tail away from Fugro, rising briefly before landing on the dive support vessel’s helipad, right in front of the bridge.

Unlike Amandine, Fugro didn’t have a hangar to permanently keep a chopper on board, but she did make up for it by having a pad that was relatively easy to land on for refueling, something Flynn was all too eager to make use of.

They landed, had a coffee with the crew while a bunch of Fugro’s sailors topped off their kerosene tank, long enough to tell them what they were up to in Savannah; and then they took off once more, finally headed back to their own ship.

Greet and her expedition team eventually reached Amandine by sundown, to be greeted with the dire news of what was to happen with the bandits that occupied Savannah’s Westin.





The day had gone by fairly normally on Amandine after Sri’s presentation. The Captain didn’t wish for anything beyond guard duties and basic maintenance to be done while he let the crew make their choice on whether or not they wanted to participate in the intervention.

Some had quite clearly said they wouldn’t. That being their two pairs of mated griffons. Sri could understand. They literally had children to worry about, so risking their lives for the sake of complete strangers was a stretch.

Others were still hesitating well into the evening by the time the helicopter team returned from their little expedition, chatting between themselves as they helped Scarface take the chopper back into the hangar for maintenance.

Sri had already made up her mind. She would help. But that didn’t mean she was without her own kind of worries. She had had a brief talk with Artyom about religion after dinner, but the Russian proved unable to provide much more advice than his usual ‘whatever suits you best’ stance.

She could get behind the ‘Live and let live’ attitude that permeated the crew, but there were times it could truly be annoying.

And then there was Klavins… Aleksei that is. The other hippogriff had been at the forefront of her mind ever since she’d seen her clad in her new robes, all changed from apparently – the grapevine was still going strong on that one- taking the leap and becoming a priestess. Cleric. Whichever.

She spied the Latvian here and there over the course of the entire day, though she had yet to make her approach by the time she checked out inside the ship’s office after her evening duties.

The office was fairly quiet this late. Rahul had already brought a large thermos of coffee for the overnight watchstanders – which unfortunately included her on the 0-4- which he had set down next to the entrance. Sri checked the clock and… only one hour before she was expected by the ramp for her watch.

Probably enough time to go see if someone in the ratings’ rec room was playing FIF-

“I think you wanted to see me.” Aleksei suddenly said behind her, abruptly breaking the silence.

In the confines of her own mind, Sri swore. She turned around, coming face to face with the recently-made-taller hippogriff that was their Third Engineer. Still wearing her clerical robes too.

“Good evening ma’am.” Sri greeted her.

“And a good evening to you too.” Aleksei’s beak parted in a smile as she moved towards the thermos and served herself a mug. “You know, you’re not exactly discreet when you’re leering at someone. Hope you were not as conspicuous when spying on the bandits.”

“I would have assumed looks are something you got a lot of today.”

“That is true, I’ll admit...” She said, taking a tentative sip of her coffee.

Too warm. She set it down on the table to let it cool off a bit, in passing taking an extra second to wonder how different her new longer limbs felt.

“… but there is a difference between the looks I get for the change in appearance and those I got from you. And I don’t catch any of the Filipinos or Ukrainians staring at me from the background.” She pointed out. “Is something the matter?”

Sri cautiously surveyed the room. There weren’t any sailors using the computers inside the office or the library at this hour, and there wouldn’t be for at least an hour when the change of watch was due.

“It’s rather personal...” She started.

“If I may say, don’t you and the veterans usually talk through your problems on your own?” The other hippogriff quirked her head.

“Biasanya ya- oh, sorry. I meant: usually we do. I tried talking about it to Artyom, but he… he isn’t too good when it comes to matters of religion, I guess?”

“Oh… religion...” Aleksei blinked. After a few seconds of awkward silence she waved her talons over to the table  that was in the ‘meeting room’ section of the office. “I can try to help, wanna take a seat?”

Sri nodded softly and took a seat opposite to Aleksei’s, talons cradling her own steaming cup of coffee. She was about to open her beak and speak when Aleksei raised her talons to halt her.

“Sorry if that seems rude, but I feel like I should at least give you a warning. I’ve barely been a cleric for more than a day, so I’m still pretty fresh to the job. Plus, I know you’re Muslim, but what I can reasonably give you in the matter of advice would be about Celtic values and what ties to them. I can’t just go and preach another pantheon.” She pointed a talon at the ceiling. “Got a superior keeping an eye on me up there, you know? That being said, I can promise you I won’t say a word of what we discuss to anyone, and we’ll keep it informal. No notes, nothing. That's alright with you?”

“I get it, thanks for the warning. Can I ask you something?”

“Go on...”

“Why did you accept the position? As Epona’s cleric I mean.” Sri clarified.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Few things aren’t.”

“Touché.” Aleksei conceded. “I guess it’s because Epona and I had been communicating for a while already, so I don’t think she means harm to society and I genuinely believe she can help. We live in a whole new world Sri, things are changing, some of them are coming back to light after millennia of darkness. The Celtic pantheon? They can help, and the values can provide for a measure of stability in an ever-changing world.”

“And why serve Epona? I mean… she’s Celtic, you’re Latvian. Isn’t there a...”

“I was offered a similar post by Epona’s Latvian equivalent.”

“You didn’t take it?”

Aleksei’s face fell and she stared down at her coffee.

“It didn’t feel right. What he said… Have you ever had a revelation? I had been in relation with Epona for a while, and then he tells me I’m not actually fully Latvian. I… in all fairness I should have expected it. But I always looked up to my father. Wanted to be like him. To be told that my mom really did… that while she was in Bali.”

“Bali...” Sri blinked. “So she was that kind of woman. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not an insult if it’s true.” Aleksei sighed. “But now you know why I picked Epona instead of Ūsiņš. That ain’t what we’re here for though, is it? It’s about you.”

“Yes… me...” This time it was Sri’s turn to look down at her coffee. “I guess I couldn’t just settle for Artyom’s advice.”

“I’m all ears, what is it you’re worried about?”

“So… I feel like even if I do it badly, I should have some kind of faith to follow. And last I checked none of the churches or mosques we’ve seen in the past had any kind of power to them. I want to convert, follow some divinities that I at least know are real.”

Used as she was to outlandish stuff happening on a daily basis, it still took Aleksei a couple seconds of opening and closing her beak to fully process what Sri had just said.

“You… You… want. To convert?” She stammered.

“That I do.” Sri stood up in her chair and leaned across the table, closer to the cleric. “It’s pretty simple in my books. There are gods we can see, and some we don’t. I want to follow what my eyes show me, and you’re a pretty good proof yourself. If what went on in Ireland wasn’t enough. I’m aware I may be missing some ancient Javanese divinities I could follow instead, but they’re on the other side of the world and we may never meet them for all I know. So tell me then, what’s the Celtic faith about? You know, core values, principles, is there a rite of conversion?”

Aleksei took a second to gather her words whilst she sipped her coffee, talons drumming against the table.

“I can begin to tell you, but it’s not exactly succinct you know? I’m still in the process of learning most of it, and some things like the Brehon law might undergo an update process if the two biggest divinities choose so. That being the Dagda and the Morrigan, for clarification. Consider it as… a code of laws all followers have to abide to.”

“That I can understand...” Sri nodded slowly. “So Dagda and Morrigan lead the pantheon?”

“Yes and no.” She made a so-so gesture with her claw. “Polytheistic faith is much more varied than monotheistic, and in the case of Celtic faith it is heavily decentralized with dozens of various specialized gods, some of them even focused on certain regions. The Dagda and the Morrigan’s role is to gather them in the Otherworld when important matters need to be discussed. In other circumstances, they have their own domains to worry about. For followers, it’s pretty simple: depending on what you need, you would make an offering to a specific god if you need divine advice, protection from ill or a favor.”

“Such as your patron?”

“Lady Epona concerns herself with all things equine – which I guess makes her the patron of hippogriffs and ponies- and fertility rites. Now, as there are many gods and goddesses that fall under the realm of Celtic faith and thus have their own realms within the confines of the Otherworld, some have either very specific domains, or they protect certain areas. Like Vosegus. Hunter god, and patron of the Vosges mountains, in France. You catch the drift?”

“I think I do… so if I need advice, I do a ritual and make some prayers and offerings to a god?”

“Or you request a favor from one of their assigned clerics.” Aleksei completed. “And since you also asked about values, there are six core values to be respected: Honor, Loyalty, Hospitality, Honesty, Justice and Courage. I could elaborate some more on all six, but I don’t think you’ve got the time from now ‘til your watch, correct?”

Sri ruefully glanced over towards the clock. The cleric was right, time was passing by rather fast.

“Pity.” She shook her head. “I was starting to get into this. I’m really interested, do you think that I could convert?”

“I can arrange for such a rite, yes...” Aleksei nodded. “I would need to check a couple things and gather the oils and paints for the ritual, but it can be done. Be warned though...” She paused to throw a piercing look in Sri’s eyes. “… such a ritual comes with a package. You may experience a dreamwalk through the Otherworld, and you will be expected to follow Brehon law and the core values. That… and there is the afterlife that comes with it.”

“Still in.”

“Very well then. I’ll let you pick and choose when you want the ceremony to happen and who it is you wish to invite. But… it’s probably going to happen in the next port of call at this rate.”

“Havana? Aye, I can live with that.” Sri downed the rest of her coffee and stood up. “Thanks by the way. That helped.”

“Such is my duty these days...” Aleksei whispered, watching the other hippogriff make her exit, off to her watch.

What a weird world to live in, seeing Muslims convert to Celtic faith...





If there was one thing Rockhoof wasn’t fond of, it was court formalities. Sure he was all for the ‘verbal heritage’ stuff the Northern tribes did, and he didn’t have any problem with hosting a Thing to settle tribal matters, but…

He had been quite disappointed to find the tradition had fallen into disfavor when he and the rest of the Pillars took their leap forward in time. What used to be his birthplace had instead replaced ancestral traditions and Things with a Unicornian style of centralized governance ripped straight from Canterlot. He could understand how that had come about, what with the integration of the territories into Equestria proper and all, but that didn’t help with the nasty feeling of alienation he had received when he rediscovered the place he used to call home.

So it should come to no surprise that if Starswirl could replicate a miniature Canterlot inside the magical plane he had created, then Rockhoof would attempt to do the same with how he chose to reign over the castle.

Centralized power had its merit, but to that the large Earth Pony vastly preferred the old system of mostly sovereign tribes that would gather among themselves during Things to settle internal matters. There was also an external variant of the same principle, a Thing hosted between chieftains, but to do that you usually needed a tiny little detail called another tribe.

In the meantime though, the castle had a room that was ideal for holding a Thing in the form of the banquet hall. Now, Trecesson had never been a large castle to begin with, so it came to reason that the hall wouldn’t be too large either, but the narrow room with the vaulted ceiling proved sufficient for the amount of colonists they had amassed overtime and gathered on either side of the long table over which both Meadow and Rockhoof presided.

It had a sort of homey feeling to it, the otherwise drab whitewashed walls being covered in tapestries, and the ceiling above them being reinforced with numerous rafters whose warm brown texture balanced the otherwise cold atmosphere, something which was helped along by the yellowish glow that the ceiling lights gave off as they hung from their chains.

Had it not been for Emeric pointing out they were electric, Rock would have mistaken them for candles.

“Thank you all for taking a break and gathering here today.” Rockhoof started in an effortlessly booming voice as he looked down at the assembled creatures in front of him. “I know we all have a lot of work to do, but it was high time we gathered for our first Thing... – oddly enough the word ‘Thing’ stayed the same in French- … and since our latest accident with a forest guardian and subsequent meeting with a God, some things had to be said.”

He had seen bigger gatherings for a Thing in the past. Tribe-herds in the North could easily number around the two-hundred-pony mark in his time. Comparatively, the three-to-four dozen assembled creatures in the banquet hall made for a tiny tribe, with a smattering of unicorns mixed with some deer and the odd centaur. And the lone pegasus in the form of Miles, but then again the American wasn’t a local.

“What’s a Thing?” A doe asked, somewhere in the back of the room.

“It’s how I intend to rule this colony.” The Earth Pony explained. “See, where I’m from, the inhabitants of a tribe, colony, settlement… whichever you prefer, they gather together to discuss and decide the future of the village under the supervision of the chieftain and the elders.”

“Wait… so we get here to discuss stuff, but you’re still the Lord?” The same doe questioned.

“Yes, as Lord my role is not only to implement the decisions taken during a Thing, but I’m also tasked with representing the interests of the village if there is ever a Thing with another village, and I am sworn to ensure your safety.”

As expected of a group of French people, that got them all talking so fast neither Rock nor Meadow could quite follow, with all of them starting to argue over matters like representation, executive and legislative power, unelected elites and the like.

It wasn’t until Starswirl teleported inside the room in his human form, switching to equine mode in a flourish, that they finally calmed down and seemingly came to an agreement.

“We have decided this form of government is viable.” A short-ish stallion in the front of the crowd concluded with a curt nod that was echoed by the rest of the crowd.

“Great I guess?” Rockhoof blinked, throwing Emeric and Miles a questioning look.

His two Lieutenants’ response was just a gesture that said to roll with it.

There were many matters he brought up to the colonists. From their agreement with Lord Cernunnos and the need for offerings to appease Broceliande, to the need to finish the palisade and establish an altar in the courtyard, to a myriad of other little problems and projects of one sort or another.

Not particularly interesting – to the point where Meadow spotted Martin snoozing in a corner of the room-, but it was a necessity that gave them a course to steer and raised morale by giving everyone the impression they had an active role in the colony. Most were a bit partial towards the prospect of giving offerings to an unknown God for the sake of their safety, but thankfully Starswirl managed to appease their concerns and stressed the fact that they would have to eventually turn the altar into a fully-fledged temple when they could spare the ressources next year.

As good a start as Rockhoof hoped he could get. Trecesson might actually turn into a nice village in the long run.

The only thing he didn’t tell them was Martin’s future as a representative of Cernunnos.





“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU radio. Hope you’re all having a blast of a day, I got some news for you.” Sandra eagerly recited in the radio, keeping an eye on her notes for the day’s broadcast.

“Today’s going to be more on the informative side of things with just me on the line, so sorry for you folks who were expecting a correspondent or another. At least I can tell you DJ Grizzly will be coming back this week for some survival tips, for those of you that are too far away from Montana to catch his FM radio.

I must say, the news I just got leaves me plenty of hope for society to recover. Colonies in Ireland are blooming under the new diplomacy. Looks like that Celtic Confederation gig is working for Eire because a few colonies have joined the fold after Carrickfergus and Belfast. I already knew a farmstead in Antrim had declared itself its own colony, but now it seems a group of those relief teams from Equus managed to gather survivors from the recently attacked colony in Derry, and some extras.

The result you ask? Well, now they have two more colonies. One set up in Glenveagh Castle in county Donegal. Pretty good idea by the way. With the amount of castles you can find all over Europe you might as well use them to stay safe from monsters, and they can be decently luxurious depending on which you pick.

The second colony isn’t a castle, though as far as I heard they have a fortification to fall back to. They’re in Baltimore, county Cork. It’s a fishing haven down south, and if anyone is passing by they said they were open to traders.

Here I am giving business tips...” Sandra chuckled. “But it’s as you can see: Ireland’s doing pretty good with their colonies even though one was attacked recently. Just remember people: have a plan for when monsters turn up, or worse. It’s important, and don’t you go saying you’re pacifists or some such. The monsters won’t care.” She warned.

There was a brief pause as she turned to the next page of her notes.

“Then I got another colony for you in Norway, if anyone feels like going really far north. What I mean is Narvik. You may have heard me speak about one of the locals a few times, that’s Gunnar. A reindeer with his own farm at the tip of a fjord.

Well, turns out the guy – or is it bull with male reindeer?- gathered himself a following that’s more than just a herd of regular reindeer. They’re the magic kind of reindeer. Not much of a difference I know, but he told me now they had a couple scattered farmsteads at a distance from Narvik and they gather once a week by the docks to trade and all.

Oh, and of course if Ireland got their Celtic pantheon going on, the Norse revived theirs as well. Don’t fuck with these guys, they’re in good favors with Thor as he claimed. Guess that’s why they don’t think it’s necessary to cluster together inside a castle.

Or they’re just northerners who would rather stay on their own. I dunno, maybe if you lived this far away from civilization even before it collapsed then you got a pretty large radius when it comes to personal space. Still counts as a colony, decentralized as it is.

And that’s about it for today folks. Rather brief I know, but tune in tomorrow if you want to hear of Miss Naomi and her lions. I may also have some info on more colonies, I’m still digging. DJ Jensen… Out.” She concluded, flipping a switch on her console and terminating the recording.

She did have a few more contacts than just Narvik and the Celtic Confederation. They just weren’t too fond of sharing their locations. Maybe because they lacked divine protection or something else, but she couldn’t exactly force them to tell her their location.

Pity.





Taking care of all the wounded on board of Georgia hadn’t been easy. Doctor Delacroix – or Camille as she insisted everyone call her- never thought of herself as particularly lazy and she’d found herself in some pretty stressful situations over the course of her career.

She had been to East Africa with NGO’s to provide assistance and had been forced to struggle with tight funds, poor supply management and even poorer security.

She had been faced with the sudden rush of dozens of wounded the one time a bus crashed near the emergency ward she’d been working in at the time and forced to cope with a rather gruesome triage.

And now? Camille was damn sure Georgia’s rescue ranked among those top catastrophes. It had soon turned out that the only true medical practitioners on board were her and the resident corpsman – a unicorn, thankfully-; and the patient list the two had to go through was just short of a hundred souls.

Plus there was the novelty of taking a dive into the Atlantic to reach the sub in the first place, as a pony-mermaid-thing no less.

Chief Ezra could keep a cool head though, so she and Georgia’s corpsman soon worked their way through the triage process and onto proper treatment and first aid. Most of the injuries suffered in the impact had been light and relatively simple to treat, leaving them with a core group of heavy injuries that still numbered at twenty. That was where the resource management entered the equation.

Now, she and Asha had spent the better part of their voyage monitoring the hydroponics on Rhine Forest and making the best of what plants they could grow to bolster their stores of health potions. As usual, the first-aid variant was easy to make, and she’d even used some of the supply to treat the light injuries the American submariners had suffered. Bruises, small gashes and concussions. No big deal. Though getting their stores back up would be high on the priority list.

As usual with the health potions, the problems came from the healthcare variant. The ‘miracle juice’ as Ezra had nicknamed it when she started using it in small injections on the heavily injured patients. The supply was small, very small. The Poison Joke they used to make the stuff wasn’t known for growing very fast and bottlenecked the whole process, forcing Camille to keep her use of the stuff to little injections in key areas that would guarantee patients would live to see another day and be transported to the surface where they could be operated on, either on Rhine Forest or Fugro Symphony in their medical bays. On the Georgia? It was either the sick bay – which was too small- or the wardroom – that was too poorly equipped-. And with the angle of the whole boat, she wouldn’t even try basic surgery.

There was the one exception though. The last time she went to the surface to pick up some gear and resupply on potions, Captain Lorelei had explicitly ordered her to use whatever was needed to fully heal Captain Green, Georgia’s CO.

Which was why she found herself waiting in front of Green’s quarters once she and Ezra were done patching up the rest of the crew.

“So...” She trailed off, looking towards Ezra who was sitting on his haunches on the opposite side of the narrow passageway. “… Captain Green, how is he?”

“Stern.” Was the corpsman’s immediate reply. “Not in a bad way either, got a reputation for keeping a cool head in the worst scenario. Only problem the crew got with him is he’s… spartan, to put it politely. Probably not as exuberant as some of the Captains you civvies get.”

Camille’s memory flashed to an Italian Captain she’d met in the past that had a habit of working in his office wearing only briefs and a shirt.

A dull Captain could be a good thing.

They chatted a bit about the state of the sub and the crew, the two of them exchanging their opinion on what treatment the more heavily injured patients would need to receive once they were on the surface and how this may affect the order in which they evacuated them.

It was only a couple minutes later that the Captain’s door opened with a click, revealing the XO’s bulky navy blue frame as he invited them in with a wave of his hoof.

Camille and Ezra silently shuffled inside, allowing Graham to close the door behind them for the sake of Captain Green’s privacy. The grizzled submariner-made-pegasus-colt was still bedridden with three splinted hooves, though now he appeared to be using his sole intact limb and wings well enough as makeshift hands. Pretty much like all pegasi, though him being forced to do it made him all the faster at learning the gimmick.

His surroundings had been adjusted to accommodate his injured state. Multiple reports and files surrounded him along with a laptop and a phone whose line had been extended from his desk to his bed so he could contact Fugro on the surface.

Still, judging by the scowl he bore on his muzzle, something displeased him. Whether that was his own transformation, the age change, the general state of Georgia or even the weather up on the surface, Camille wouldn’t bet.

“Captain.” Camille straightened up to greet him.

Behind her, she heard Ezra click his hooves sharply to salute his Commanding Officer.

“Ah...” Green acknowledged her by pushing aside the report he had been reading, forcing an awkward smile. “Miss… Delacroix is it? French I take it?”

“Yes sir, born on Reunion Island though. Oversea territories.”

“Exotic.” He simply said. “Courtesies aside now, I was told by Captain Skinner you had some medicine for me? The same health potions you’ve been using on the crew?”

“Yes.” The orange hippogriff nodded as she pulled out the golden vial from her satchel. “The difference being you don’t get a split dose. All the others got reduced doses to stabilize them, you get a full vial to heal you completely.”

To his credit, Green didn’t start asking questions like many of his subordinates. He didn’t need to. The concept of the health potion was simple enough, and he wouldn’t overlook the gift of escaping the weeks of recovery time fractures usually came with.

Camille could thank Green’s diminutive size for not needing as much potion to heal as an adult pony would have. As it stood, one vial of potion was all it took to fix up all his broken limbs when properly managed and injected directly in the fractures. That being said, the caveat with healthcare-variant potions hit him all the sooner as it sapped his strength and drew him into a fitful sleep.

“You know, if I wasn’t already used to Captain Lorelei I would be pretty weirded out by a foal behaving like an adult as he does.” Camille commented once she was done.

“It’s a brave new world. Green is far too competent to cast aside because of such a triviality.” Graham shrugged. “Thank you Doctor. I know it looks like I could manage in his stead, but Captain Green is the Captain for a reason.”

“Having a hard time?”

“Quite.” He admitted. “Green’s gifted, truly so. We’re the same age you know, but of us two he’s the one for whom it comes naturally, the attitude, the grasp on how the ship should be run. Hardly ever second guesses himself.”

“You look up to him.” Camille pointed out.

“Like I’d tell him to his face.” Graham chuckled. “But yes, I do. Aside from that, it’s one thing to know about it from our calls with the surface, it’s another to see it. You’ve been up there, how are things going with the diving bell?”

“Last I checked they were melting a rubber gasket and milling some bolts to fasten the segmented seal to the bell. Should be done tomorrow morning, Skinner’s keeping the workshop going around the clock.”

“Good… good...” Graham trailed off with a frown, as if mentally gauging something.

“Is this going to be a problem, sir?” Ezra interjected.

Georgia’s XO threw a look at the sleeping Green before motioning for them to follow him with a wave of his hoof. The draft stallion of a pony led them to his own quarters on the opposite side of the passageway, a much smaller compartment than Green’s, but roomy enough for the three of them. There, he moved over to his desk and prodded a set of graphs with his hoof.

“About an hour before you came by, Green and I had a chat with Eng. Georgia isn’t looking healthy.”

“Technical issues, sir?” Ezra inquired. “The reactor?”

“No, thankfully.” He reassured the corpsman. “Though no less concerning in the long run. There is leakage from the sonar sphere to the torpedo room, and there will come a point where no matter what we do, the water will get to the battery well. We’ve already removed a few sets of batteries and installed a pump to counter that, but given time Georgia will flood. It’s not gonna be today, not even next week, but it will happen. And I’d rather the sub be empty by the time we lose the critical compartments.”

“That’s uh… well at least we should start the evacuation tomorrow.” Camille blinked.

“It gets worse. Life support systems are failing. Eng is making sure it stays a bit hush hush, but the number one carbon dioxide scrubber gave up on us yesterday. Number two had broken down before the grounding. We were intending to have the shore command work on repairing it. Don’t have the parts on board. We’re going with Lithium Hydroxide canisters set up in the ventilation system to make up for that, but the hourly monitoring doesn’t look good.”

“Why tell us, then?”

“It’s about the injured. I know heavily injured patients can be more sensitive to changes in atmosphere. Most of the crew should only feel a mild headache, but you two come and warn me if it gets bad enough that it endangers your patients, okay? We’re going to put them at priority one on the evac plan.”

“Bien compris.” Camille nodded sharply.
> Chapter 75: Terra da Garoa
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sao Paulo.

Prior to the Event vanishing away most of its population, the city was by far the largest urban center in South America, edging out the nearest concurrent by a few millions that brought its entire population just over the twelve millions mark.

That, in turn, came with the obvious fact that the area it covered was pretty darn big. Miles upon miles of concrete skyscrapers extended as far as the eye could see, left decrepit without anyone to maintain them, broken shells with hollow windows that whistled whenever the wind would blow through the deserted streets. Though it did have its parks, now turned into lush jungles much like those surrounding the city that were slowly starting to gain an edge over the concrete jungle, Sao Paulo had never been known as a particularly green city.

That didn’t help with retaining what survivors reappeared in its territory.

While cities were neat to salvage from, food supplies could only last so long, and after that a city that large might as well be called a desert. Former citizens fled to the outer reaches of the city, all of them now turned into a population mostly made up of Abyssinians and Ornithians. It was just easier to cut down an area of the jungle that surrounded the city than it was to make farmland out of concrete. Which wasn’t helped by the extreme levels of pollution caused by failing factories and leaking storage tanks all over the urban landscape.

Of course there was also the whole problem of the wildlife and some monsters that had appeared all over the place. Then again, someone claimed a cave troll had taken residence inside the cathedral, so it wasn’t like the deep city was safe either.

Few survivors contested its grip on the area, which eventually led the entire population of about three hundred returnees to raise a few farmsteads in the periphery of Sao Paulo, with a hub to link them all together.

That hub was the town of Santos on the isle of Sao Vincente. Because the thing with Sao Paulo was, despite being a coastal city, it wasn’t actually connected to the sea, instead being sheltered from the South Atlantic by a row of jungle-covered hills.

Santos used to be the port that connected the megacity to the rest of the world through the relatively sheltered bay and the inlets that surrounded the island and provided multiple coves for ships to dock at. Now, it served as the trading hub for the relatively isolated farmsteads and communities that had sprouted around the region, allowing them to trade the food and basic goods they produced for salvaged goods and high tech gear obtained by the salvage teams that risked venturing into the deep city.

Neither were particularly safe enterprises.

Most of the activity in Santos centered around Serrat Mountain, a little hill that overlooked the city and provided a vantage point over the bay and the harbor. There, a team consisting of a couple policemen led by a former GATE operative (the local BOPE offshoot, a special operations team) had converted a sanctuary into a clinic for the local population, while taking over that radio station that shared the summit with it to manage affairs and host markets.

They did their best to keep things bearable for the population and ensure their safety. It wasn’t easy, they may have had a radio relay that allowed them to stay in touch with all the farms and the salvage teams in the deep city, but that didn’t make protecting a vast area with a very limited team any easier.

Captain Cordeira may be from GATE, but he was just the one spec ops operative leading what amounted to traffic controllers with guns. Which was how the middle-aged black Abyssinian found himself exchanging a few words with a bedridden, recently wounded colleague. All thanks to that cave troll near the cathedral.

He would make it, but wounded personnel didn’t make his already stretched team’s workload any easier.

And it wasn’t going to get better.

A few days prior, during market hours, a pair of Argentinians – a cat with a bad leg called Espinoza and a centauress by the name of Adriana – had made an appearance among the crowd and caused quite a stir. They didn’t speak Portuguese (and neither did Cordeira speak Spanish), but according to a colleague they had started claiming a great devil was at large in the far south and had killed Espinoza’s shipmates.

Because apparently he was a fisherman.

And a fisherman that had been sooo spooked by whatever he witnessed that he decided to leg – with a broken leg no less- it all the way from Tierra del Fuego to friggin’ Brazil to warn all the survivors he crossed path with.

Of course nobody believed them. Who would?

Cordeira had the troublemakers carted off to the sanctuary where they kindly gave Espinoza some treatment for his bad leg and a polite but firm advice that maybe he should check out further north if people cared about his so-called great devil.

The other cat had protested at first, and the GATE operative had almost been tempted to knock some sense in the fisherman before the centauress he was traveling with (or on rather) got him to leave them alone.

They gave them a map, a Portuguese-to-Spanish dictionary and some medicine; and then the duo was off, out of their sight and out of their mind.

But now the guys at the radio relay reported they were short a trawler. One of the fishing boats they had on hand hadn’t come back from its nightly trip, and it had so far failed to report back on any frequency.

They attempted to hail it on all frequencies they knew of (which wasn’t much, none of them were trained radio operators), but were only met with static. A couple hours later, a storm rolled in and killed any hope of finding their fishermen again.

Outside the windows of the radio relay, the trees shook and bent under the wind, some loose leaves flying off through the air and whipping against outside walls as a market stall collapsed in a mess of corrugated steel.

The sky rumbled above them, flashing once with a bolt of lightning that impacted their radio tower in a shower of spark that immediately shorted out their whole electric installation, grounding or not. Some cries of surprise echoed around the relay, both from the policemen and from the few salvage teams that had taken refuge there for the night.

Cordeira didn’t pay them attention. He had spotted something out in the bay for a brief second when lightning pierced the darkness. He reached for a pair of binoculars they kept hanging from the rafters. Maybe that was their lost trawler…

“Esse não é o nosso barco...” The dark-furred Abyssinian mumbled in realization.

Indeed, that wasn’t a trawler at all. What he was seeing slowly steaming in their bay looked like a warship, and an old one at that, except…

The rust, the sealife, the purplish goop clustered around her midsection… there was something inherently wrong with the damn ship, something that brought on a feeling of deep-seated dread in his gut.

Along with the flaming pony-thing that was looking right at him from the wheelhouse. GATE operative or not, he felt his heart skip a beat when he crossed gaze with the searing embers of the other creature. Even across the distance that separated them and the limits of the binoculars, he swore he saw it smirk and pointed a hoof at…

Four dead bodies laid down in a line on the deck, currently half-swallowed by tendrils of purplish goop.

So that’s where the trawler’s crew was then…

Cordeira gulped.

The flaming pony-thing waved a hoof and the warship’s guns swiveled in his direction, guided by an assortment of the goopish creatures and monsters that made up her crew.

“Todos desçam!” He yelled out as the guns fired.

SMS Karlsruhe may have yet to meet with Charybdis by Cape Horn, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t out for blood.





If there was one thing Dilip knew when he stood up on the day that followed his little speech it was that he couldn’t fault his subordinates for not wanting to put their lives on the line for the sake of complete strangers. As he had expected, the group of sailors he had to work with to deal with the convicts holed up inside the Westin on the other side of town was rather limited.

The veterans were there to help, all four of them.

Which included a rather exhausted Bart. The Belgian Corporal had been on guard duty at the truck stop the night prior when the place came under attack by bandits. Naturally, the small dozen of convicts were quite dismayed when they were greeted at the gates by one of their Piranha APC’s and its .50 cal.

One trashed Cadillac Escalade later and they were on the run -without casualties, just a fright-, though the guards remained on high alert for the rest of the night, which explained why the unicorn that served as their de-facto armorer was nursing an entire jug of coffee between his hooves.

To go with the veterans, he had the recce team under Aleksei’s command, which included Thanasis and Radiant in addition to Scarface. Along with those two teams, he had some more volunteers in the form of Roberto, who had been convinced to join in by Scarface. Along with the Abyssinian came their sole minotaur, Angelo, the Second Engineer, and Nala (technically called Farkas, but everybody called the sphinx lioness by her nickname as of late).

Without counting himself, that left the Captain with a group of ten souls to deal with the bandits. Out of a crew of more than double that number.

“… which is why this isn’t going to be easy.” He explained after getting past the obligatory greetings as he stood in front of the small group gathered inside the ship’s office. “Particularly with the… hostages.”

Mentioning that, he laid down various sketches he had printed of the place earlier in the morning. Satellite pics of the area, a drawing of the place with highlights showing where the leaders and hostages resided, as well as a list of the armaments they had available.

“Corporal, what did your team face when they attacked the truck stop earlier?” The Captain asked the tired unicorn sitting at one end of the table.

“They’re not good.” He stated. “Poorly organized, mostly thugs, but they have decent guns. Not military level, semi-auto, but at a glance their AR’s are a respectable threat. But they’re bad shots. And their armor sucks.”

“So no sniper we should fear?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He shook his head firmly. “Because there weren’t any good shots with the raiders doesn’t mean they don’t have any at all.”

“But overall they’re just thugs? Correct?” The D-Dog inquired.

“That I can agree with.” Bart nodded after taking a sip of his coffee.

“So how do we go about rescuing the hostages?” Angelo asked, the grey minotaur sitting near Dilip with his bulky arms crossed over the table, pointedly looking towards Artyom.

Their blue dragon of a bosun had yet to speak up ever since they had begun their ‘tactical briefing’. He knew even the Officers implicitly relied on his experience, and maybe a bit on Bart’s. The room turned silent as they all slowly turned their heads towards him as he practically glared a hole into the sketches laid out on the table through his red eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts, bosun?” Dilip asked.

“It’s not being outnumbered that worries me.” Artyom said after working his jaw a few times. “’tis their prisoners. If you told me it was just getting rid of the thugs I’d say...” He shrugged. “… easy job. Just turn up to their hotel with the CV90 and blast ‘em with the Bofors until it’s nothing but rubble, but now we can’t use the big guns. Getting rid of them is one thing, but priority should go to rescuing their prisoners, everyone on that same train of thought I hope?” He told, tapping a claw on the floor Sri said the prisoners were kept at night.

“Of course we agree.” Angelo deadpanned with a very bovine snort.

“Good, just making sure.” The dragon clicked his tongue. “Look, I’ll be frank, hostage situations are the stuff of special forces.”

“Weren’t you…?” Aleksei trailed off.

“Nah, don’t mistake VDV for Spetsnaz, not all paratroopers count as special forces. I did do urban warfare and CQB. Hell, did it in Grozny in ‘94. Hostage rescue though? Never got trained for the stuff.”

“But you do have a plan.” Aleksei remarked.

Artyom nodded and slowly stood up from his seat.

“Look, any of you disagree with what I suggest, you speak up ‘cause I’m no expert. What I can tell is that as far as we know, the prisoners are under surveillance most of the time. Ain’t I right, Sri?”

“They got guards watching them by day when at the convention center...”

“But at night?”

“I spotted maybe… one or two bandits patrolling the floor they’re using to keep them. It’s all in the observation report. What are you getting at?”

“I’ll go and assume if we are to intervene, then we can’t let them use their prisoners as hostages. Swiftness and brutality of the action are key, we can’t let them get enough time to even think and figure out what’s going on.” Artyom stated, confidently adjusting the VDV beret on his head.

“Details?”

The blue dragon rolled his shoulders and let out a puff of smoke from his nostrils.

“One: we gotta insert a team on the prisoner’s floor and eliminate the guards. That prevents them from using them as a shield. That means we’re going to attack at night, which adds to the element of surprise.”

“How do you suggest we go about that? They’re a couple floors up last I heard.” Angelo said.

To that, Scarface and Artyom replied by spreading out their wings.

“Oh… my bad.” The Greek apologized.

“I’m going to lead that part of the assault.” Artyom announced. “From what I’ve tested, dragons like me are resistant to pistol-size rounds, more if I wear body armo-”

“Hold it!” Aleksei raised her talons, the hippogriff cleric suddenly looking quite a bit more concerned. “How did you even test that?”

The entire veteran group suddenly started looking uncharacteristically sheepish, along with Dilip, strangely enough. A detail the newly-made cleric didn’t fail to notice.

“So what do you think of live-fire testing?” Artyom smiled.

“Sir?” Angelo and Aleksei asked in unison as they turned towards their Captain.

“He survived a magic blast from a siren at point blank.” The Indian explained. “How risky could it be?”

His subordinate Engineers just gaped in disbelief.

“It’s not as dumb as it sounds.” Artyom told them.

“How is volunteering to be shot at even remotely considered as -not- dumb?!” Aleksei rounded up on the dragon.

“We got healing potions, the fact I survived a magic blast, and all the Equestrian books we received in Copenhagen point to dragons being, I quote: ‘So resilient to damage thanks to their scales that piercing and blast damage are a futile endeavor’. Tactical Primer, Canterlot Royal Guard. Ain’t I right?” He asked Radiant.

“Well...” The Equestrian pegasus hesitated. “It’s true I guess? Dragons can take a beating. It’s blunt damage you need to bring one down… but I’m pretty sure resistant doesn’t mean invulnerable. It’s just wasteful to use piercing… Get a good mage and they might come up with a spell that’s potent enough.”

“Alright alright, we get it.” Aleksei squawked. “But why didn’t you just, I dunno...” She plucked one of her own feathers. “Remove the scale before shooting it?!”

	The room suddenly became very silent for an awkward dozen seconds.

“What was the result anyway? Did you get shot with a rifle?”

“We stopped at the 5.7mm. The armor-piercing rounds caused my scales to shatter on impact, and it’s got like a third of the energy of a 5.56 round. Any other pistol round though? Safe as far as I tested. Can we get back to the rescue?”

Aleksei nodded curtly.

“Okay, so...” Artyom sighed. “As I said, I want to lead the rescue team on the upper floors. I can take a few hits given I put enough kevlar in my flak jacket.” He made a whooshing motion with his arm. “Fly in, smash through the windows, get between the bandits and the prisoners. It’s going to be very close quarters in there, so I want the rest of the vets along for the ride. We can carry Bart in.”

“And how do you get the prisoners out?”

“With the CV90 and the Piranhas. It's going to be a pain in the ass with the communication to coordinate this, but that’s the second prong in the assault. The vehicles need to sit tight and wait until we’re in to avoid alerting the convicts, and then rush in as soon as we radio for backup. We’re going to need the fire support.”

“Don’t we risk harming the hostages?” Roberto spoke up, the Abyssinian having remained silent up until then. “I mean… the Bofors, the .50 cals, they’re big guns.”

“Not if you all study the plans.” Scarface said.

“Do explain then.”

Artyom leaned a bit further over the table and pulled a set of pictures of the building from the pile of documents, along with a picture of the CV90.

“We have an advantage with the ammo we got for the Bofors. Remember the programmable frag rounds? The 3P shells? They have an urban warfare mode. You use that setting, you can set a round to airburst inside a specific room, like a frag grenade but better. I’m not asking you to blast the facade willy-nilly, I’m asking that if we say: frag round, third floor, seventh room from the south side, you can clear the room for us with a single frag round, got it?”

“So you’re going to memorize the floor plan?”

“And we’re going to avoid taking cover in any of the rooms on the front facade so we don’t get blue-on-blue incidents.” Artyom stated. “That, and don’t shoot the prisoners’ floor, but that should be obvious.”

“What about the Piranhas?”

“You got thermals on the optics.” Bart pointed out. “Any fool pokes his head through a window to open fire, you fire back with the .50 cal. Call your targets though, and don’t leave the vehicles. They’re immune to small arms fire, and I really doubt these guys got their hands on RPG’s.”

“So you do the heavy lifting and get the hostages out, we load ‘em up in the vehicles and we’re off?” Roberto checked. “Sounds viable as long as you keep the upper hand in close quarters inside.”

“Don’t worry, we will.” Scarface smiled confidently, the gargoyle igniting his forearms with his magic. “I’ve added enough spells to my arsenal to have us not worry too much about it.”

“Vets on the assault team, the rest with the vehicles. Good, but that leaves the one thing.” Dilip concluded.

“Which is, sir?” Angelo queried.

“The leaders’ quarters. The penthouses.”

“Cutting the head off?” The minotaur quirked his head absently, eliciting a squawk from Aleksei next to him as his large horn bumped the hippogriff cleric in the shoulder from the sudden motion. “Sorry.” He quickly apologized.

“I meant the… the ‘concubines’ they keep in their penthouses.” The Indian made air-quotes at the word. “They’re prisoners too as far as we’re aware.”

Artyom calmly looked over the pictures they had of the convicts’ leaders. Boss and Councilor. There was a lull in the conversation as the assembled group could practically see the gears turn in the dragon’s head, but after a minute he just slumped his shoulders and shook his head resignedly.

“I’m sorry Captain. With just the ten of us I cannot think of a way we can make a tangent by either of the two penthouses. There’s three to four floors between them and the rest of the prisoners, and I must remind you that swiftness is the key to pulling off this rescue. That would take too long.”

“So you’re suggesting...” Aleksei started.

“I’m not suggesting we give up on them!” The Russian glared at the Third Engineer. “I’m only saying that given we’re already doing this with our manpower stretched thin, we can either safely rescue most of the hostages on the detention floor and get them out before the convicts realize what’s happening; or we can risk wasting time and failing because we overstayed our welcome and they had the time to mount defenses.” He said before turning his gaze towards the Captain. “Your call, sir.”

“Very well then. We won’t risk many for the sake of a few. I’m afraid the concubines will have to wait for another rescue op.” Dilip shook his head ruefully. “You people start preparing the gear and memorizing all the intel we have on the place. I want the assault to start at three in the morning, you got the whole day. Dismissed.”





Silently, Captain Skinner watched his subordinates finish fitting the new segmented seal to the bottom of their diving bell. Its yellow paint job heavily clashed with the otherwise pristine white of the original bell, but aesthetics were not what mattered right then.

Evacuating Georgia did. Beside him, McClelland launched into a brief explanation of how they had fashioned some extra rubber seals and clamps to buff up the system’s watertightness and how they only needed to do an air test before they finally could lower the bell.

“And what if the test fails?” The hedgefog interrupted the mare that his Chief Engineer had turned into. “It’s been what… twelve hours since the chopper dropped off the seal? Time is of the essence.”

“We uh...” The Rarity-lookalike unicorn halted. “Look if that sucker ain’t airtight I’m gonna eat my friggin’ bandana ‘cause I inspected those welds and joints myself.”

“Not doubting your skills, just sayin’.” Skinner quirked an eyebrow. “We’re dipping it 600 feet down after all.”

“It will hold.” McClelland insisted confidently. “I don’t make a habit of working my department around the clock, but you can be sure that when I do it like now whatever we’re doing is gonna work.”

Her assertion soon proved correct when the test came back positive, much to the relief of the whole engineering department who was all too glad to pass the relay over to the deck guys and head to their cabins for some well-deserved rest.

That didn’t mean Skinner could do the same however. The Captain moved off the deck just as a griffon flew over to the crane controls to lower the diving bell in the moonpool and begin the process of connecting the umbilical tethers that would supply it with air and power.

In a motion that was starting to become a routine as of late, he made his way to the office where they kept the phone line that linked them with USS Georgia and brought the handset to his ear. A few words were exchanged, but enough to bring audible relief in the voice of whoever it was on the submarine end of the line at the news that they were making another attempt at connecting the diving bell.

The submariner on the other end – which he was pretty sure was Lieutenant Gardner- told him they would begin to get their evacuation in order before hanging up after a minute saying he had to warn the engineering crews and the medics.

With good reason, mind. For one, talks with Doctor Delacroix and Chief Ezra – respectively Rhine’s Doctor and Georgia’s corpsman- had quickly led to the conclusion that priority would be given to the most heavily injured submariners in the evac order so that they could be transferred to Rhine and Fugro’s onboard medical facilities in short order.

For second, and that was something Skinner heard from Georgia’s Chief Engineer herself, the reactor needed to undergo shutdown procedures so that it couldn’t pose a threat to the environment left alone. Shutdown procedures that would involve flooding the core, thus rendering it unable to produce any form of power.

Ignacio had thus clearly stated she would prepare for it, but would only begin the procedure if the diving bell was able to dock successfully.

Something they were soon going to find out as Skinner spotted the bell being lowered in the water through the office’s windows after they were done with the pre-dive checkups. That was the moment of truth, when they finally saw whether or not the whole deal with the prototype in Kings Bay and the segmented seal actually mattered.

Below Fugro Symphony, teams of seapony divers and the vessel’s own pair of ROV’s carefully monitored the bell as it made its second descent into the depths of the Atlantic and slowly approached the submarine’s diver escape trunk under the controls of its operator from the surface. Much like on their first attempt, the dive was slow-going as they had to steer the bell away from the many tethers and umbilicals that had accumulated overtime as the seapony divers set up gear around the grounded sub.

A crowd had gathered inside of Fugro’s control room to watch the proceedings through the ROV’s cameras as Floyd slowly maneuvered the bell into position over the target hatch. The kestrel griffon turned around in his seat once the bell was stable, barely a meter over the hatch, addressing Captain Skinner an expectant look.

“Proceed.” The hedgefog calmly stated from his own seat.

With a nod, the griffon took hold of the joysticks in his talons and squinted at the screen in front of him.

“Beginning docking attempt number...” He sighed. “… two. This time with a segmented seal to account for heeling angle.”

Through the ROV’s cameras, they saw the bell’s little propellers slowly give little bursts of thrust to maneuver it into position. Carefully, Floyd made sure the connection didn’t bump the sub too hard and let the segmented seal adjust itself to the submarine’s resting angle while keeping the whole system pressed against the hull.

“She’s not trying to wrench herself away from the hull… so there’s that. Permission to pressurize the seal?” He queried.

“Approved.”

“Alright...” He flipped a switch. “Air valve open, I’m sending air down the umbilical to vent the seal.”

Like last time,  compressors on Fugro started working overtime to send air down the connection, their whine heard throughout the ship as they struggled to overcome the water pressure found at 600 feet below the surf.

Unlike last time though, it didn’t last. In under a minute, the system managed to empty the seal of all seawater through overpressure before Floyd stopped the compressors. Air pressure in the seal dropped abruptly, but unlike last time where water just rushed back in because of a leak, this time the seal acted as it should like a suction cup that held the whole bell in place against the sub.

Floyd had a shit-eating grin on his beak when he released the controls.

“Solid seal Captain, pressure in the connection viable for transfer. We’re good for evacuation.”

Cheers rang out through the whole control room.





In France, an odd sight now broke up the horizon over Trecesson. It was a radio mast that sprouted out of the castle’s roof, higher even than Starswirl’s tower and kept in place by a couple cables that prevented gusts of wind from tipping over the whole thing.

This was another of Emeric’s pet projects, installing a radio post that ran off their recently installed generator and provided them with a station the Frenchman had installed between the rafters in the cellar after he had salvaged enough components from the nearby military academy after a couple trips back and forth to carry the whole thing and all the electronics needed to run it.

Yeah, because with the ever-growing Broceliande in the mix, roads had become so overgrown that using any of the rapidly deteriorating military trucks left on base was a foregone conclusion. The forest had grown so fast that using anything wider than an ATV was now practically impossible, and even those had difficulties getting through the game trails that had now become the most common way of traversing the terrain.

Frankly if Trecesson castle didn’t have wards fending off the vegetation, it would have been turned into a ruin weeks ago. You could certainly still find ruined buildings around, plenty of them, but most were now covered in foliage and saplings that grew so fast that they had easily grown through even the asphalt of the roads that ran throughout the region.

Magic-boosted shrubbery aside, the whole little village that had slowly grown in and around the castle wasn’t wasting their time doing nothing. While the more technically inclined of their two LT’s was busy with getting them in contact with the rest of the world in the castle’s attic, Miles had taken it upon herself to train some more guards to back them up.

Of all the residents in the colony, only her and Emeric had military training and knew how to use firearms, adding to Rockhoof’s admittedly significant fighting prowess.

Seriously, the Earth Pony didn’t mess around with any of the critters that came close to his land. It was only because the Forest Guardian that one time had magic that he couldn’t defeat, because they had seen him wrestle a giant hunchback boar to the ground and buck it straight over the forest’s canopy.

The stallion was the castle’s Lord for a reason.

So while Rockhoof was busy erecting a palisade and fences around Trecesson with his own team, the colony’s sole American had taken it upon herself to select a small group of colonists to become guards.

Problem was that the armory bunker at the military academy was resilient enough to withstand the overgrowth, and given that Emeric and Miles had only been students there, neither knew how to crack it open. That restricted her to giving the guards some makeshift weapons and armor, plus the odd hunting weapon that they could scrounge up if they were lucky whenever they sent out salvage teams.

Blame France for having strict firearm laws for that. Though with locals reputed for being revolt-prone, maybe there was a reason behind not giving them free access to guns…

Not that Miles would ever say that to their faces.

On the other hoof, Broceliande’s status as a hub for medieval and fantasy aficionados made it rather easy to acquire replica armor, so they did manage to scrounge up some chainmail and gambesons to equip the guards to go with what hunting rifles and lever-actions they could find. The end result was… questionable, but good enough for what they needed once Miles got past basic firearm safety and militia levels of tactics.

That and having a castle sprouting a tall radio antenna while the guards were hunting-rifle-toting, chainmail-wearing deer and ponies made for the weirdest sight she’d ever thought she could witness.

It did have its own odd charm of magic and technology cohabitating though. Particularly with the whole Celtic pantheon, Golden Tree gig they had going, with the Arthurian mythos mixed in.

Speaking of that specific deal, Miles had also taken note of the temporary altar Merlin had erected with Martin’s help to appease Cernunnos. The ghost wizard had now taken it upon himself to teach his new apprentice everything from the Celtic practices; druidic rites, wizardry, the whole nine yards.

Miles doubted the fawn fully understood what he was being taught, and even Rockhoof had been rather… skeptic (to put it mildly) about his upcoming fate, but strong as he was, there was little the Earth Pony stallion could do to keep sheltering him.

At least he and Meadowbrook managed to force a balance for Martin and achieve a modicum of normalcy for their adopted child that struck a balance between Merlin/Starswirl’s magic lessons, a bit of potion-making with Meadow, enough free time, and, most surprising of all: actual schooling.

Somewhat at least.

Their last batch of returnees had come with a woman-turned-stallion that had volunteered to become a school teacher for the small number of kids the colony contained. It was haphazard, not all of the kids fell into the same age group and lessons were irregularly given in the castle’s main hall, but for as young a colony as Trecesson was, most of the inhabitants were happy with the milestone it represented.

Though there was that one time they had some doubt on whether or not a returnee colt was an adult as he pretended to be or if he was just a masquerading kid attempting to wriggle his way out of school. That had been… the week’s novelty shouting match that brought yet another problem caused by the transformation effect to light.

As if there weren’t enough of them to begin with… Miles let out an annoyed nicker at the thought. For such a little village-castle, Trecesson was soon turning out to be a rather complicated affair. She made her way up the stairs to the top of the ramparts that overlooked the castle’s moat and the rest of the village.

Out of habit, she nudged a loose bit of masonry with her hoof, revealing a pack of cigarettes she kept stashed there for when she was feeling stressed.

And after spending a whole afternoon training their upcoming guards, the stress was running high. With a flick of her primaries, she struck a match and stuck the first cigarette in her mouth, taking a long drag out of it as she looked over in the distance, hooves propped up on the crenellation. A row of stripped logs and the sound of sawing and hammering indicated where Rockhoof was currently working on their palisade, while a thin plume of smoke a bit further away signaled Sandrine was running another batch of charcoal in the kiln, in a clearing far enough from the habitations that the smell didn’t get to them.

“So how’d that training go with the recruits?” She heard her fellow LT speak up at about the same time she caught the sound of his hooves off to her side.

“Gonna take a while...” She took a drag of her cigarette. “You know I can speak French alright?”

“I started the conversation.” Emeric said, the bronze-furred unicorn propping himself up right next to her. “Feels like the polite thing to have it in your native tongue init?”

“Your call...” She shrugged with her wings. “The recruits… I keep tellin’ myself the weapon training is only the easy part. It’s the mindset I need to insert in them.”

“How so?”

“Look, I know it’s not the first thing you’d think about, but part of why basic is so important is because it rebuilds individuals from the ground up to think the military way and act as a unit. That is probably just as important as combat and guns.”

“So what, you want them to do drill and stuff?”

“Maybe not drill but...” She looked off in the distance. “Rucking would be a start I think?”

“Bit dangerous with the critters.” Emeric pointed out.

“Yeah you’re right...” She deflated. “So what, want me to stick ‘em all in the same quarters and field day the shit out of the place for a whole month?”

“Don’t forget policing the courtyard.” Her colleague chuckled lightly.

“Nah...” Miles shook her head, making her shaggy white mane rustle at the motion. She just didn’t feel like cutting it down to military regs like Emeric. Maybe that was due to her transformation into a mare. “I don’t think the attitude stuff would work. It might if all settlers did it, but here? Regular folks a stone throw away would just undermine the whole thing.”

“Well...” Emeric started. “You know, it’s your pet project, but if you need any help don’t hesitate. God knows I could get away from the tech stuff I dug myself into.”

“Why? It’s that hard?”

“I’m not a techie, Miles. Here I just spent the whole afternoon reading manuals trying to wire up the radio without shorting out the whole colony while trying to keep the antennas from interfering with each other.” He shook his head ruefully. “I wasn’t even trying to go Signals prior to the Event, yet here I am.”

“You going to manage?”

“Eventually.” He huffed. “Mind if I swipe a cig?”

She held up her packet between two primaries.

“Matches are in the stash on your left.” She added.

There was a little minute of silence as the unicorn of the duo lit up a cigarette of his own and let the nicotine flow after a puff or two.

“You know, I actually kinda like the place.” Miles said to break up the building awkwardness.

“You don’t miss the US?”

“Of course I do.” The pegasus snorted. “I miss the wide spaces, I miss being able to use English regularly, I miss the family...” She leaned her head on the crenellation. “But I’m smart enough to realize that it’s both nearly impossible to get back given the circumstances, and that I might not even like what I see if I ever make it back.”

“Preppers saying they were right all along?”

“God I can almost feel the smugness radiating from this side of the Atlantic!” She laughed out loud. “Really though… Do you feel you could stand to see your family home as an overgrown ruin like what we’re seeing around here? An empty ruin? You know you could probably make it home, unlike me.”

“Me making my way home when you’re stuck on the other end of the world doesn’t really feel fair.”

“Life ain’t fair.” Miles snarked.

“Point… but maybe you’re right about the empty destroyed home.” Emeric sighed. “Plus you’re right, this place isn’t so bad. I’d even say it’s worth protecting. Feels like I’m standing next to some big thing that’s about to happen, ya know?”

“I get the feeling.” She replied, throwing a look over her shoulder towards Merlin’s tower. “Something’s a-brewing, and… it’s going to be big.”

“You mean the Golden Tree.”

“That or the Celtic Gods.” She asserted. “I’ve caught how adamant Rock and Merlin are about it, those Elements… they really do believe they’re so powerful. And they’ve convinced those fay ladies too, so it ain’t a lie.”

“Some kind of magic nuke?”

“I wouldn’t say a nuke...” She made a dismissive motion with a wing. “But definitely a game changer that’s on the same level.”

“We should probably keep an ear out for that then.”

“No shit.” Miles snorted again.

There was another lull in the conversation, long enough for the two of them to finish their cigarettes and toss the butts in an ashtray Miles kept by her stash.

“Say I was wondering...” Emeric started.

“The mare thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t dwell on it.”

“Really?”

“No. Too hard to ignore.”

“So it’s that different?”

Miles let her gaze droop down into the moat, watching the resident family of mallards that lived between the reeds on the outer edge go about its duckly business.

“I guess it was kind of odd to find out I’m heterosexual?”

“You mean?”

“Into stallions, yes.” She nodded softly.

Another pause.

“Didn’t Merlin say he might be able to turn you male?”

“Yeah. Might. Said it might depend how far human magic changed.” She explained. “With all our resident ghost’s projects and now Martin’s lessons, the altar that needs tending, and the Gods? Gonna take a while.”

“Well there’s hope at least.” Emeric said. “If anything, you don’t look half bad as a mare. Kinda cute.”

“Cute?” She quirked an eyebrow at the bronze stallion.

Wiry of stature as the unicorn was (which wasn’t much of a surprise given his species), he still was quite a bit taller than her.

“You ever seen yourself?” He chuckled. “You puff up your fur whenever you’re flustered. Fluffy chest...”

Distractedly, she caught herself smoothing down her chest fur with a hoof.

“Oh really? Least I don’t look like a piece of caramel. Bronze fur, blonde mane, you look like fuckin’ candy pal.”

“The kind o’candy you could make a snack out of?” He flirted with a grin.

“That a proposal?”

“That whatever you wish it be, sunshine.”

“Corny.” She nickered. “But you know what? I’m feeling curious.”

“Do ya, now?”

“Don’t push your luck. My room, after dinner. You better be good, stud.”

“Yes ma’am!” The other lieutenant laughed out. “Now, ain’t that I dislike the company, but I got my radio wiring to go back to. See ya for dinner.” He said, trotting off the rampart and leaving her once more on her own.

He didn’t see her sneak a glance at his rump. Eh, if Merlin was going to fix her situation eventually, trying out stuff on the feminine side of the equation couldn’t possibly cause any trouble, right?
> Chapter 76: The Assault
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fact evacuation was now in order on Georgia didn’t actually make the process fast by any stretch of imagination. Where a proper rescue submarine would have had some twenty seats on board to get the submariners out in as few cycles as possible, Fugro’s recently jury-rigged bell didn’t have that.

Its capacity hovered closer to the six mark, enough to fit a small team of divers and serve as a habitat for prolonged dives, not enough to quickly empty Georgia of her crew. Evacuation wouldn’t be quick. On the bright side however, the diving bell’s ability to control its own atmosphere meant they didn’t need to transfer anyone to a decompression chamber up on the surface, so that was a part of the cycle they could skip on and save time.

That still left the process a dozen hours longer than it would have been with an actual rescue submarine, but none of Georgia’s crew were feeling picky as to what was used to get them up to the surface so long that they could feel the touch of the sun again.

As previously planned, the heavily-wounded were the first to be transferred to the surface in the first few cycles they ran with the bell. Every single one of them were immediately transferred to both Rhine’s and Fugro’s sick bays where they began being tended to now that the facilities allowed for proper care. Doctor Delacroix followed them on the last trip, her presence now needed in her own ward on the surface.

On the same trip that brought the French hippogriff to the surface came Graham. Georgia’s XO had been handed the task of supervising actions on the surface while his superior handled shutdown procedures and security measures below the waves.

Most of his work involved keeping track of which sailors went where, as Fugro herself wasn’t large enough to house USS Georgia’s full complement along with her own crew. Impressive as the dive support vessel’s accommodation capabilities may be for a vessel of her class and size, navy vessels ran with crew complements that dwarfed their merchant counterparts at every turn, with maybe the sole exception of the passenger/ferry branch of the industry.

But the monitoring of crew resources on the surface and the talks with the merchant sailors that were rescuing them was but a fickle thing in comparison to what Captain Green was doing still inside the sub. For one, Georgia’s rainbow-maned pegasus of a Captain fully intended to stay true to the tradition of being last to abandon his vessel.

That wasn’t exclusively to abide by tradition though. Not only did they need to make sure Georgia’s nuclear reactor wouldn’t cause troubles to the environment once the boat was empty,, but Green also had to set contingencies so that classified documents and technologies wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands once they left.

That meant ordering a couple of his Officers to begin destroying the guidance systems on their armament of Tomahawk missiles, disarm the torpedoes, shred classified documents and upload all their classified intel on some hard drives before flooding the server room. They may have to abandon ship, but Green would make damn certain nobody could ever accuse him of leaving naval secrets and tech up for grabs.

He didn’t know whether the caution was warranted or not, but now wasn’t the time to take risks and gamble. Along with the hard drives they were taking came every bit of encryption hardware that was not bolted down and small enough to fit in the diving bell, plus some extras they felt they might need in the long run. Miscellaneous bits of intel, technical documentation, underwater charts… anything that might hold some use, he ordered to be brought along.

And… there was one other thing the young pegasus wished to see done.

Once he was done with the classified stuff and the intel, he left the sealed crates containing them with the Coxswain and made his way to the engineering sections, down in the aft compartments.

Which in itself posed a bit of a problem. Ponies already had a hard time opening and closing hatches on the heeled submarine, being half the size of an adult and a third as strong didn’t help. At all. Time and again he had to get a nearby sailor to open a hatch for him, lacking the strength to do it himself.

Trotting about on freshly-healed hooves didn’t help either. He may have used his time to become more dexterous in using his wings as makeshift hands, but not so much when it came to quadruped mobility. And forget about learning how to fly 600 feet below the surf.

Nevertheless, Green eventually managed to reach Ignacio’s denin maneuvering,where he found the D-Dog bitch in the process of preparing Georgia’s reactor core for shutdown, followed by emergency cooling. Going by what he overheard when he entered the room, the whole engineering gang was also keeping tabs on all the systems that had been damaged in the collision, from the minor flooding coming in through the sonar room, to the status of the battery well, to the myriad of difficulties life-support was giving them ever since the CO2 scrubber unit had given out on them.

“Everything alright over here Eng?” Green decided to make his presence known.

Ignacio startled, immediately barking a quick order to her subordinates who all stood up at the closest approximation they could make of an ‘atten-shun’ before Green waved them off.

“At ease, we’re all too busy to bother with that right now.” The rainbow-maned colt told them before motioning for his Chief Engineer to come over with a wave of his hoof.

She had to twist a bit to squeeze her large voluptuous frame between the many control stations that lined the sides of maneuvering, but nothing she hadn’t already gotten used to in the last couple days since their reappearance.

“Something the matter, sir?” She asked.

“Checking on the situation on your side. How goes it all?”

A grimace appeared on her muzzle at the question.

“Well...” She started. “Sir, it’s a good thing we’re getting the evacuation started now. Finding a proper compartment to pump that water is… difficult, to put it mildly. Diesel room was our go-to up ‘til now but it’s almost full, so... Reports have it that the inflow has more than doubled in the last couple hours. There is only so long we can last before we don’t even have the ability to control that flow.”

“And right now?”

“I heard they were done disarming the tomahawks, at least in the foremost tubes. That’s where I’m putting that water next.”

“Good, good.” The Captain nodded slowly. “Reactor?”

“Ready for the shutdown. Current battery load has dropped considerably when we lost part of the banks to the sudden increase in the water flow, so we just have over six hours of battery left. More than enough, thankfully, unless something bad interrupts the evacuation. Except for that...” She paused, drumming her fingers against her thigh pensively. “… life support still ain’t good, but you know that already.”

“That bad?”

“I’m afraid it is Captain.” Ignacio nodded. “We got time… provided the ventilation unit doesn’t give out on us, and it’s having a hard time coping. If it does, we may face a situation where pockets of unbreathable air start to build up throughout the sub.”

“I’m assuming you have someone keeping an eye on the unit to account for that?”

“Correct. ‘round the clock monitoring.”

“Excellent. Now… there is one last thing I want to know whether or not you can manage. For after we’re off the submarine.”

The D-Dog quirked an eyebrow at her CO before rubbing a paw against the underside of her muzzle in thought.

“I’d wager I can jury-rig a timer in a pinch. What is it for?”

“We still have one bank of compressed air in store, correct?”

She nodded.

“Ok, so I had someone draft this for me...” Green began, pulling out a folded up sheet of paper he’d kept under his wing up until then.

Ignacio picked it up gingerly and unfolded it immediately, her eyes quickly surveying the drawing. It was a side-on schematic of Georgia, with compartments and all, heeled backwards on the slope she knew they were currently resting on. The drawing went a bit further than just the submarine too, because it also showed the slope and eventual abyss it plummeted into further off the shore.

With a rather distinctive arrow pointing from the submarine to the depths of the Atlantic.

“Sir?” She queried after a minute of examining the drawing.

“This goes further than ensuring the core is safe and the weapons disarmed, Del Rio.” Green told her. “What I’m looking for here is a way to tip Georgia over the edge of the continental slope once we’re off. Put her in a place where she can’t cause too much damage.”

Ignacio glanced back down at the sheet he’d given her with renewed interest.

“Can you do that?” He prodded.

“Not easily.” She replied at once. “As I said: I’d need to jury-rig a timer mechanism to trigger once we’re clear and input the process in the automation systems we got running. It’s a lot more complicated than plain scuttling her, but given the circumstances and what we’ve been told about the surface… makes sense.”

It might be possible. She’d have to run the math about it, but if they leveraged all the compressed air the sub still had stored up and re-balanced the water that was inside, it might be possible to lift the nose off the seabed and sufficiently high that the inertia carried Georgia the rest of the way into the abyss.

Finicky at best, particularly with the limited compressed air and all. Plus the gashes in the ballast tanks that prevented them from surfacing in the first place. Patch the forward ballast tanks – diver helping-, then direct number five high-pressure air bank to the forward MBT’s, especially port forward, to put a lift and a twist...

“I think it can be done.” She said after a minute. “I’d have to draw up all the calculus and the moments acting on the hull, bu- what was that?!” She stopped herself, both ears flicking at a sound only she could hear, some… groaning, off in the distance.





Up on the surface, Rhine’s auxiliaries were doing their job as usual. While the trawlers spent most of their time playing the role of water-taxis between Rhine and Fugro, particularly with the emergence of sailors from the rescued submarine in need of a transfer, the two torpedo escorts had taken up screening positions around the fleet and were periodically pinging the water with their sonars.

That involved remaining far enough from Fugro that said sonars didn’t deafen all the seapony divers they had below the surface. Sonar pings weren’t exactly quiet by any stretch of imagination, and as far as they knew most of the world’s navies prior to the Event regularly stopped pinging their sonars whenever sea life was spotted on the surface like dolphins. At least in peacetime.

Ted was captaining one of the two, pretty much the usual as of late for the Greek sphinx that was part of Rhine’s barge department. There wasn’t much to the task, just circling the fleet at sedate pace for a couple hours and checking the sonar for anything that might pop up before they would head back to Rhine every couple hours for a refueling and a crew swap.

In all fairness? Had it not been for some chat they kept going throughout the whole operation, it would have been mind numbing. As it stood, Ted got to learn a lot more than he ever thought he would about his two Liberian subordinates. Lekan in particular. The female Abyssinian turned out to be a rather interesting person to talk to, given she got to overhear a lot more than you would expect ever since she started doing some radio stuff with Amandine’s radio operator.

She was pretty popular at it too. She had a nice voice with an exotic accent the audience frequently requested to come back.

The random info and speculating on colonies the world over was entertaining in its own right too.

Lekan was in the middle of explaining to Ted all the stuff she’d learned had happened in Belfast since their departure when all of a sudden the sonar system started emitting a long, guttural groan.

“What was that?” The female Abyssinian paused, twisting in her seat to peer at the consoles.

“Imani, any info?” Ted inquired to his sonar operator, a white draft horse of a centaur with wine red skin on his humanoid half.

“That’s… long range, very low frequency according to the spectrogram.” The Liberian told, scowling at his console.

“A whale’s call?”

“Nah...” He shook his head. “We got one the other day, didn’t sound like that, and it’s not even coming from the same direction. Increasing range to twelve nautical miles, bumping up ping rate from twenty to five seconds.”

From the outside, the torpedo boat stopped dead in the water as Ted and Lekan leaned over Imani’s shoulders to peer at the sonar screen. The green-on-black display kept quietly rotating in front of their eyes, none of them daring to voice the assumption that weighed on their minds.

A zeebeast. Sea monster. Because if there were monsters on land, then-

	Ping.

“We got contact.”Imani said solemnly. “Range: twelve nautical miles. Bearing: zero-three-fiver. Depth: three hundred meters.”

“Gamoto!” Ted swore. “How accurate is that?”

“More or less. We could narrow it down if we ask for sensor backup from the other torpedo boat.” Imani said before another ping rang out. “Eleven point five nautical miles.”

Ted scrambled back to his seat, quickly ordering Lekan to arm the torpedoes’ warheads and prepare for a launch as the sphinx took hold of the VHF’s handset in his telekinesis.

“All ships all ship all ships, this is Romeo-Foxtrot-Charlie-Alfa, we have sonar contact.” He started. “I request additional sonar resources to assess potential threats. Over.”

“RFCA, this is RFCB...” The reply came from the other torpedo boat. “Interrogative: are you certain about the threat? Over.”

“Negative. I require additional sensor data for confirmation. Can you move to… bearing one-zero-zero from Rhine Forest? Over.”

“Understood RFCA,  moving into position now. Out.” The other torpedo boat pilot said over the radio as Ted spotted it move into position in a quick burst of speed that brought it from one flank of the stationary fleet to the other.

It was only a minute or two later that their own sonar picked up the pings emitted by the other boat as Imani kept tracking the contact.

“Eleven nautical miles.” The centaur warned.

“RFCA, this is RFCB. We confirm a contact to the north-east of the fleet...” Ted heard before the other torpedo boat told him what he was seeing on his own sonar.

Simply tracing said contact on his chart confirmed that they weren’t imagining things.

“So what do we do?” Imani asked.

“Warn the fleet for one. Lekan, your torpedoes?”

“Primed for firing.”

“Good, keep it that way.” The sphinx nodded before once more taking hold of the VHF’s handset. “All ships, be advised: we have a confirmed sonar contact in the water. Potential zeebeast threat, please cease underwater operations for now and have all divers surface.”

“You do know they’re going to be pissed if you make them stop the evac for nothing?” Lekan pointed out.

“And you do know the divers would be pissed if they found a monster munching on their tails, right?” Imani deadpanned.

“What makes you so sure it’s not just a whal-”

She was interrupted by the sensors ringing out with a deep, thrumming roar that spiked on the spectrogram’s lower frequencies.

“Range: ten point five nautical miles… looks like it’s speeding up.” Imani warned.

“Permission to fire?” Lekan asked.

“Denied!” Ted was quick to reply. “Hold your fire, these torpedoes have a range of 12.000 yards, don’t open fire until it’s inside the six nautical miles radius. We have two shots, we can’t waste them. Imani, range update?”

“Nine point five.”

“Alright...” Ted breathed out, closing his eyes for a second to focus before he grabbed the torpedo boat’s throttle controls in his telekinesis. “Let’s meet this thing before it can reach the fleet. The further our torpedo detonates from the fleet, the better.”

And thus, he gunned it in the monster’s general direction, hoping to quickly reduce the range and do their job of screening the fleet from any possible threat. The other torpedo boat was quick to catch on to his plan and follow up behind them.

From a surface view, at first it only looked like the boats were rushing away from the fleet for no good reason, but then the monster decided to near the surface as it got closer to its prey. The first thing they saw was a dark shadow just beneath the waves, about the size of a trawler, large enough to make the water bulge as it swam.

It wasn’t until its head breached the waves that they saw what the monster was. Its orange colors made it stand out sharply against the dark blue waters and foam wave crests of the Atlantic, a gigantic eel with the head of an anglerfish and the serrated, curved teeth that came with it, each of them as big as a pony’s leg. It was glaring at them through a pair of dark purple eyes, the third one afixed to its angler bait swiveling about to cover for its blind spots, looking on either side of the sail ridge it bore on its back, a dark orange membrane of the same texture as the angular fins it had on the sides of its sharp head.

That was about what they could see from the distance where both torpedo boats fired their first set of torpedoes before each making a sharp ninety-degree turn in opposite directions to clear the bearing and let their gunners guide the ordnance.

Still… from six – correction: five, bloody thing was fast- miles away, Ted could sense there was something wrong with the monster. More than just being a zeebeast that is.

Figuring that out would have to wait though, because the angler-eel-thing put out a burst of speed soon as it took note of both torpedo boats, forcing them to really gun it and push the engines to their very limit to avoid giving it the opportunity of checking whether its serrated fangs could pierce their boats’ composite hulls.

Ted had to switch all of his focus away from the monster and onto the steering. The boats may be fast, but at the speed they were going the waves and swells were as much of a danger to them as the monster, and he also had to account for the tether that still connected the boat to the torpedo while Lekan was busy guiding it on target.

Little thing with the Mk46: it’s wire-guided, but as soon as the tether breaks, Miss Torpedo is no longer your friend and may very well lock onto your own ship if you forgot to program the warhead properly. Ten kilometers of wire on a torpedo is not known for structural strength, and there had been cases of the wire breaking in use.

“Lekan?!” Ted growled as the boat crested another wave and he had to jerk the helm to avoid sending them flying.

“Twenty seconds to target...” She replied, scowling at her screen as she used a joystick to guide the warhead.

Behind them, the monster was fast approaching, not bothered in the least by the same waves that forced the relatively small boat to alter course every few seconds.

At this point Ted may have been far too focused on the navigation to notice a detail about the monster, but Imani sure didn’t. The centaur quickly pulled out his phone and managed to start filming – unsteady as it was-.

There was a… corruption, of sorts, covering the monster. Purplish blisters and veins running along its hide and burrowing into its flesh like tumors. Imani didn’t get more than a glimpse of them before its entire head turned into a red mist as Lekan’s torpedo connected with a direct hit. Blood, foam, bone and flesh sprayed in all directions as its head basically disintegrated from the more than forty kilos of explosives contained in the warhead.

If there was any doubt whether or not that was enough to kill it, the other torpedo boat’s torpedo put a stop to it: a few seconds later, another explosion impacted it right in the gut and sent even larger bits of bone and flesh up in the air.

Ted throttled down on the engine, letting the boat drift on its inertia for a few seconds, long enough to watch the carcass sink below the surf, leaving behind nothing but a red stain of blood on the surface and a small slick of that weird purplish goop which evaporated into fumes after a little while.

“You got that on tape?” The sphinx asked Imani.

“Most of it.”

“Aight...” He grabbed the VHF handset. “All ships, this is Romeo-Foxtrot-Charlie-Alfa… threat eliminated. All normal operations may resume as planned. Out.”





Martin felt pretty content at the moment, all things considered. Sure, recent changes in the fawn’s status had made his life considerably more busy ever since he’d met Lord Cernunnos, but he got to hang out with Mister Merlin-Starswirl (he never was too sure what to call the wizard) a lot, and Meadowbrook’s lessons were pretty cool.

She and Rockhoof, he was really glad they wanted to be his new mom and dad. They were awesome ponies to be around, even though Rock always insisted he do something else than stick around Merlin and Meadow, like play with other kids.

Except the other kids were boring, was what he thought as he played on his own in the woods that surrounded the castle, well, within sight of the moat. Some were fawns like him, others unicorn foals, but…

Granted he could tolerate them for the school stuff the adults had had the brilliant idea of bringing back – no offense to the teacher Mister Pauline-, but why would he stay and play with them when he could either be out playing in the woods or learning from Merlin the Enchanter instead?

Plus the woodland creatures could be some nice company too, so it wasn’t like the other kids were the sole option either. Hedgehogs, mallards, squirrels, rabbits, he wasn’t exactly starved for choice, and they were all pretty nice to him.

Wandering around the edge of the part of the woods the adults had deemed ‘safe for playing’, Martin stopped by a young tree to take a bite off a growing twig and rub his antlers against the trunk. The velvet around them had started to itch as of late, and young as he was the little fawn was still pretty sure he’d start shedding it any day now.

At least that’s the way he estimated it, going off what Merlin had taught him about his species.

Idly, he wondered if he could make a magic staff from fallen antlers. Merlin had told him he would need to get one eventually if he wanted to practice magic.

Human magic that is. The ghost had been quite clear that deer like him couldn’t just do magic like unicorns did with their horns.

Good thing he didn’t need to. Human magic made sure of that. Not only would he eventually grow into the powers and abilities Cernunnos claimed he would gain, but Merlin had also promised to teach him about human magic.

From what little Merlin had taught him on the subject already, he should be able to practice human magic – wizardry and druidic rites that is- even though he wasn’t human anymore. Something about it being tied to the soul and not the body or something, Martin hadn’t quite followed. The ghost tended to ramble on at times.His tutor seemed to have a fixation on whether or not returnees’ offspring would have souls able to connect with human magic or not.

Martin didn’t share the fascination. So long that he could do it, he was happy. Druid magic, cleric magic, wizard magic, they said he could do it all, plus some of Meadowbrook’s alchemy because his species was gifted in that field too.

That he was quite content about.

“Bonjour monsieur lapin!” He greeted a dark brown rabbit as it peeked out at the passerbyfrom its burrow, nose twitching. All along the way, the content grin on the fawn’s muzzle didn’t even drop for a second, because why would it?

Things were going well.

For the better part of an hour in this late afternoon, Martin kept playing about in the woods with the local animals, sometimes taking a nibble of some tree bark to fill his stomach between a round of hide-and-seek with a brood of hedgehogs and a game of chase-the-rabbit.

He had yet to win at the latter. The little mammals may not be able to outrun him in a prolonged chase, but they could dash, dip and dodge under shrubbery he had to go around.

Martin was about to call it a day and head back to the castle to help Meadow with cooking dinner when he stopped dead in his tracks, right on the edge of the safe area. His ears twitched, swiveling in a direction he vaguely recalled as where the Golden Tree was.

His vision flashed. A glimpse of the tree with an aura around it, the whole clearing…

	Come…

An image. One of the six pedestal-trunks that surrounded the tree, the one with the purple gem.

The vegetation rustled.

By the time Meadow came to this section of the woods calling him for dinner, Martin was far deeper inside Broceliande than the pregnant mare ever suspected.





In Savannah, sometime after midnight, a couple of armed silhouettes were spotted leaving the docks, silently making their way downtown through the darkness offered by the cloudy night. Amandine’s group of veterans, each of them geared up for close quarters combat, having replaced their usual rifles for the P90 SMG’s that otherwise rarely left the armory, along with as much armor as they could carry, trauma kits, flashbang grenades, even some first-aid variant health potions.

None of the bandits that inhabited the Westin on the other bank of the River Savannah noticed when those four silhouettes made their way up to the roof of a building in preparation for what was coming. They did have sentinels, unfortunately for them they were focused inward, intent on keeping their prisoners inside instead of repulsing potential attackers, even after their recent debacle of an attack against the truck stop.

Their funeral.

Artyom knelt on the edge of the roof, the blue dragon quietly gauging the hotel with his three companions behind him. He checked the time. Five to three in the morning.

“Five minutes...” He whispered. “You all ready?”

“All clear.” Bart replied, the unicorn coming to sit on his haunches beside him after he was done connecting a headset to his walkie-talkie. “Channel… eleven, right? Are the vehicles ready?”

“Captain reported they were standing by.” Artyom said, eyeing the sole light he could see coming from the hotel at the moment. A bandit sentinel roaming the prisoners’ floor. “They’re keeping at a distance on the interstate. We call, they’re there in five minutes.”

“Goed, goed...” Bart nodded slowly, running one last check on his P90 before chambering a round with a pull of his telekinesis. “Sri?”

“As ready as you are.” The hippogriff whispered as she took position beside them, her frame significantly enlarged by all the kevlar and ceramic plates she had added to her gear.

It made it hard to fly, but they only needed to cross the river and break through a window.

Doable.

The only thing the three other veterans didn’t know about her gear was the little blessing ritual she had asked Aleksei to do for her prior to leaving the ship, which the cleric was all too happy to comply with. Details were a bit… hazy on what it exactly did. It wasn’t a protection outright, but Aleksei said it would make her aim true and herself less likely to be injured.

It showed as a faintly glowing triskelion symbol on her breast feathers, right now hidden beneath several layers of armor, clothing and tactical gear.

But divine protection was nothing to scoff at, and Sri wanted to stack the deck in her favor as much as possible.

Artyom checked his watch again.

“Three minutes...” The Russian said.

“Stressed?” Scarface asked, the gargoyle being the last to finish checking his gear, having had to pause to adjust his flak jacket so that it didn’t hamper his flying.

“Haven’t fought intelligent creatures since the First Chechen War, and history knows that went well, right?” He huffed. “Hell, Gods knows how that ended for me… Anyway, you all remember the plan?”

“You lead the way and break the window. Me and Sri, we carry Bart...” Scarface casually said. “Once we’re in, two sentinels on our floor to dispatch. I use my spells to ease room clearing, shields for us all, we secure the stairways and the lifts then we wait for reinforcements…”

“We gather the prisoners in the east wing nearest to the staircase...” Bart continued.

“And then we kill anybody who’s dumb enough to put himself between us and the exit.” Sri ended.

“So many ways this can go wrong.” Artyom sighed.

“It won’t.” Bart confidently said. “We’re too good for that.”

“Easy for you to say that. You were active duty before the Event.” Scarface snorted.

“Aw, want me to hold your hand and show you the ropes, satyr?” Bart joked, a grin appearing on the Belgian unicorn’s muzzle.

“Again with that thing?” He rolled his eyes.

“Rumors from our sweetest radio operator have it that you knocked up two dragonesses in Belfast, or so they claim. It’s warranted.”

“Wha-” Scarface’s eyes widened.

“Put a lid on it you two.” Artyom interrupted them. “Clock’s ticking, one minute, open up your wings, we’re going in.”

The rest of the team went silent at that, Sri and Scarface moving over to Bart to grab the unicorn by the straps he had on the back of his heavily modified K9 armor. They positioned themselves behind Artyom, waiting for the dragon to take off.

Thirty seconds.

He gave his SMG one last check. Laser? Ready. Holographic sight? Five bars on the battery. Flashlight… ready if necessary, and the transparent magazine let him see a full load of brass ready to be fired. Artyom’s red eyes zeroed in on their target floor.

His stance shifted. He leaned forward, wings fanning out. Gravity pulled him the rest of the way over the roof’s edge, and the Russian dragon was airborne, a quiet flapping behind him indicating Sri and Scarface were following close behind.

Artyom had picked his target a while ago. There was a window he could see that led into a hallway instead of a regular room, and every few minutes one of the convicts would pass by while they were doing their rounds. He saw the beam of his flashlight more than the actual bandit.

Little difference.

The quiet of the night ended abruptly when the crack of gunfire erupted at long last. One short burst from his P90, its aim true as the low-caliber bullets ripped through the window and ended the life of one gray unicorn clad in makeshift armor, his horn going dark as a hunting rifle and a maglight clattered to the ground with a thud while blood pooled around the night’s first casualty, staining the hotel’s fancy carpet.

A second later, Artyom and his team crashed through the window, the four veterans immediately fanning out to cover all possible angles. Cries were already resounding around the whole floor, some of alarm, some of confusion.

Artyom double-checked the unicorn. Well and truly dead: the bullets had hit center of mass and ripped straight through the armor.

It was Scarface who spotted the second guard. A Diamond Dog, equipped moderately better than the unicorn though still wearing his prison coveralls for some reason. He blindly rushed in their general direction with his flashlight on, trying to figure out what was going on.

Bad decision. With the hallways dark it made it incredibly easy to spot him, a stark comparison to the assault team who was doing their level best to use the darkness to their advantage. A burst of fire from Bart ripped a hole in his guts and made the dog fall over with a very canine-sounding whimper of pain before he started swearing profusely in Spanish.

Bang!

	No more swearing. The unicorn lowered his still smoking gun with a scowl.

“Two down. There goes the guards for the floor.” He stated while checking his ammo.

Still more than enough. A perk of the P90, the 50-round mag. He kept an eye on the pitch-black hallway, the darkness only broken up for a brief moment every time the moonlight found a gap through the cloud cover, its silvery rays highlighting the hotel’s fancy carpets and furniture.

Clashing with the furniture were the barred doors. The convicts must have added them at some point, simple bars anchored to the wall and locked in place with padlocks that prevented their prisoners from leaving their rooms. Some of the doors rattled as the rooms’ occupants banged against them begging to be released once they realized someone had come to fight their captors.

On the bright side it looked like the floor was just one long hallway with accesses on either end through staircases that wound themselves around the lifts, meaning their initial tactic had been correct.

“Understood. Time to secure the floor then.” Scarface said sharply, the gargoyle holding an angle that covered the opposite side of the hallway.

“I got the east staircase.” Bart replied.

“Scar, you go with him.” Artyom ordered. “I can take a few hits, so I’ll take the west flank on my own. Sri, you free the prisoners and bring them to the eastwing, ‘member?”

“Prisoners, east side. Got it.” The hippogriff parroted, already grabbing the pry bar she carried on the back of her armor. “Easy.”

She paused when she heard the ceiling rumble under the galloping hooves of the other convicts.

“Uh… looks like they’re more reactive than we thought...” Scarface commented.

“Well time’s a wastin’ then, get to your positions before they overrun us!” Artyom barked before the dragon sprinted towards the other wing. “Sri, you call in the backup once you’re done freeing the prisoners, copy?”

“Solid boss!” She hastily answered before immediately getting down to business opening the room-cells with her pry bar.

No further words were exchanged beyond that. Scarface and Bart rushed towards their own objective after giving her a curt nod, leaving the hippogriff hen on her own in the dark. Not needing to stay in complete darkness knowing her flanks were covered, she was able to turn on her flashlight.

That was the extent of her comfort though, because as the building erupted with more gunfire, she soon found herself once more bemoaning the lack of upper body strength that came with her transformation into a hen.

Seriously, she had a buck strong enough to bash doors open and she couldn’t use a pry bar proper-

“I’m such a fucking idiot...” She said to herself in her native tongue, dropping the pry bar before she rounded up on her hooves and gave a solid buck on one of anchoring points that held the bar that blocked the door.

That worked better. Her hooves effortlessly dislodged the thing from the wall in a small shower of plaster, and the bar blocking off the door fell to the ground with a clang, its padlock now all but useless.

“Jauh lebih baik.” The Indonesian’s beak parted in a satisfied smile just as the door opened outward to release three mares who immediately hugged her and began thanking her profusely.

“Hold the thanks for now, this isn’t over just yet.” The hippogriff said quickly, giving them a pat on the back and holding them at an arm’s length. “If you need to pack anything, grab it now and then move to this side of the hallway...” She pointed a talon towards where she knew Scarface and Bart waited. “But I beg of you: stay out of the fight. Now if you don’t mind...” She turned towards the rest of the hallway and the multiple other barred rooms. “… I got other prisoners to release.”





On the other side of the floor, Artyom arrived at the western staircase a bit late to the party. A group of armed convicts was already entering the little hall that connected the hallway to the lifts and staircase when he ran in at a full sprint.

What followed was, by his own reckoning, shameful, sloppy, and grossly unprofessional. He caught himself swearing profusely in Russian as he bowled over a pegasus stallion wearing tires for armor before he managed to catch his footing and roll back inside the hallway just as the convicts opened fire on him.

Some pistol rounds pinged harmlessly off his scales, a rifle shot dug into the back plate of his armor, but worst of all a searing pain erupted in his wing as some buckshot managed to clip his wing and go through the unarmored membrane.

“The Boss is going to eat you alive asshole!” One of the bandits taunted as they all opened fire on the doorway he was hiding behind.

Eh, at least for now they were contained in the hall and he had a fire door to take cover behind.

Could be worse.

Like taking an AK shot to the knee. His mind unhelpfully supplied.

Artyom shook his head, a fierce growl escaping his throat. Nah, don’t think about it. This ain’t Chechnya. His claws dug into his grenade pouch and pulled out a flashbang.

“Eh pizda, go ask your boss how he likes that one!” He yelled as he blindly tossed the grenade in the room.

Short-fused of course. The bandits barely had the time to scramble before the grenade went off in an explosion that would probably cause long-term hearing damage.

Artyom wasn’t doing long-term tonight. Soon as his flashbang went off, he left cover and showered the group of bandits with a hailstorm of gunfire from his P90, the generous mag capacity more than enough to get rid of the entire group.

“Well… if that wasn’t sloppy I don’t know what is...” He sighed, walking in the room and shoving a fresh mag in his SMG.

He shouldn’t have. As a testament to Earth Ponies’ resilience, one of the bandits had survived despite having caught no less than four bullets in the chest and proceeded to charge the dragon with a loud neigh. Artyom didn’t have the time to reach for his pistol before being bowled over and thrown to the floor where the pony began pummeling him with his hooves.

He saw blood.

With a thunderous roar, fire spewed from his maw, drenching the already wounded pony in magic flames that seared his flesh and made him release an unearthly cry as fur and flesh alike caught fire. He kicked and thrashed from sheer pain as the fire wrought far more damage than Artyom could have ever done with guns alone.

From the ground,  the Russian watched the bandit make a run for a window that faced the river side of the hotel and ram his way through, his blazing fur setting the curtains and some of the furniture on fire on the way.

Was he…?

He jumped.

There was a swimming pool at the bottom of the hotel.

In his blind panic, the burning pony missed, instead becoming an unrecognizable ball of smoldering flesh after he splattered on the ground, just a meter off his mark.

Artyom felt his stomach lurch at the sight, but before he had the time to dwell on it, a scent reached his nostrils.

Oh right, the curtains were on fire. And the carpet. And the furniture.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.”
> Chapter 77: The Duel
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Artyom swore profusely. This was starting to look a lot like Sandra’s rescue at the radio station near Copenhagen, what with accidentally setting the building on fire. Cries of alarm were coming from the staircase both above and below him. The bandits had noticed the smoke.

Eh, on the bright side now they wouldn’t attack from this flank.

Fwoosh

That was the sound of the flames finally reaching some of the oil paintings that decorated the walls. Immune to smoke and fire or not, the dragon quickly fled back into the hallway he’d initially come from and slammed the fire door shut. It wouldn’t stop the fire, but it would – should- keep it contained long enough for them to get the prisoners out of their rooms and…

His red eyes trailed to the top of the door. A thin plume ofsmoke was already passing through the door frame. Whelp, guess even the US wasn’t immune to substandard contractors and corner cutting.

“All units, be advised: there is a fire in the building. Prepare for rapid evacuation. Out.” He told over the radio before hobbling over to the nearest barricaded room to free the captives.

There was a throbbing pain in his wing where the buckshot had pierced the membrane, along with the feeling of something warm trickling down the limb. That could wait for now. He knew he was probably the only one in the building immune to the fire he’d just started.

Look at you now. Not only sloppy, but a pyromaniac too? His mind taunted.

He growled. Whether that was from frustration or the strain of getting the doors open with his pry bar was up for debate, but it made for an intimidation factor that didn’t helpsoothe the ponies’ already strained nerves. Of course he knew that… red eyes, predatory appearance, military-grade gear, spikes and fangs?

The first group of prisoners he sent Bart and Scarface’s way practically sprinted away from him.

Maybe the Russian accent and VDV beret don’t help either...

Over the radio he could hear some complaints coming from Sri about how it was hard enough to begin with and they didn’t need to race against the fire and all…

“You mind not cluttering the waves with your ranting? Out.” He grunted into his radio between forcing two rooms open.

Gunfire briefly interrupted whatever chatter they were having. The sound of Bart and Scarface cutting down a group of bandits that was trying to make their way towards them. The duo reported three more downed bandits on the east flank, without any wounds on their side thanks in no small part to the gargoyle’s magic shield.

Not that Bart couldn’t eventually learn the spell himself, but unicorns were more of a specialized deal, and his deal was gunsmithing.

Now to hope the combat vehicles made it in time to cover their escape… what were they doing anyway?





	Speaking of which, the vehicles were coming. They just faced some mild inconveniences along the way due to the abysmal state of roads in Savannah, having been forced to go around a sinkhole and find a new route to reach the bridge that separated the Westin from the rest of downtown Savannah.

Leading the way, the CV90 came out of the highway interchange so fast the IFV almost threw a track as the suspension’s active dampeners did their best to keep it on the road. The supercharged diesel let out its raspy roar as they finally made it to the Westin’s parking lot, followed soon after by the two of the three Piranhas they kept as part of Amandine’s complement of vehicles.

They could have taken the third one, they just didn’t have enough volunteers to fill both the driver and gunner’s position. All three fighting vehicles proceeded to form a line in front of the hotel, guns trained towards the upper floors where they could already see the fire spreading in the west wing.

Dilip popped open the commander’s hatch on the CV90, his canine frame emerging from the bowels of the vehicle to get a better view of the situation. Flashes of light and the staccato of gunfire in the east wing signalled the assault team was still up and fighting, and unless the bandits somehow got their hands on automatics, then his guys had the fire superiority.

“Assault team, this is evac. Interrogative: have you recovered the prisoners yet? Over.”

“Negative evac. Half a dozen rooms more and we’re good.” He heard Sri reply between grunts of exertion. “We got about… thirty of them now? Over.”

“Time. I need a time. Over.”

“Ten minutes and we can move on. Over.” This time it was Artyom that spoke up, the dragon’s voice strained from pain.

Injured already? He didn’t expect that from the dragon on their team. Maybe he overestimated how resilient they were.

“Understood bosun. Warn us when you make your exit, we’re securing the parking lot. Fire support may now be requested at your convenience. Out.” Dilip said after a few seconds before he shoved his walkie-talkie back in his pocket.

Uncharacteristically of Dilip, he was wearing coveralls for once instead of his usual pilot shirt/ cargo shorts combo. Above that was a simple flak jacket with a chest holster for his revolver, and a single scabbard on his hip that held the Congo Sword.

The enchanted saber seemed like it could taste the violence in the air, its malicious aura – which he usually ignored- was tinted with one thing that night: a thirst for blood. And maybe, just this once, he was going to satisfy its demands.

“Your orders Captain?” Roberto asked him, the Italian cat occupying the gunner’s position in the IFV.

Short-staffed as they were, they could only put two sailors per combat vehicle, not counting the Captain. He had the Italian cat as his gunner, and Nala as his driver. Even that was… testy, at best, having an Intel Officer and the Chief Steward crewing a combat vehicle.

“Stick to the coaxial machinegun for now. Use thermals if you need to, but the Bofors you only fire if I give the order or the assault team requests it, understood?”

“Aye Cap’n.” The cat nodded before flicking a few controls on the targeting computer, making the display switch to the telltale mix of grays and whites that was the thermal.

Similar orders were given to the APC’s in formation around the CV90, each headed by Aleksei and Angelo respectively. They were to cut down any opposition that tried to retake the parking lot and keep it clear so that the veterans’ team could evacuate unimpeded.

That didn’t actually involve much work. Once the first few bandits that tried it were cut down by the Piranhas’ .50 cals, any semblance of cohesion among them straight up collapsed and they started fleeing the building in droves from any other possible exit, even if that involved throwing themselves in the river or disappearing into the marshlands that surrounded Savannah. Some pegasi were a bit better off than the rest in their attempt, and Dilip was pretty sure he also spotted a single batpony disappear into the night… but none dared challenge the military vehicles in the parking lot.

None of the sailors gave chase either. Priority was to be given to rescuing the prisoners, and even if they had the whole crew behind them they would have had trouble combing the town and its vicinity trying to find them. Colorful as they were, ponies could be surprisingly good at hiding at times.

They did destroy all their cars though.

Right in front of his eyes, Dilip could see the whole bandit gang unravel and crumble at the first assault on their HQ, most of the thugs not used to facing an opponent that was even remotely well-equipped or organized.

Not the most awe-inspiring sight, but satisfying nevertheless. Over the radio, he heard Aleksei mention seeing the bandit leader they had labeled as ‘Councilor’ run off with his tail between his legs, the unicorn practically shrieking at the sight of all the combat vehicles and abandoning a knapsack filled with jewelry, along with a pair of bound and gagged mares his subordinates were carrying for him.

His co-leader didn’t share the general lack of spine however. Not a minute later, a large Earth pony emerged out onto the parking lot, bulky enough to tower over most members of his species with a wide frame rippling with muscles. Boss as they had labeled him, with a green coat of fur and a blonde mane fashioned in a mohawk.

If his size and haircut weren’t enough to make him stand out, then his… attire sealed the deal. The pony wore enough gold and precious stones to run his own jewelry store.

Boss stood there in the entrance, the flames that were now streaming from the upper floor’s windows giving a red sheen to his jewelry as he leveled a cold glare at the sailors and Dilip in particular.

“Sir? Permission to fire?” Roberto requested.

“Belay that.” Dilip barked, the dog pulling himself out of the commander’s hatch and standing atop the CV90’s turret.

Wanna be dramatic? He could do dramatic.

“You ruined my gig!” Boss yelled at them in a booming voice.

“You call that a gig?” Dilip scoffed, resting a paw on the hilt of his saber. “You reappear in a new world, you’re given the chance to start anew, without any trace of your past… and yet you chose to do it at the expense of others. Your own countrymen at that.”

“Fuck my countrymen!” Boss screamed. “It’s always loyalty this, patriot that, and ‘ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country’… But it’s only ever a one way street! Semper Fi my ass!” He ranted, rapping a pair of makeshift golden gauntlets he had around his forehooves against the ground.

Gauntlets with wickedly sharp spikes, mind.

“I was in Fallujah you know? Loyal all the way, did my duty, was a good soldier...” He chuckled darkly. “Ya know what that got me? I come back stateside to find the wife preggers and in bed with Jody in my own home. Didn’t even do anything to her. That make a difference? ‘course not, bitch wound herself in a self-righteous fury and unleashed hell on me. Turned everyone against me like ah was some kind o’ monster, civilian or military, stole my house, my earnings, everything. And what did they tell me? I was the bad guy! They kicked me out on the street with a dishonorable discharge, then when those fuckers deemed that wasn’t enough, they locked me up ‘cuz the bitch ran out of money and came crying to the judge.” He ranted. “Nobody. Ever. Listened.”

“Still wasted your chance.” Dilip hopped off the IFV and stood in front of it.

“Wasted?!” The pony burst out laughing. “I ain’t daft. I learn my lessons. That one? Playing by the book gets ya nowhere. You try to be good and stay in your lane, someone’s gonna come and ruin your life and you’ll be called the bad guy. So I said… fuck that, they call me the bad guy, imma be their bad guy.”

Calmly, Dilip unsheathed the Congo Sword, the magic blade shone in the night, both from the magic that permeated it and from the flames above them that gave it a menacing red glint. 

“Shame. I think you know how this story ends.”

“Figures the feds would run my posse into the ground. Always comes to that eventually.” Boss snorted, squaring his shoulders as if getting ready to charge.

“Correct on the conclusion, not so much on the actor. We’re not American.” Dilip stated in a flat tone, getting into a fencing stance himself.

“Captain?” Roberto popped his head out of the IFV’s hatch.

“Stand back Roberto, I’m making a statement.”

“But si-

“Stand back, I say. I can handle a mere bandit pony.” The dog repeated, eyes not leaving Boss. “You have my sympathy, pony. That doesn’t change what’s about to happen though. Prisons aren’t a thing anymore.”

“Yeah I get it.” Boss rolled his shoulders and pawed at the ground. “No hard feelings. Least I got to give the world the payback it owed me. Now… we gonna be all mushy and shit, or you gonna give me my last rodeo?”

Dilip just nodded and made a beckoning motion with his paw.

Boss grinned and charged the dog head on, his golden attire clicking as he galloped towards Amandine’s Captain. Once more, Dilip was reminded how Earth Ponies should never be underestimated as the green and gold blur cut the distance that separated them in less than a second.

Now was the time the Congo Sword’s magic would be put to the test for the first time then. A cold feeling of detachment washed over Dilip, sharp focus clearing his mind of anything but the fight as adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream and time slowed down.

See, unlike that fire whip sword Greet found in Londonderry, the Congo Sword’s magic was different. Its enchantments weren’t as flashy. They were more subtle, refined.

It made its wielder a better swordsman. The magic that coursed in the blade and filled the pink diamond in the pommel made him faster, improved his reflexes, his strength, his overall situational awareness… 

Hence: he had no difficulty dodging when the attacking pony shifted on his hooves at the end of his charge and attempted to buck him in the gut. One casual hop to the side shifted him in the right position to deliver one swift strike that broke one of the heavy golden chains Boss had wrapped around his barrel. A makeshift armor in a fashion.

“Yer fast, ah’ll give ya that.” Boss growled, rolling out of reach of his sword after his missed buck, not even panting.

Earth Pony endurance and all.

“So are you.” Dilip quipped, returning to his guard stance, sword in front of him in one paw, the other folded behind his back.

Boss didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed on his forehooves and grabbed a knife Dilip only then noticed in his mouth before taking some weird mix of a bipedal boxing stance. He had his spiked gauntlets around his hooves, and the knife in his mouth.

That… couldn’t be too comfortable.

Regardless, Boss went for another attack, swinging his hooves wildly to try and get an opening for his knife, only for the Captain to leisurely deflect all his strikes with his saber, sidestepping every now and then to create space.

In the background, the 40mm Bofors of the CV90 started booming. A crackling in his radio indicated Artyom and co. were done freeing the prisoners and had now begun requesting actual fire support to help their escape. Each single shot punctuated the death of those few bandits still fighting inside the blazing hotel.

For a weapon system that was originally intended to protect ships from air attacks, the controlled-fuse functionality made it extremely good at taking care of enemies behind cover.

Not that the thought occurred to Dilip at the time beyond the fact he had to duck to avoid being knocked out by hot flying brass from the 40mm. All his attention was focused on Boss, the Earth Pony unrelenting in his assault as he showed no sign of ever stopping for breath.

It was hard to gauge time in the heightened state conferred by the Congo Sword. It felt like the back and forth duel went on for hours, though it couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes as he and the pony traded blows. If in the beginning, the dog had a distinct advantage thanks to his sword, he soon regretted not pressing the offensive as his stamina wavered and his attacks slowed down, his arms – muscular as they were given his status as a DiamondDog- ached from the effort, the weight of the saber now more noticeable.

Nicks and scrapes marred his arms, along with a small cut on his thigh that forced him to favor his other leg.

Were it not for the Congo Sword showing its offensive capabilities, he would have had to resort to Roberto for backup.

Because he wasn’t really at risk. Not when he was fighting in front of a trio of combat vehicles ready to gun down Boss if things went south for their Captain. Let’s be serious.

One moment, Boss grinned and tried to press the advantage, going for what he assumed to be a gap in Dilip’s defenses.

A feint actually. The tired dog angled himself away from the gauntleted punch, scoring a nasty cut along the side of Boss’ barrel as the blade managed to find a spot that wasn’t covered in jewelry. Blood splattered on the asphalt of the parking lot. Boss let out a pained neigh, but he didn’t go down. Not quite. The wound was only superficial.

What wasn’t was the effect of the Congo Sword. The pony slouched all of a sudden, feeling as though something had just sucked the force right out of him.

“What the...” He groaned, stumbling back on his four hooves, his knife clattering on the ground.

On the other end, Dilip watched Boss’ blood be absorbed inside the blade as it shone in a pinkish light and energy flowed towards the jewel in the pommel. Towards him as well. His fatigue lessened, his stamina came back…

A vampiric effect.

	He didn’t get a lot of time to ponder the implications of it before Boss resumed his onslaught, though this time the Earth Pony didn’t have much power behind his blows, nor speed. It only took Dilip a few seconds of parrying and deflecting before he got the opening he wanted.

With a blow that flowed so smoothly it looked like he was dancing, he shifted his stance, twirling the blade so that it flew past Boss’ gauntlets. The elegant weapon whistled through the air, and for a fraction of a second Dilip saw his opponent’s eyes widen in realization.

Cleanly, the saber cut first through his elbow, separating him from one of his forehooves, before it carried on and drew a bloody streak along his barrel and down his thigh.

Boss didn’t scream. He didn’t yell. He just stared mutely at his severed limb, hobbling on two hooves for a few seconds more before he lost his balance and collapsed, gasping in a steadily growing puddle of his own blood.

Dilip didn’t bother cleaning his saber before he sheathed it. The blade just absorbed the blood and repaired itself.

“For what it’s worth… you fought well.” The Captain deplored as he walked over to the dying pony who had blood pouring from his open wounds while he removed the latch on his revolver holster.

“Uh… Knew it had to end at some point.” The pony chuckled darkly.

Boss momentarily tore his eyes away from his bleeding stump. Standing above him, Dilip was pointing his revolver between his eyes.

“Any last words?”

“Come to think of it… yes...” He struggled to say as life fled his body. “Just a request. If you could… up north there is Parris Island. A base. Not far. Just asking… bury me there. That would be one last fuck you to the Corps.”

“Name?”

“Adams.” The pony said, closing his eyes, waiting.

“I’ll consider it.”

There was a single gunshot, and his life came to an end at the speed of a single .38 shot. Dilip watched the body for a couple seconds, an unreadable look on the dog’s muzzle and a bleeding hole between the pony’s large eyes.

“Are you really going to bury him, sir?” Roberto questioned, the cat popping out of his hatch now that the fight was winding down.

“I might.” He replied, putting his revolver back in its holster. “I’ll think about it later, figure out how to dispose of the bodies...” His gaze pointedly lingered over the other unnamed bandits that had been gunned down by the entrance.

He shook his head after a few seconds.

“Anyway, I was a little busy unless you didn’t notice...” Dilip began.

Roberto threw him a ‘no shit’ look, the cat’s crooked ear flicking to the side. 

“… ,so, what did I miss?” He asked.

Roberto pointed a digit back towards the hotel’s entrance, and Dilip turned around to witness a long line of creatures emerge out of the building. Mostly ponies of all variants, with a few odd exceptions among the technicolor bunch like a deer or reindeer here and there.

And behind them came the assault, all four accounted for. They were battered, bleeding and limping, their armor singed from the smoke…

… but they were alive.

Artyom made a beeline towards him, the dragon walking as if he had been beaten to the ground, bleeding from multiple holes in one wing’s membrane, his usually blue VDV beret rendered black from the smoke and his kevlar armor torn in a few places where gunshots had grazed it.

Nevertheless, his bosun stood in front of him. Not dignified by any means – he was resting his tail on the ground to prop himself up-, but he made a show of giving his superior a mock salute.

“Mission accomplished sir. All prisoners recovered from the detention floor… not sure about the concubine though. We rescued some, but they may have escaped with the others.”

“Excellent work in any case, bosun.” Dilip thanked him. “You ma-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Artyom just keeled over when the blood loss from his wing caught up to him and would have fallen face-first in the concrete were it not for Dilip catching him.

“Someone get me a health potion over here! Call the ship and wake up Vadim, we’re gonna need the griff’.”





“There we go Captain, timer’s running.” Ignacio said as Green spotted her emerge with the very last members of the engineering crew still on board. “Once we’re off, she’ll dispose of herself. I set it to three hours, can be stopped anytime if something interrupts us.”

Because unstoppable self-destruct doom clocks were yet another fantasy propagated by Hollywood.

USS Georgia had gone quiet about an hour ago when the golden retriever D-Dog that Ignacio had become had flooded the reactor core with seawater, sealing the submarine’s fate at the cold hands of the Atlantic. 

Life support and ventilation were all in the red now, having completely given out on them when battery power kicked in, forcing them to rely entirely on portable units and oxygen candles by then. Not that it really posed a problem right then. The minuscule fraction of the crew that remained on board was hardly enough to consume all that air.

Still…

Georgia’s CO felt a twinge in his chest as the diminutive pegasus colt took in his surroundings for the last time. Gone was the ever-present noise of turbines, pumps and machinery that kept his sub running, their seemingly unending might brought to a halt at long last. Gone was the quiet but constant sound of crewmembers busying themselves keeping all systems in order, leaving behind a mess of discarded belongings and other stuff littering the floor of the passageway when some realized they couldn’t take everything to the surface.

For what human clothing and steel-toed shoes were worth to ponies. The more important stuff, family pictures, personal stashes and entertainment, that they did take to the surface.

“Captain?” Ignacio pressed on.

“Sorry, Del Rio...” Green shook off the distraction, cursing in passing his multicolored mane as it came into his line of sight once more. “Just getting nostalgic is all, Eng.”

“Diving bell should dock in ten minutes. That’ll be the last trip.”

Which would make them the last sailors to ever set foot on board of Georgia. Soon, it would be nothing more than a hunk of inert metal and nuclear materials at the bottom of the sea.

And he would be a Captain without a ship.

“Very good then… Great work on your part. I think you and your team will have deserved some rest after this, don’t you think?”

“I reckon I could use a nap, one can only run on coffee for so long after all.” Ignacio yawned widely. “May I ask sir, what’s going to happen next?”

Green opened and closed his mouth a few times. That he didn’t have an answer to. So focused they had been on getting through one problem after another to evacuate the submarine that what would happen once they were all on the surface... hadn’t even crossed his mind.

He was still thinking about it when the hatch to the dive transfer chamber opened and a hippogriff called for them to load their bags inside.

He was still thinking all the way up to the surface, looking through the bell’s single reinforced porthole at the wreck of USS Georgia and all the debris around it, the dark oblong shape of the submarine only lit up by the flares and lamps ofwhat few seapony divers were still in the water at this time in the evacuation. The whole operation had taken them significantly longer than expected, and it was almost dawn already by the time Fugro’s diving bell emerged at long last in the moonpool, before being lifted on deck and deposited on its cradle by one of the deck cranes.

He was still thinking when the merchant sailors – their rescuers- led them towards their cabins for some rest, the engineering team unfortunately split up between Rhine and Fugro due to the latter’s lack of berthing room.

And he was still thinking when a knock on his door finally brought his train of thought to a halt.

“Come in.” Green called aloud, setting aside what little he had in his seabag for the moment and pushing it next to the humongous stacks of documents and paperwork they had salvaged from Georgia.

Two figures made their way inside the cabin. One a unicorn filly, the other a hedgefog – as he had been told the species was called-. Captain Lorelei and Captain Skinner, respectively. If anything, the sight of the German-turned-pink-filly brought a measure of comfort. He wasn’t alone in this case.

“Greeting. It’s good to finally meet you face to face.” Skinner started, the audibly Scottish creature extending a paw towards Green. “I’m relieved we’re done with this at last. I honestly didn’t think we could manage it at first.”

“Well it wasn’t easy, but you pulled through still.” The little pegasus smiled politely, reaching out with a wing to shake his paw.

“Thank you. Can’t say any of us on Fugro trained for that. The seaponies helped. A lot.” Skinner admitted.

“Not much of a surprise there.” Lorelei quipped. “They’re the perfect divers.”

“I noticed as much.” Green nodded. “That seapony hippogriff doctor… Delacroix was it? Really helpful.”

“She’s probably one of the most competent doctors around with all the research she does… though to be fair there aren’t many doctors around to compare her to.” Lorelei shrugged. “No offense to Lilian, Skinner, but your doc isn’t as well acquainted with Equestrian species as she is.”

“There is another doctor?”

“Aye. Doc Sheperd. Irish. She’s the one who’s been making sure none of your crew gets barotrauma. Diver care is her deal.” Skinner explained. “She should be busy overseeing the wounded that have been transferred to Fugro’s sick bay right now.”

“Yet another thing I have to be grateful for.” Green sighed. “And that’s a long list.”

“It’s nothing worth worrying about.” Lorelei approached him and put a hoof over his shoulders. “Offering assistance to vessels in distress is what seafarers do, navy or not. Now the question would be...”

“What’s next.” He completed.

“Yes, because we have plans of our own and schedules to keep to. Once we’re done tidying this all up and picking up the drones and auxiliaries, it will be time to turn off the Dynamic Positioningand go somewhere.” Lorelei told him. “What we’d like to know is where you wish to be dropped off? Kings Bay?”

That would be a start. There weren’t any vessels on base at the time of the Event as far as he knew, but the facilities there would make for a pretty good starting position for the crew. It wasn’t a small base. Plenty of resources too.

Green quickly agreed with the suggestion. The WSU would bring them ashore and stay a little time to allow for their wounded to recover inside the ships’ medical facilities. Time enough for the healthy sailors to get fully briefed on the Brave New World that awaited them, with monsters, magic, and numerous lessons on how their new bodies functioned.

What the merchants didn’t do was to offer the US sailors entry into their organization.

“Not trying to be rude Green… but we work on an international scale and try our best to remain neutral. You… your allegiances are pledged to the United States.” Lorelei explained. “We know your priorities lay with your own countrymen.”

“Don’t yours?”

“Not to such an extent.” She shook her head. “Take my crew. There are over ten nationalities in the lot, some from completely different continents. You’ll find it’s not an uncommon situation for many merchant vessels, and that’s what I think helps make us more… neutral if you will. We have a strict policy on that. Think about it. If news came of a colony that needed urgent help in Murmansk or Kaliningrad, would you – could you- go and help them? In a situation where some more stable colonies in America requested for help, though only for routine work?”

Green hesitated.

“I cannot say.” He finally uttered after a minute.

“And this is why you can’t be part of the WSU. For that matter I don’t think many active navy folks could.” Lorelei said.

“We don’t mean to be insulting.” Skinner crossed his arms. “It’s just that it wouldn’t work in the long run.”

“It’s alright, I understand.” Green made a dismissive gesture with his hoof. “Can’t fault the logic.”

“Glad we’re on the same page then.” The hedgefog let out a relieved sigh before he started digging in one of his pockets. “Now… getting past the return to Kings Bay and the little stay to make sure you’re all set, there was one more thing.”

“Which would be?”

“I didn’t exactly request the info, but one of the guys up north in Savannah with Amandine must have felt you would have some use for it because they gave us this file.” He handed a folded-up bundle of paper to the pegasus who took it in his wing with a puzzled look on his muzzle. “Wasn’t our idea, so you take that however you want.”

Green unfolded the document and looked at it closely. On the first page was an airplane view of several ships anchored alongside each other in the middle of an estuary. He read the title.

	Potential recovery of mothballed vessels: Beaumont Reserve fleet, Philadelphia Naval Maintenance Facility.

	List of available ships – Relevant data in annexes

Getting a new hull under his hooves now? That was an idea he could get behind.





	Everfree deer were naturals when it came to traversing forests. Martin was no exception to it: inexperienced and young as he was, the little fawn hardly made a sound beyond that of the leaves that rustled upon his passage as he went from one game trail to another, easily weaving through the dense shrubbery that grew between the trees. He was moving with purpose.

The fawn was drawn towards the Golden Tree. He could practically hear it calling for him, guiding him towards the clearing where it spread its roots. So focused was he on reaching his goal that he didn’t pay attention to the wildlife and the way it practically parted before him, acknowledging his ties to Cernunnos. Not even the normally aggressive boars impeded his passage through the woods, though they almost started butting heads with the White Stag as the mysterious agent of the Horned God trailed a few ways behind Martin, the bigger deer a lot better at hiding his presence than the fawn was even though his alabaster fur stood out a lot more.

Another thing the young fawn didn’t pay attention to was the possible implications of sneaking out on his adoptive parents and how worried Rock and Meadow might be that he ran off inside the extremely dangerous magic forest on his own.

He was just focused on reaching the Golden Tree’s clearing. Its call in his mind vivid as he drew closer, with one image lingering in his mind: that of the trunk-pedestal holding the purple jewel.

The wind was picking up when he finally arrived, as if the forest was feeling the event that was about to happen and made the trees wave their branches in anticipation. Wood groaned, leaves rustled... And there it was in front of him: the Golden Tree, having had yet another growth spurt that brought it ever closer to the oaks that surrounded the clearing. It was amazing how fast magic could make it grow, as months prior it had barely been sapling-sized.

Now, the crystalline veins that ran along its golden bark thrummed with power, feeding magic to the white gem in its trunk and to the other six pedestal-trunks that surrounded it, each bearing its own element.

Much like how the magic had made a pedestal of sorts for Excalibur, so was it doing for the six elements that surrounded the tree – and what in all likelihood was the ‘lead’ element-. They used to be charred trunks. Now though, magic had covered them in gold and crystal, creating a very organic shape that clashed with the materials they were made of, each encasing the elements’ jewels in a bundle of roots.

Martin stopped at the edge of the clearing, his eyes riveted on the pedestal with the purple element.

That was the moment the tree’s spirit finally chose to manifest itself. A small cloud of white magic detached itself from the upper branches and floated down in front of Martin much to the fawn’s curiosity. The little will-o’-wisp flickered for a bit, as if having some troubles communicating before at last a voice rang out inside his head.

“Hello!” It greeted in a high-pitched, androgynous voice the fawn couldn’t quite place. It felt like… clear water fresh from a mountain stream maybe? Cool, fresh, yet energetic.

“Hello?” Martin greeted back in French, not too sure how to react. “Who are you?”

“I’m the tree.” It replied, as if it were obvious.

“Trees talk?”

“Well I can...” It mumbled. “It’s not easy, but I have a big sister called Harmony. We’re seed siblings. She’s really old and I can’t see her because she’s in another world, but she talks to me. She taught me how to make this.” The little cloud of magic flickered for emphasis. “I can talk to people when I do that, but I’m not very good. Big sis says if I try hard enough I can appear with a body but… it’s not easy. She’s really good at it when she does it. She can look like a sparkly pony!”

“Oh...” Martin blinked. He sat down on his haunches. “She must be nice. I never had a sister. What’s your name?”

“I…I guess? Harmony always has a word… That translates to… Concord, I think?”

“Nice to meet you Concord. I’m Martin.” He chirped, distractedly rubbing one hoof over his antlers. “Did you call me?”

The cloud flickered and hovered from side to side.

“I did? Oh… oh wait yes I did! You’re Purple!”

“No I’m Martin.” The fawn frowned.

“Oh sorry Martin, I didn’t mean it that way.” Concord clarified. “It’s uh… complicated. You see, big si- Harmony I mean, she says I have a very important role to play here.”

“Yeah, Merlin says the same about me.” Martin bobbed his head nonchalantly.

“He’s probably right. Harmony, she says I need to find bearers for my elements.”

“The jewels?”

“All seven of them.” The cloud did a motion Martin was reasonably certain was a nod. “They’re very good at protecting people from bad stuff, but I need to find the people to use them. Harmony says it’s the uh… the Sense I guess? We don’t really use words when we talk. I’m supposed to use it to find who is worthy of using some of the Elements. There is… hold on… Follow me, please?”

Martin stood up quietly, and the little cloud led him closer to the pedestals. It stopped in front of the red one.

“So… big sis explained to me how it worked and all the stuff. She has her own six, but I have seven and she said they’re probably a bit different. Not too much though, and they can change over time. Red here is for Loyalty…” The little cloud started making a tour of the pedestals. “Then you have orange for Bravery, blue is Benevolence, yellow is Honor, green for Integrity, purple...”

Martin’s gaze lingered on the shiny jewel significantly longer than the rest.

“… it’s yours of course. That one is the Element of Sorcery.” Concord told him before moving closer to the tree in the middle of the six pedestals. “And then you have the last one. White. White is for Leadership. White gets Excalibur. And… I’m pretty sure I still need to find six artifacts for the rest. At least I think I should.”

“And I have the Element of Sorcery?” Martin turned back towards the purple one.

“Yeees. I can feel it in you. You’re made for that Element.”

“But I’m not a wizard. I’m still training.”

“You have time. I think.” Concord’s cloud flickered. “Big sis said I need to find all seven bearers to make them work properly, and the Sense says some of them aren’t here. Yet. Harmony said that if you’re not all here, then it’s a bad idea to go fight the bad guys.”

“Bad guys? Who?”

“Not sure yet. But there are always bad guys in an adventure, right? That’s what the Elements are for. They have heroes to use them and protect people from bad guys. And you, you’re Sorcery.”

“Riiight.” Martin drawled, pawing at the ground for a bit. “So what do I do?”

“Well… I don’t have your artifact now, but I suppose you can touch your Element already.” Concord said. “I’ll try to locate it later though! Promise!”

Martin looked at the purple jewel.

He looked back towards Concord. The little cloud bobbed as if to beckon him onward.

Martin lowered his head and tentatively crept towards the Element. His Element. Sorcery. It made sense in a way, what with the interest of Cernunnos, Merlin teaching him wizardry and druid stuff, and Meadow for potions…

Slowly, he lifted his hoof ever closer to the Element. The wind had picked up some more, billowing through the clearing and kicking up fallen leaves. The magic from the element was palpable, almost acting like a force that made the air thrum around the pedestal. He gulped once more, feeling the taste of copper in his mouth, as if he was chewing on a wire.

“Here goes I guess...”

His hoof touched the Element. His vision went white, his very soul suddenly felt as if it had been reunited with a part of him he never knew he had. The strong wind that had been present from the start turned into a whirlwind that swept him off his hooves and the world spun as a golden regalia appeared on his form, adorned with his element and several amethysts.

And when he felt the crescendo couldn’t reach any higher, the wind dropped, the regalia faded away, and Martin dropped unconscious in a pile of leaves that had magically gathered there. Concord went back inside the tree, and the clearing turned still.

Starswirl, Meadowbrook and Rockhoof appeared a few minutes later in a flash of teleportation.
> Chapter 78: Cleaning Up
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The clean-up process was already well underway by the time dawn arose above Georgia, to the sight of a dark smoke column still rising above the charred husk that used to be the Westin Hotel. The fire Artyom had accidentally caused had raged for most of the night before finally petering out come dawn, having destroyed anything above the prisoners’ floor and making a smoke-damaged ruin of the rest.The premises were now vacant, all of the convicts having run off after the attack, none of them brave enough to contest the sailors’ grip on the area.

Unsurprisingly, they were on the run. With Boss dead by the entrance, most had preferred the dangers of the Georgian swamps to potentially facing judgement at the hands of their former prisoners.

Dilip suspected they might rise again, though not anytime soon. Their numbers were down to nearly nothing and the leadership in shambles, but Councilor was still alive. None of them should be able to pose much trouble for the truck stop any longer, and it would take time before the unicorn leading them found a pony brawny enough to replace Boss, and being stuck in the swamp should further impede his operations.

As for Artyom, his injuries were only mildly concerning. 

The dragon had fought like… well, a dragon. He had managed to hold a flank by himself several times over, and he had suffered for it. Compounding the blood loss of his wing injury, he was showing a good dozen spots where bullets had struck and shattered the dragon’s scales beneath his armor, shallow wounds often times accompanied by cracked bones.

By Vadim’s reckoning, his life wasn’t in danger. The griffon did spend most of the night cleaning his wounds and retrieving scale and bullet fragments from the open wounds, as well as stitching his wing back together, but plenty of rest, jewels and red meat should allow the blue dragon to make a full recovery.

Their bosun aside, most of the injuries in the prisoners and the assault team were pretty benign. Scuffs and scrapes here and there paired with some mild smoke inhalation.

That was the physical part. On the mental front though, the ponies were in shock, unsurprisingly. The veterans, they could expect to shrug off the violence and carry on. Not so much for their rescuees. Aleksei was hard at work trying to appease and comfort them, the hippogriff frequently resorting to her cleric magic to help things along and explain their situation to them.

A lengthy process, obviously. It varied from one pony to another how long exactly it had been since they had reappeared, but hardly any of them had an actual idea what their return involved and what the Event even was. In most cases the bandits had snatched them before they could get a good footing, and spawning in a deserted America only to be made the servant of a bunch of convicts didn’t help one understand the way the world turned.

But all of that was work Dilip didn’t concern himself with. His subordinates could deal with the finer details, he was more about taking a step back and appraising the situation.

One thing he had learned from chatting over the radio was that the rest of the fleet was still busy with the submarine rescue off the coast. Probably for a while still. Hence: no use leaving for Cuba so soon.

Dilip didn’t mind. A couple days was all he needed to make sure things settled down properly in Savannah.

One of the first things he did at dawn when the rest of the ship woke up was to gather a cleanup crew to go salvage what remained of the Westin… and to deal with the bodies. Their former prisoners could go piss on their tombs later down the line for all he cared, but Dilip wouldn’t be one to leave bodies to rot out in the open.

Where to bury them… was another matter entirely that had Dilip pacing around his office for most of the morning while Roberto offered suggestions. For all he was inclined to follow Boss’ dying words, Parris Island was too far to bother with to go bury mere bandits…

Though it was a good idea to retrieve weapons to arm the locals. A convoy of Unimogs was soon seen driving off to do just that.

As for the burial? A close look at Roberto’s maps showed an old USMC memorial in a park, somewhere in downtown Savannah.

Close enough. Dilip wrote up an order to have Boss and his posse buried there as soon as time allowed.
His other concerns? What to do of the colony at the truck stop and their rescuees. Needless to say, sorting that out took up most of their day.

For one the Captain had to go to the truck stop himself to convince its kirin owner to accept the prisoners they had just rescued on account that they would lend a… hoof and help around. Ho Jin did have more than enough room for that, what with the adjoining motel to his truck stop. The issue was convincing him the newcomers wouldn’t basically steal his own property from under him.

Part one. Easy enough with Aleksei and her speechcraft bracelet. Ho Jin agreed, and a Unimog eventually transferred all the ponies they had rescued there later in the afternoon once they got all the briefings and support they needed.

Part two? Find a use for the truck stop and get them into a trade agreement with the WSU. Dilip did want for a colony to thrive in Savannah, if only so that the area wouldn’t fall apart by the time they had to come back for further deliveries to the HPI.

And of course Jensen eventually turned up on his doorstep to mention she wanted to set up a radio relay in Savannah as well. Matter of extending her broadcasting range.

Savannah could have its uses, and the prospect of trade coming in from the harbor was enticing enough to motivate the locals to look for something. What that could be though, it was down to Roberto to figure it out. Dilip had the de-facto Intel Officer meet up with the locals to recoup his data with local knowledge, if only to speed things up somewhat.

Local colony? That was being dealt with.

Didn’t mean Dilip was free though, because as soon as he cleared up the cleanup of the assault and the colonial development, more paperwork landed on his desk. This time about the ship rather than local affairs.

The Captain chuckled inwardly. The sudden spur to get all this stuff done felt as though his subordinates were doing their best to arrive in Cuba with an empty backlog just so they could enjoy their shore time freely.

“Sir?” Schmitt lifted her head up from the plans she was showing to the Captain alongside Alejandro.

“It’s nothing.” He waved her off. “Go on. Those plans?”

“Yes.” The orange dragon jabbed a claw at the drawings. “Nothing complicated. This all stems back to the decision you made on looting concessions and personalized cabins. Here I got two cabin modifications for the griffons – one Officer-sized for Vadim and Micha, the other rating-sized for Boris and Anton- so they get proper quarters without threatening structural integrity.”

“Details?”

“Simple.” She shrugged. “The way I had it designed, we ‘move’ them to adjacent cabins and basically knock down the bulkheads between them. Leaves them with enough room for what’s basically two-bedroom flats with one bathroom each, and the Officer variant also has enough room to create a living room and an office. The rating variant won’t, but the bedrooms are a bit bigger in turn.” She described.

“Seems like a decent compromise for mated couples. We go from using three cabins per couple with kids to two. I like that. How long to get it done? The two refits I mean.”

“One day’s work per cabin. Just need to move their stuff to the holds while my crew’s doing the works and keep the griffs out for a while. I suggest sending them on a hunt. They love that stuff.” Schmitt explained.

“Yeah, good luck sending Anton on a hunt.” Alejandro chuckled, arms crossed over his chest. “Heard she spends most of her free time watching her eggs like a hawk. Instincts you know?”

“What, she lays over them?”

“No, the eggs stay in the incubator during the day. Though I’m pretty sure I heard she and Boris do keep the eggs between them at night.” Alej’ explained. “So long as they do their job, I’m inclined to let them, no?”

“Right you are.” Dilip nodded. “I’m not hearing they skip work to gawk at their eggs, no need to do anything. Anyway, how soon can you start this stuff, Schmitt?”

“I was thinking tomorrow.” She said. “Send Vadim and Micha gator hunting or something in the morning. Should be done by the time they come back.”

“You do that then. If I remember, that’s not the only modification you want me to approve, correct?” He quirked his head, peering at the other set of schematics lying under the cabin modifications.

“That’s for the ‘looting concessions’ part.” Schmitt grabbed the schematics in her claws, showing an above view of one of the lower holds, the same one where they had installed additional diesel tanks to fuel their vehicles. “We figured it might be wiser to set something up in the lower car decks. As you know, we’ve established a certain amount of space any crewmember has access to for loot acquired during our voyages. Since it’s stuff that’s going to have a fairly low turnover and won’t move around too much, I suggest modifying the aft section of our lowest car deck and divide it into multiple storerooms on either side of the vessel. The deck will still be accessible for rolling cargo through the inner ramp, though actual capacity will be reduced and limited to the central section of the hold.”

“Any impact on stability?”

“Yes, an improvement.” Alejandro spoke up, the hyacinth macaw pulling out a sheet with his calculations. “Adding more weight in the lower decks will improve the righting levers and gain us some twenty centimeters on the metacentric height. This will reduce the need for ballast considerably, and the increased compartmentalization will improve stability when damaged. But...”

“There is a caveat?”

“It’s an extensive retrofit for one.” Schmitt stated matter-of-factly. “I cannot say whether or not we would be able to finish it before we have to leave Savannah. Plus there is the fact we will lose some cargo capacity.”

“Do we even have vehicles in the lower car deck at the moment?”

“No, just containers.” Alejandro again, since as Chief Officer it was up to him to keep an eye on stability.“I contemplated putting the armored vehicles there since they were the heaviest, but the loadmaster computer says the impact on stability is minimal when compared to a fully-loaded container. So I stowed all the spare parts there.”

“Good call.” Dilip nodded. “This should do nicely, but we’re not going to attempt to make this retrofit here in Savannah. Maybe not even Cuba depending on how long our stay there will be. In the meantime, go through the procedure by the book. Get me a parts list so we know what to salvage to get what we need for that, I want a building process from the ground up, and add contingencies to the system. Emergency pumps, firefighting equipment and alarms. I’m not seeing them on your plan. Take your time, we’re not going to start this tomorrow.”

“Aye Cap’n.” His Chief Officer and Engineer both said in unison before they took their papers and left the room.

Dilip sagged in his chair as soon as he heard the door close. From waking up early on for the assault to overseeing all the cleanup that followed, colony management and now this? Talk about a rush.

Hearing his kettle whistle in the nearby kitchenette, he hoisted himself up on his feet with a groan. If there was ever one thing to lift his spirits, it was a cup of Darjeeling.





	Much like they said they would, Rhine Forest and Fugro Symphony packed up their gear and left USS Georgia’s wreck behind, sailing west towards Kings Bay. The submarine base wasn’t far, Georgia having grounded a mere eighty miles or so off the shore, which in turn meant at the speed the ships were going they reached the coast in as little as six hours.

Entry into the base proved… tricky, to use polite language.

Like Amandine had experienced when entering Savannah, buoys had drifted out of position and away from the mouth of the entry channel, forcing them to deploy a sounding boat and waste a quarter of an hour to locate it.

That was just the first hurdle.

Unlike Savannah further north which ‘only’ required shipsto sail upstream along the river, Kings Bay wasn’t as straightforward. The base was situated at the end of a sound between multiple saltwater marshes that were sheltered from the Atlantic by Cumberland Island.

To reach the base, ships first needed to head south and sail for a gap in the belt of islands that sheltered the coast, right on the border between Florida and Georgia. The little creek was overlooked by the overgrown, red brick ruins of Fort Clinch, a 19th century set of fortifications that guarded the sound, its flagpole already beaten down by bad weather and abandonment. Past that fort, it was either straight ahead to ground in the bayou, or north along the narrow channel to make for Kings Bay.

Captain Lorelei was pretty sure they would have run aground were it not for the submariners they had on board to guide them there. Current was minimal (and thank God for that, the passage was tricky enough already), but the sandbanks and various marshes that forced the entry channel to slalom around them proved enough of a challenge for them, particularly given the fact that Rhine Forest in the rear of the convoy had to be extremely mindful of her draft, being the biggest ship of the two by quite a large margin.

And at two hundred and sixty meters in length, she was nearly twice as long as the dredged channel was wide. Lorelei was all too happy when Graham (Georgia’s XO, normally keeping an eye of those of his crew that had been transferred on her ship) pointed his hoof at the first buildings of Kings Bay as they appeared over the horizon.

Hurray for building the secret submarine base in the least convenient place in the entire state.

Idly, she wondered if the Americans ever stranded their subs in that swamp of theirs. Given the poor maneuverability in enclosed waters and the sheer size of an Ohio-class, that wouldn’t have surprised her. 

Or maybe they just stationed enough tugs on base to ensure that didn’t happen.

The quays hadn’t changed much in the span of time since Amandine’s helicopter team had explored the place. The mooring bitts were a bit rusty and there was a layer of green algae coating the bottom of the quays, but the concrete structures had fared rather well. They certainly endured the elements better than most of the buildings commonly found around the region, including some of the shore facilities inland of the quays. Nothing new though, what they found was pretty much identical to what Amandine’s helicopter pilots had described a few days prior.

Rhine Forest dropped off her tugs and maneuvered herself in position alongside the quays, a maneuver which only took the shorter Fugro Symphony half that time, and without even needing tugs. That’s what happened with longer ships: increased length may keep a course better, but it also made for very poor turning.

That and Rhine being so large meant she built up a lot of inertia whenever she started turning. With ships that big, you always keep an eye on the rate of turn indicator when you commit to a manoeuvre. If she starts turning one way, it may take several seconds of applying the bow thruster at full throttle before she even slows her turn, let alone stop.

It was all about pacing yourself, knowing how your ship behaved, and always remembering that inertia is a thing. You don’t moor a ship with a deadweight of 45,000 tons like you would park a Prius.

At least there was the upside that having crewmembers able to use telekinesis on board meant they didn’t need stevedores to handle their mooring lines. They could just bring the ship into position and then reel themselves in with the winches.

What followed was not quite unlike what Amandine was doing in Savannah with the folks at the truck stop: a colony setup process, in a fashion. They didn’t expect much in the way of trade from the former submariners in the future, but they still couldn’t really dump them right there and then without at least a modicum of assistance.

If only to kill a bit of time until the more heavily-injured US sailors could be discharged from Fugro and Rhine’s sick bays. Competent as their corpsman was, Ezra was just a unicorn in an unfamiliar body, and he lacked the experience and gear required for prolonged medical care.

Kings Bay wasn’t anywhere near as difficult to convert into a proper colony as Belfast or Savannah. Much of the base already came with a number of facilities ranging anywhere from base housing to shore tanks – albeit limited, Kings Bay was meant to service nuclear submarines, so much of the diesel there was intended for the harbor’s tenders- and all the support needed to run a fully-fledged base.

The difficulties there principally stemmed from the damage the installations had suffered and the sheer size of the place. Georgia’s crew only amounted to about 150 souls with the wounded that were currently unable to work, a far cry from what the base would normally house which meant securing the place would take up a significant portion of their resources regardless of how they went about it. Understandably so: much of the land the base occupied consisted of marshes and forestry between the various facilities, areas that needed to be patrolled at regular intervals to ensure no monster slipped through the security perimeter and sneaked its way into base housing or the barracks.

Keeping the place safe? That was going to need a whole platoon on guard duty. Two if they couldn’t adapt the patrol vehicles for use by ponies, though on the bright side most of the humvees they found should be usable despite the damaged roads.

“I don’t think that’s going to work out. Can’t afford to sacrifice a third of our forces on guard duty like that.” Captain Green announced to the whole meeting room.

A meeting room that was filled to the brim with Officers, both from his own crew and from the merchant vessels that had brought them here.

Too bad here wasn’t inside the command building itself. That was part of the problem with Kings Bay: the base was actually quite large and some sections were rather far inland from the quays. Plus there was the fact that unlike Amandine, neither Rhine nor Fugro carried any road vehicles. Boats? Plenty of them, but not a single car.

On hoof? Going back and forth between the quays and HQ wasn’t something he wanted to waste his time on. Which is why he had decided to commandeer one of the supply depots that would have normally been used as short-term storage for supplies before they were transferred on the submarines. There were enough offices above the warehouses that he could get his work done.

Right then, he had all relevant Officers gathered around a long, narrow table covered in various maps and documents while outside they could see both Fugro and Rhine, the latter ship having hooked her generators to the local grid to provide electricity. For now.

Sailors of nearly all possible species were still busy discharging the submariners’ stuff and carrying it over to one of the supply depots while in the distance, somewhere by one of the sheltered dry docks that would normally service the Ohios, another group was seen checking out the harbor tenders. Tugs and speedboats weren’t much, Green had to admit, but he’d rather have a bunch of tugs than no ship at all.

“I agree, but then how do we solve that?” Graham conceded, his XO seated on his haunches on his right side with Ignacio on the left.

Green was a bit jealous. He had to stack up some books on his chair to even reach over the table. His XO? The Earth Pony had the body of a draft stallion, he towered over him.

And let’s not mention the size difference between Ignacio and him. A little colt couldn’t compare to an adult Diamond Dog.

“We make concessions, I’m afraid.” Green sighed, the pegasus pointing one of his primaries at multiple circles that had been drawn on a map of the base. “We can’t hold onto everything, so we will have to limit ourselves to what we actually need. Here I have circled facilities we do not need for regular operations. Most of the base housing we can exclude and just cordon off a section for ourselves. R&D facilities we don’t need either. In fact if we convert the offices along the quays we can cut off most of the base, it’s just going to need a lot of chain link fences and barbed wire to isolate it all.”

“What about the armories and ammo depots?”

“That I’m not worried about. They have the tightest defenses already. Double layer fencing. We shouldn’t need too many souls to secure them.” He explained. “Cameras and all, overlooking the whole thing, not much work needed. So long we have current in the grid, holding it should be easy.”

“In conclusion?” Skinner inquired from the other end of the table. “Far as I heard it sounds like you folks need to build up some fences to keep out monsters, and secure yourself a power supply.”

“That is correct.” Green nodded. “We need a fence built around the Southeast section of base housing – the one with the community gardens-, the quays and… this place. That should cover all our needs.”

Skinner craned his neck trying to look at the map that showed a place north of the base. Quite a ways out actually. It was even further away from the quays than base housing, so that was saying something.

“Aight, what are we looking at then?” The hedgefog inquired.

“A solar farm.” Green replied. “With battery banks to retain power at night. I think the last figures I heard about the stuff were like… 30 megawatts on a sunny day? It’s built, it had a direct connection to the base’s grid, and it’s probably going to last us longer than using diesel generato-”

Lorelei coughed in her hoof, momentarily halting Georgia’s former CO for a second.

“While I do agree it’s a good idea, has anyone gone and inspected the place?” She said. “Last I checked the weather hadn’t been too kind on the infrastructure around here. Your solar farm, chances are it’s damaged. Possibly down to the substation too.”

“Good call.” Green nodded at the pink unicorn. “So let’s go with this: if the farm is still in working order with enough solar cells and the substation working, we secure the place and fence it to get power. By working order I mean that we can get at least 10 megawatts out of it. It’s not like we need that much power anyway.”

“And if it’s not?” Lorelei pressed on.

“Then…” He turned towards Ignacio. “Del Rio, how good is your team at electrical installations?”

“Good enough.” The D-Dog said. “Only problem is two of my electricians are among the wounded. Not going to be easy without them. Not fast either.”

“So long as it can be done, I’m willing to let that slide.” He acknowledged. “Backup plan if the production is below the 10MW threshold and the substation can’t be fixed, is to salvage as many solar cells as we can and relocate them to the armories and the ammo depot. The area is open enough to get good lighting, and it’s already secure too. Are those parameters clear enough for you?”

“Will do.” Lorelei nodded, jotting down the requirements in a notebook with her telekinesis before she put it down and a slight frown appeared on her features. She turned her head towards Skinner, the hedgefog having chosen to remain silent up until then. “Skinner, I don’t know about you, but I’ll have my crew provide assistance until the wounded can be discharged. I can send my electricians to assist with the solar power, and the rest can start retrofitting humvees for pony use and putting up fences. But there is more…”

“And what would that be?” Green inquired.

Lorelei’s horn flared up and she lifted a couple pieces of paper in her telekinesis.

“You see, back in Belfast we picked up a pair of passengers. One was handled by Amandine and should probably have reached her destination in Jacksonville by now, but my own ship picked up another.” She sighed dejectedly.

“Why the long face?” Graham joked.

“I’m just a bit disappointed I couldn’t convince him to join my crew. Needed to plug a hole in my engineering department you see.” Lorelei shook her head. “He didn’t take the job. The name’s Lukas Milford. A mechanic. Earth Pony. Worked a decent job for the passage across the Atlantic, but try as I might he doesn’t want to stay. Was due for Philadelphia, but now… here, read this.” She showed Georgia’s former commander a note.

“Is this… is this a job request?” Green blinked.

“I had him write it.” Lorelei acknowledged. “Had a chat with the guy. I can understand he’d rather stay with his own countrymen than sail the world with foreigners, I get the feeling.”

“So you’re just gonna hand him over to us?” He quirked an eyebrow, echoing a sentiment that was shared by most of his Officers around the table.

“No, we’re not forcing him onto you lot.” She raised her hooves to placate him. “The choice is up to you. I only agreed to pass over the letter and tell you. He does a decent job.”

Green pinched his muzzle with two primary feathers.

“Alright. Fine. Del Rio, he’s a mechanic, care to interview him?”

“Will do Captain.” His Chief Engineer nodded.

“Good. No guarantee we’ll actually hire him though, Lorelei. He’s a civvie.Good as you claim he is, he probably doesn’t have the military mindset.”

“Your call.” Lorelei shrugged. “What’s next then?”

A lot actually.

The whole meeting room erupted into various strings of conversation as multiple Officers all started vying for attention, each with their own set of issues that needed to be tended to, from security perimeters to briefings the submariner returnees had yet to receive.

Green’s ears folded back against his head. He threw Lorelei an accusatory glare. The mare had the merit of at least looking sheepish.

This was going to take a while.





“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU radio. Hope you’re all having a fine day in whichever part of the world you call home, I’ve got some news for you.” Sandra recited in her microphone, vaguely keeping track of what she wanted to say in the day’s broadcast on her notes.

It really was just a rough summary of what intel they had collected for the day, news she was told from other colonies, and some extra remarks and tips on the biology of post-Event species, how to deal with certain monsters, and even a practical extra on how to maintain a water purifier. The last one she suspected was the kind of topics that attracted most of her audience, as she frequently received that kind of questions on the e-mail address (satellite-based, of course) she mentioned every so often in her podcasts.

Those questions she would usually go and ask around the ship looking for answers. There were plenty of folks in engineering that could go on for hours talking about the ins and outs of a desalination plant and diesel generators. She didn’t always invite them on air though. Angelo for instance? Big guy was friendly enough, but the minotaur had a bad tendency to ramble for hours whenever someone asked him about technical stuff.

Not a good idea when she wanted to keep her podcasts short.

“So let’s start with the good news.” She began. “The first post-Event baby was born today in Montana near Flathead Lake. Little Jimmy’s mother was already pregnant when magic swept the world. I’m sure the pregnancy wasn’t easy for his mother, but now I daresay this little pegasus foal brings a measure of hope in a world that would otherwise look rather bleak, don’t you think?” She chuckled. “Congrats on the new mommy. Just let me say this folks: have some sympathy for returning mothers like this. Chances are, they didn’t come back with their husband, and winding up on your own, having to care for a child in a nearly deserted world?

I’m not saying you should step in and help her raise the kid if you’re not the father. That’s not your role, don’t be a servant. I’m just saying: if you’re in a colony, set things up so the community helps her a bit. Toss a couple cans of food and some clothes her way. We ain’t getting anywhere as a budding society if we start leaving people by the wayside, right?

Now, don’t mistake me saying you should not raise a single mother’s kid for me saying you shouldn’t adopt stray children. There will be plenty of them coming back in the future, and personally – I know some of you will disagree-, I don’t consider this to be the same thing as a child that’s with his mother at all. Given that their parents might not come back for ten… a hundred… ten thousand years, I don’t see the harm in adopting them.”

She paused and looked up towards the ceiling.

“Undskyld mig-err, sorry I mean. That was a bit preachy even by my standards.” She apologized. “I guess I should just say: be serious about it if you’re going to adopt a returnee kid. Griffon children may look cute and all, but they’re not pets and they’re even quite the handful to manage. Seen enough of it to know they can be a bit wild, to put it mildly.” She laughed.

Still, pity Vadim and Micha. Even with ‘Uncle Rahul’ helping them Andy had a bad habit of fooling around in the cargo holds and slipping between their talons at a moment’s notice. At least she looked happy.

“Now, back to more serious stuff. For you today I have a road train in Australia that’s slowly turning into some kind of nomadic convoy wandering the desert with their posse of ponies and reformed changelings – yes people, turns out the King of the Outback really met with the changelings, and now they set up their own thing over there-. The northerners in Narvik are progressing quickly with their community and have a proper trade post set up there under the divine protection of the Nordic Gods, and now I caught word of another member of the Celtic Confederation.

Not in Ireland surprisingly. Mind you the Celtic Nations aren’t just Ireland. We’re speaking Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, Brittany and -depending on who you ask-, Galicia. It’s bigger than you’d think.

So where are they then? Roll of the drum please...”

She quickly played an effect on a soundboard she kept on hoof.

“These guys are from… Brittany! That’s right folks, we now have news of a colony in France, under divine protection of none other than the Horned God Cernunnos.” She read off her notes. “They caught my broadcast when they set up a radio station of their own in their castle in… Trecesson was it? Far as that guy Emeric told me, they’re near a former military academy in a medieval castle. The unique thing with them is… they’re in a magic forest. Dunno if any of you is into Arthurian Mythos, but turns out it’s all true and Broceliande is a thing. Powerful thing too, from what I heard, with fay ladies, Merlin’s ghost and all… details on that another day though. I’m still getting details from my local correspondent.

The big news today is what I was told happened the other day in Sao Paulo. ‘member what I said about demons and pirates and all?

Turns out they made their first attack, and the port of Sao Paulo was the target. Santos that is. The pirates attacked with a warship and bombarded the colony for a good while before they swooped in to take the spoils. Be careful with those guys, the colony in Santos was pretty well defended by police folks and they still got roughed up real bad trying to fend off the pirates long enough for the colonists to evacuate inland.

Worse even is that they didn’t only steal stuff. They took people too.Corpses even. What they needed them for I have no idea, but it can’t be good. Remember the pirates are sided with honest-to-gods demons, so… I wouldn’t hold too much hope for whoever it is they captured. Beware the snatchers.

I can say there is an upside though. The GATE guys did good work – GATE is their special police over there FYI-, so casualties were pretty limited and the refugees were taken in by local homesteads and salvage outposts. They had to give up the harbor and move in further inland, but apparently it’s mostly sorted out. 

Although… okay, fair bit of warning: that last segment may be a bit of a reach. Cordeira – the GATE guy that contacted me in the first place- said there was this Argentinian fisherman that passed through the area before the attack. Bit of a loony from what he described, but he may have been onto something as he was telling everyone about some evil in the far south or some such.” Sandra sighed.

The next page of her notes was a weather chart of the South Atlantic taken a few hours prior.

“You see peeps, I’ve looked at satellite pictures. Cape Horn? Yeah the weather around there just doesn’t seem right. There is some kind of… ever-present storm covering the whole area. Weather doesn’t work like that, so either it’s some weird ancient magic or… one of the demons that oh-so-nicely decided to invade our quaint little planet.” She explained grimly.

“Take care people. Avoid Tierra Del Fuego and southern Chile and Argentina as a whole. Tangling with demons… there are fates worse than death. That’s it for today’s podcast. Up next is a request: Overdrive from Eraserheads. Hope you like Pinoy rock folks.”





When Schmitt told them they could go hunting for the day while they converted their cabins, Micha and Vadim had been elated. Micha for one had been pretty pumped at the prospect of going gator hunting and Vadim felt like he could use the distraction after tending to some of the wounded that had come from the Westin.

He was all too glad to leave Artyom in the hands of his fellow veterans and join Micha and Andy in the holds before the three of them piled up to have a little day off out in the marshes. Like they did when going hunting in Ireland, they took one of the Defenders from storage and drove off.

To say that Andy was ecstatic at the prospect would have been an understatement. The young griffon was bouncing in her seat in the back of the truck as they left Amandine behind, leaving Vadim to try his best to calm her down long enough for Micha to give the cub (and him, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud) some hunting lessons.

His mate was rather stringent that they didn’t get a repeat of the semi-feral incident they had experienced in Belfast, and funny as Andy seemed to find it, she wasn’t too inclined to turn into a wild animal whenever she went hunting. She liked the activity too much for that.

Dilip had been of some help in combating the issue. Not unlike them, the D-Dog had experienced some trouble with the wilder parts of the canine psyche, particularly whenever jewelry was around. He never had been a paragon of Hindu faith, but his habit of meditating turned out to be a pretty decent solution to the issue that the Captain actively encouraged his subordinates to practice.

Micha wouldn’t say she was fully in control just yet, griffon instincts were far too potent for that, but she wouldn’t be caught flat-footed like what happened in Northern Ireland at least. And from what she gathered, Vadim was actually quite a bit better at the whole meditation and remaining in control thing than she was.

“Ever looked into gator hunting then?” Vadim questioned her in Polish when they finally reached a spot she deemed decent enough to hunt atop a levee in the middle of the swamp.

She would rather use a stand, unfortunately they had all either been reclaimed by nature or outright destroyed by the elements. Shooting from the Defender’s roof would have to do.

“Only vaguely. I don’t know the shot placement for them.”

“So?”

“Well...” She took her hunting rifle out of its sheath and slid a magazine inside before pulling out a small picture of a gator lying on a shore. “Let’s be smart about it. Andy? Come over sweetie, lesson time.”

Like a cat, the adopted cub leapt onto the roof, spreading her wings ever so slightly to catch more air. She still had a ways to go before she could actually fly on her own power, but she sure was doing her best to get there faster. Andy sort of had taken to the habit of hop-gliding instead of running regularly. She would half-open her wings and alternate at quick intervals between outright sprint and gliding.

It was… surprisingly fast, as Rahul had discovered when she decided to steal some bread from the galley.

She climbed onto the roof of the Defender and squeezed herself between her two adoptive parents, Vadim giving her an affectionate nip on the back of her neck before he let Micha continue her explanation.

“Alligators are pretty tough, and we don’t have the gear to hunt them in the water. What we need to do is to let them get out of the water to sunbathe and rest with their… pod is the word I think? Regardless: we attack them out of the water when they’re vulnerable and when we can recover the body.” Micha said, motioning with her talons towards a muddy shore facing south that she fully expected would attract the reptiles.

If it didn’t, she could always drop a bit of jerky. Might attract them.

“Then… well, I’ve seen TV shows where they fish them out of the water and finish them off with a round of .223 or .22LR to the back of the head.”

“So you’re aiming for the back of the head?”

“No.” She shook her head firmly and pointed at the back ridges and thick scales that covered the back of the gator. “With the angle I’m shooting from, it would just ricochet off their back. That rules out spine shots too.” She circled her talons over a spot a little behind the gator’s forelegs on the picture. “Remember: on TV they do it with .223. My gun is a .308. I think that should be enough to punch through the scales as long as the angle is favorable. The rest… I admit it’s guesswork, but behind the forelegs should strike a couple vital organs. If it’s a lung shot, that should prevent them from swimming away and dive under the water.”

“Mommy not sure?” Andy quirked her head.

“No sweetie. Sometimes you just don’t know and you have to guess based on what you do know. Understand?”

The little cub blinked owlishly at her before she looked at the sky with a scowl.

“Totally. I tostally un-destand.” She finally said.

Sure she did… Micha ruffled her head feathers and told them to lay low while she went to set some bait on the shore.

Unsurprisingly, the gators didn’t turn up immediately. A few birds tried to get the bait but were soon chased away by the three griffons, but it wasn’t until a few hours later that the reptiles’ heads finally peeked out of the water as an entire congregation (the actual word for a group of gators) of them swam for the shore.

Not that the griffons minded the wait. They were there to kill time in the first place, and it certainly felt better to sun themselves under the Georgian sun than wait inside a deer stand in Northern Ireland. Must have been the big cat part in the griffons.

The gators went for the bait and lazily plopped down on the shore.

Micha took aim with her rifle. The range already long set in the scope and…

Another gator emerged out of the water. Or rather, it looked like a gator, except double the size, double the teeth, and twice the scale thickness, so hard were they that they looked as though they were made out of stone, with the jagged appearance that came with it. Two rows of plates lined its back, each pointing to its malicious yellow eyes.

“That ain’t no gator...” Micha mumbled, tearing her eyes away from her scope.

“That… is a cragadile.” Vadim realized.
> Chapter 79: A Vet's Tale
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vadim carefully gauged the huge reptile sunning itself amidst a congregation of regular gators before he looked back towards his mate.

“You feel like pissing it off?”

“‘course not.” Micha snorted, having already slung her .308 rifle over her back. “You see the skin on that thing? Hard pass.”

	She was already spreading her wings and opening her beak to tell Andy to follow when she felt a tug on her tail. Turning her head she found her adopted cub, looking a bit confused.

“No hunting?”

“I’m sorry kotka, but you need to learn to pick your fights.” She waved her talons over to the cragadile. “You need to know what you can hunt safely. This? No good. Come. We’ll go shopping instead, ok?”

“Oh…” Andy’s wings sagged slightly and she looked down at the ground dejectedly. “Ok mommy…”

Micha stroked her between the wings for comfort, the little griffon arching her back like a cat and brushing closer to her before she quietly motioned to get back to their Defender.

Because why bother killing a monster that hadn’t noticed them? In the middle of a swamp?

Most of their afternoon was thus spent trying to find the few shops not too damaged by the floods in downtown Savannah to have their pick of the remains and start filling up that loot concession they had been granted recently thanks to Artyom’s intervention with the Captain. Liquor was one thing they found plenty of, a couple extra toys for Andy – that made up for the lack of a hunt to the young cub-, and even decorations for their cabin that they retrieved from some semi-dilapidated art-deco shop near a sinkhole.

That took up the brunt of their day before they decided to make their way back to the west side of Savannah, stop by the truck stop to warn the locals they’d need some seriously high power weapons to deal with the abnormally-sized reptiles that now inhabited the swamps.

Ho-Jin took it in stride. The kirin and his grandson were actually more bothered by the sudden influx of inhabitants to their truck stop than they were by the need for bigger guns, though the same influx that disturbed the elderly kirin’s peace and quiet also made it possible for the place to expand the scope of its utilities. Already there was the tall mast of a radio relay rising above the motel, a sign WSU radio would be able to broadcast in the region in the future and, more importantly, keep in touch with the colony.

Industry-wise, Savannah actually had some pretty decent development projects available. While there wasn’t a whole lot they could do in the realm of farming, the area around the truck stop held a number of small manufactures that could be salvaged and revived in very short order. Nothing too big, but some of the stuff they made near the truck stop just so happened to be the exact things that were in high demand as of late:

Ammunition for small arms.

Tractor engines that could readily be turned into generators with a proper retooling.

There were even a couple breweries lying around, probably as much of a need as ammunition in a post-apocalyptic world, what with the effect it had on morale. Folks liked their booze.

Vadim and Micha found Roberto in heated talks with the locals about supply chains and all the logistics that would need to be involved to make the production chains viable with what little data they had available as of late. It would take some time still before it could actually be put into action, but the Italian made damn sure he wrote down what Savannah would need to start its own industrial production.

Industrial revival was the WSU’s end goal after all, lest they forgot.

However there was the problem that they were still rather limited in the amount of colonies they had available. Roberto was pretty sure Belfast, Narvik and Savannah weren’t enough to constitute a viable trade route. Not quite yet.

That would have to wait until they visited all the colonies in Latin America that the HPI had given them intel on. As far as they knew, the process should be straightforward: reach a colony, help it set up to cover its basic needs, then move on and analyze local industries and figure out what’s good for export.

So far they had parts of a couple production chains: scrap and steel could come from Narvik’s former mining industry. Belfast could make food of various sorts and had the ability to machine parts to a certain extent, plus their whole dry dock deal.

And now they had Savannah with ammo, alcohol and generators. And the contact point with the HPI. Can’t forget that one. Not that they could tell any of the locals.

Not a complete puzzle by any means, they needed more. Not much though. Roberto hoped that adding an oil refinery to the fray might be enough to get an actual trade route going. A refinery like the one intel pointed was near the colony they knew of in Mexico.

“Hard at work uh?” Vadim asked Roberto after they picked him up from the truck stop to bring him back to the ship.

The Abyssinian sitting in the back of the Defender turned his gaze away from Andy and faced forward, looking at Vadim through the rearview mirror.

“It’s annoying is all. We have the contacts, they’re all willing, but it’s a puzzle that can’t work until we at least have the border parts to hold it together.” He complained. “Problem is, we only have a vague idea of where those pieces are from the intel we bought off the HPI.”

“Gives us a direction to follow.” Micha shrugged.

“I get that.” Roberto replied. “But if you look into it, all we’re doing for now is screwing around without producing anything of actual value. We’re exploring.”

“I beg to differ.” Vadim countered. “We’re not screwing around. Main reason we came here in the first place was to trade for parts, or did you forget that?”

“I haven’t.” Roberto frowned. “But Belfast and Narvik, I need to placate them you know? Tell them we’re working things out and that if they wait they’ll have their import/export gig. Here in Savannah? I cannot tell them about the HPI, so in their books we just sailed up the river for no reason at all.”

“Wait, they don’t know about the HPI?” Vadim did a double take.

“It’s all in the contract. Only ones we can discuss their existence with are other WSU members, and that’s because they’re under contract as well.” He told them. “Please tell me you didn’t...”

“We haven’t!” Micha exclaimed quickly, the words coming out of her throat in a sharp squawk. “Almost did, but we haven’t. You might want to put up a PSA or something about it though.”

“Guess I will.” The feline drawled before he leaned back in his seat as the container stacks of the harbor came into view.

And as soon as he was back inside, he would have to get behind his computer and work his ass off placating colonial leaders to tell them their supply chains were being created and that the sailors weren’t screwing around for no good reason.

Colonial politicking was almost enough to make him long for the mind-numbing simplicity of his pre-Event duties.





Continuous, rhythmic beeping punctuated the relative quiet of Amandine’s sick bay as Artyom glowered at the ceiling. The sharp smell of antiseptics weighed heavily on the dragon’s nostrils, most of it coming from his thickly bandaged wing that throbbed dully, the appendage kept extended fully over the side of his bed.

He had to give it to Vadim, the griffon had become surprisingly good at treating wounds despite not being an actual doctor, but even then there was only so much the griffon could do. That buckshot really had done a good job at making swiss cheese out of his wing’s membrane, blood loss not helping, yet the griffon had managed to stitch it back together pretty decently and stabilize him.

Keyword being: stabilize. Vadim had only given him enough of their limited stock of health potions to help his membrane heal faster, but that didn’t extend to the blood loss, which admittedly the potions weren’t too efficient at handling to begin with.

Didn’t extend to the other wounds either.

This was why he was stuck inside the infirmary feeling like shit. Not only was his wing injured, but now that the adrenaline was flushed out of his system he was feeling the full brunt of all the hits he had sustained in the firefight. Minor hits that required no treatment, sure, but that didn’t make them any less painful. More annoyingly, he could hardly get up without feeling faint because of all the blood he’d lost.

Which would have been worse had it not been for Schmitt volunteering for a transfusion. She was the only other dragon on the crew, and unfortunately they were universal donors, not recipients.

The result? Rest, red meat, and plenty of gems to regrow the scales he had lost in the fight.

Eh, almost feels like after Grozny. His mind supplied.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts before he could drive himself down that rabbit hole, the door opening to reveal none other than the rest of the veterans.

“Guys.” He greeted them as he tried to sit up in his bed.

Not a bright idea. His vision went fuzzy before he could rise and he would have fallen over were it not for Bart and Scarface grabbing him in their telekinesis.

“Take it easy pal, you’re still recovering.” Scarface told.

“I hadn’t noticed.” The dragon said dryly. 

“So you’re not getting too bored in there?” Sri tried, the hippogriff grabbing a stool in her talons before she came to take a seat by his bedside.

“What do you think?” He snorted. “I can’t do shit in here, I can’t even fap without fainting, and I feel like I’ve been dragged under a steamroller. So yeah, I’m having a great time.”

“There’s an upside at least.” Bart offered. “At least you didn’t have to bury the bodies and clean up this mess.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I fucked up.”

“I wouldn’t call holding an entire flank by yourself a fuckup, just sayin’.” Bart stated, entirely nonplussed. “We and Scar’, we had magic and shields. You did it all on your own.”

“Amazing where that achievement got me, don’t you think?”

“Gee, it’s almost like you love being rude.” Sri rolled her eyes.

“Coping mechanism.” He shrugged, albeit only on his uninjured side. “Didn’t help me get along with the nurses in ‘95 when I was recovering.”

“It’s about Chechnya isn’t it? You mentioned it before we attacked.” She prodded.

Not that he’d ever gone into details about it. Going by the way the dragon’s features distorted at the question, even that had been more of a slip than something he really intended to reveal.

“You never really did tell us what you did during your service.” Bart pointed out.

“Because that ended poorly, that’s why. Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” Artyom growled, letting himself sink back in his pillow. “Scar’, Sri, you knew me before I grew scales, where do you think I got my bad leg?”

The two sailors looked at each other awkwardly.

“We had our assumptions, we just never asked.” Sri finally admitted after a minute. “But… if that was so bad, then why do you wear the beret and celebrate VDV day?”

“That’s… complicated. Look, most of the shit that went on in Grozny, that’s the brass’ fault, shitty Officers, politicians and all.” He glared at the ceiling. “I can’t just spit on all the guys that got injured alongside me, the guys I shared barracks and trained with you know?”

“And then there is the nostalgia.” Bart guessed.

Artyom’s eyes flicked to the unicorn.

“That too, yes.” He nodded. “Hard not to join in on the fun when it’s VDV day. Then the habit starts to stick.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause for a minute or two.

“So...” Scarface finally uttered to break the silence. “It really was that bad?”

“Ever get hit with a faceful of reality? That’s pretty much what happened.” Artyom told them. “I’d love to pretend I was just a dumb kid who didn’t know better, but come to think of it, it wasn’t really that. I enlisted in the mid eighties, all starry-eyed at the time. Wanted to be the best, so I did all I could to become an airborne trooper. Veh-deh-veh. That was too late for Afghanistan though, my unit had already pulled back by the time I finished training. And here I was sad not to be part of the debacle at the time...” He chuckled ruefully.

“Wait, there’s like...” Scarface paused. “Ten years between that and the first Chechen war?”

“Sounds about right.” Artyom confirmed. “Didn’t do much in that time. It was… weird. Things were already falling apart in the Union, you could see the ‘cracks’ showing here and there. I tried to ignore that and focus on what I was doing. Barracks life, training, the typical military bullshit and all… Hell, I still went to church at the time and I landed myself a fiancee. Wasn’t great, but I figured it was better in the VDV than outside as a civilian.”

Sri blinked. She’d never seen the bosun with a ring. Then?

“Then they dissolved the Union. The nineties happened. And Post-Soviet Russia… Yulia and I married in a hurry in ‘93 when things were starting to look rough...-er. Even got to live off base for a little while. That was nice. I was already getting a bit old for the barracks lifestyle. Yulia was a bit worried about what was happening elsewhere and all, people had it rough because everything was changing so damn fast.” He breathed out. “Me? I was just somewhat glad I could ride it out.”

“Then Chechnya happened.” Scarface muttered.

“And it was a right mess. It wasn’t like exercises where stuff was clear and all. Felt like the brass was making shit up as they went, just to look nice for the press and the politics. Me? I was just below them, forced to pick up their shit and try to make it work. I know with the VDV we did better than the rest, but when I laid eyes on that shitfest… I told myself: there is no God.”

Actually things proved the contrary as of late, but pre-Event and post-Event were two different worlds.

“That bad?”

“The conscripts were getting butchered like cattle. I’m still surprised we even managed to capture that airport east of Grozny. Khankala I think it was? Doesn’t really matter anymore. Had to watch my buddies be carted off one after another, people I had known for years, they had families and all. Most were wounded, some...”

“But you did better than the conscripts, right?” Bart tried.

“Buddy, us doing better doesn’t mean we did good.” The dragon snorted out a puff of smoke through his nostrils. “We were supposed to be the good ones, the professional army. That? That was just shameful. I managed to survive the assault on Grozny in one piece, somehow, and then we hunkered down to defend the airport. Two days later, bang, I caught shrapnel with my knee.”

“How come?”

“Stray RPG. I ducked like a bitch soon as I heard it fire, except I was a bit too slow. And ‘cause I was, I spent the next twenty years walking around with a bad leg. Fun fun fun.” He laughed acidly. “Story ain’t over though. It gets worse. Triage and medical was fucking terrible at the time. They kept saying they were going to handle it correctly and all. ‘Correctly’, my ass. I almost lost my leg a couple times due to sheer medical incompetence, they lost track of me more times than I can count before I was transferred to Sochi, and worst of all: they screwed my whole family over.”

“Your wife?”

“They straight up told her I was dead. Yulia, she had always had some trouble with the drink. That tipped her over. She lost the kid. That made it worse. Drank some more while I was still recovering in Sochi. By the time I made it home to St-Petersburg – and that was an adventure in its own right-, she’d been buried for a couple months, and she never knew she wasn’t actually widowed. Me? I was.” Artyom crossed his arms over his chest while he was looking at the ceiling. “Dunno if you figured it, but try being a wounded, widowed veteran in a country that’s transitioning away from communism, where you can’t get any form of compensation for your war injury, people hate you for fighting in a fucked up war and...” The scaly ridges he had for eyebrows furrowed. “All my life I had been in the military. Never knew how to live the civvie life at the time. And here I was dropped into it as a near-cripple.”

“Near-cripple? You weren’t that bad when I first met you.” Sri interrupted.

“Because I managed to save enough to have the operation the army refused to give me.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Couldn’t rely on any of the stuff I used to, folks hated me… so I went looking elsewhere. Joined the merchant navy – wasn’t easy getting a job with the injury, but the experience as an NCO helped- and… I guess at that point I didn’t care too much about Russia anymore.”

“I wonder why.” Scarface snorted sarcastically. “Still… that’s fucked up. Real fucked up I mean.”

“Yeah...” Bart blinked. “I’ve been places with the Belgian Army, and they screwed me over a couple times for small stuff, but never was it that bad. I mean… I was unionized.”

All three other veterans suddenly turned to him.

“Hold on a sec’, you werein a friggin’ union? Like, a labor union? In the military?” Scarface gaped.

“Well, yeah. I wasn’t a rep’, but it helped. Like a lot. Why? That’s weird?” He asked innocently.

There was a pregnant pause. Just a few seconds of utter and complete silence before Artyom suddenly burst out laughing, the dragons laughing so hard he was clutching his sides.

“No offense, you a good guy Bart...” The dragon chortled. “… but the Belgian Army? Kind of a joke.”





To say Meadowbrook and Rockhoof weren’t happy about what had happened to Martin would have been the understatement of the month. It didn’t take long for Starswirl to figure out what happened in the clearing with the Golden Tree through the use of a few spells.

Martin is an element bearer. His magic is now distinctly linked to the tree’s.

The problems started when he teleported the group back to the castle and explained to the fawn’s two adoptive parents what it was that had happened.

“What the buck, Star?!” Meadowbrook yelled shrilly after they put the unconscious Martin back in his bedroom. She rounded up on the ghost and jabbed a hoof through his ethereal chest. “The Cernunnos incident wasn’t enough already? Now he’s got to be an Element Bearer too?!”

“Why are you saying this like I’m the one at fault?” The mage protested.

“I’m sorry Star, but he’s got the purple Element. Same as yours. That does sound a bit suspicious.” Rockhoof pointed out.

“I didn’t do anything to lead to this. The Tree did it.” Star pointed a hoof in the general direction of the Golden Tree. “I was already busy giving him magic lessons, why would I push it furth-?”

Starswirl paused, ears flicking this way and that as he heard hoofsteps walking through the castle’s hallways. With a snort, the ghost ignited his horn and in a flash the three former Pillars of Equestria were teleported inside his magical plane, the one inside his tower with the floating islands.

The place wasn’t as barebones as it was when he first showed it to Rockhoof. The Canterlot-esque golden spire that towered above the rest of the floating islands had become better furnished overtime with everything the wizard needed and then some, like the little balcony he had teleported them onto, somewhere near the top. A fake breeze gently rustled his mane as the enchantments of the pocket dimension gave him a fleshy form once more.

One of the reasons why he stayed inside his plane so much. Yes he had his other half – technically the real Starswirl, since his half on Earth was Merlin- still alive and kicking in Equestria to feel material, but even then he didn’t really like being a ghost. He still had to be ethereal whenever he left the tower, but he’d much rather keep to his experiments within the pocket dimension and be able to touch stuff without extensive magic.

Not like that was particularly hard. His backlog was filled up with research projects, both his own and some he owed to Morgane, in addition to the multitude of modifications he still needed to add to the magical plane. Like a floating island for trying out combat spells.

He didn’t really feel like blowing up his garden. Again.

“Star?” Rockhoof quirked his head.

“Sorry friend.” Starswirl turned away from the balcony. “I felt like this discussion had better be kept private. You haven’t told the rest of the colonists much about the Elements, have you?”

“Miles and Emeric know a bit about it… otherwise not really, no. They know about the deal we got with Cernunnos because it’s so important, but I didn’t feel like they should know about the Golden Tree.”

“Probably a good call then.” He turned towards Meadowbrook. “Tea, dear?”

“Hold it a second!” The mare trotted up to him with a glare. “Don’t try to shift the subject. We were talking about Martin.”

“Peppermint and honey then. That should help with the stress.” He said calmly before igniting his horn and summoning a tea set from somewhere inside the tower.

“Star...” Meadowbrook uttered in a low tone, the pregnant Earth Pony already pawing at the ground, much to her husband Rockhoof’s alarm.

“There’s no need for violence Meadow. I swear I’m as concerned by this turn of event as you are.”

“If you were you wouldn’t be so nonchalant!”

“Some things, you just can’t do anything about. This is one of those. I do have Martin’s best interests at heart, I’d swear on it, and don’t get me wrong: this burden that’s piling up on him is concerning...” He paused to fire off a heating spell at the kettle. “… But there is not a single thing that can be done to cut one’s ties to an Element. You and I both know it.”

Meadow snorted. Loudly. She maintained her glare towards Starswirl for a couple seconds more before she stopped when Rockhoof embraced her from behind and she melted in her husband’s hooves, shuddering.

“If there is nothing that can be done Star, then…?” Rockhoof voiced, inquisitively.

“I don’t actually think this will change how he should be raised. Not by much.”

“Faust almighty Star, he’s an Element Bearer!” Meadowbrook raised her voice.

“And if he got the Element in the first place...” Starswirl turned around abruptly after pouring himself a cup of tea. “… then that means he’s of the right material to make it. He wouldn’t have earned it if he couldn’t pull it off. We’re already raising him to become proficient in magic. You, I, even Cernunnos’ influence. The way I see it, he’s going to turn out like much of Celly’s students.”

“Celly, now?”

Starswirl blushed and stroked a hoof over his beard in embarrassment.  

“Princess Celestia I mean. Sorry.” He rubbed a hoof against the back of his head. “Hard to stick to decorum when she’s become so informal after her abdication. We hang around each other a lot in Equestria.”

“We’re aware.” Meadowbrook smiled. “What of her students?”

“You know she’s had her ‘prized pupils’ in the past.”

“Yet some of them broke down from sheer stress trying to keep up.”

“Not all of them. Take Twilight for instance. That’s a brilliant mare if I’ve ever seen one, and she carried on with the alicorn spell where I didn’t.”

“You didn’t finish it because only mares can be alicorns.” Rockhoof drawled.

“Among other things.” Star cringed. “I had my reasons. Back to Twilight though, she being an Element Bearer means she could shoulder the burden, and I’m confident such is the case with Martin.”

“Twilight Sparkle was also an arguably unbalanced and socially atrophied mare for the better part of her youth.” Meadowbrook countered. “You’re saying Martin should go down the same path? I’m not sure I can accept that.”

“You know, the good thing with the past is we can take lessons from it, didn’t you know?” Starswirl commented sarcastically after taking a sip of his tea. “Lest you forgot we now have a school in this colony, and kids he can grow up alongside. Martin can get his lessons from us two, grow up to be a good mage, alchemist and Element Bearer, and he can have a social life with colts his age.”

“And when the time comes for the Elements to assemble?” Rockhoof inquired, one hoof tightening around Meadow.

“He’ll be ready. Believe me. He will.” Star confidently told the couple.

Now if the tree’s spirit could just wake up from its dormant state so he could go back and ask for advice. Or even ask the actual names of the Elements, if only so they wouldn’t just refer to them by color.

Or he could just ask Martin when he woke up.





Not unlike what was happening in Savannah, things had moved on quite a bit in the last few days for the folks down in Kings Bay, leading to the creation of a burgeoning colony populated by the one hundred and fifty or so US sailors from USS Georgia.

It turned out that the solar farm they wanted to seize and use as their main power supply was too damaged to be used as it was. Multiple teams of electricians from the fleet then spent their time dismantling the photovoltaic panels and salvaging what they could from the substation before they relocated all those components to the base’s ammo depots. The multitude of well protected bunkers were already fenced off and formed a vast array of mounds they had little difficulty installing all the solar panels on before they hooked them up to a new substation that was actually a converted ammo bunker.

And while the electricians were busy with that, the rest were doing their best fencing off sections of the base so that it could be kept secure with what little personnel they had available, or converting humvees for use by quadrupeds. 

Supply-wise: not much trouble. The actual problem was the fauna in those swamps, because they soon turned out cragadiles had joined local gator congregations, and that unlike their smaller brethren, it took either some full-auto 7.62 fire to drive them off, 40mm grenades from underslung launchers, or better yet: a .50 cal for a more lasting solution. And even then the .50 cal sometimes ricocheted off their ridge plates. Bloody saurians were resistant, gotta give them that much. Not mobile by any stretch of imagination however. Even in the water they were far more sluggish than their Earth-born brethren… but you try and stop one when it’s on the offensive.

Except for a couple light injuries though, nothing they couldn’t deal with. The fencing process carried on, which eventuallydivided Kings Bay into three compounds: base housing, the furthest inland with their community gardens, barracks, medical facilities and general utilities; the ammo depots with their power supply along with a water treatment plant – drink swamp water if you want, see how it goes-; and finally the quays where Fugro and Rhine were still tied up along with a small fleet of tugs and patrol boats.

The quays were also where they had most of the offices, warehouses, workshops and garages that tended to the small fleet of six-wheeler trucks and humvees they had managed to repair and retrofit for use by their patrol teams.

All in all it took surprisingly little time to get it done. The wounded that were still undergoing medical care in Rhine and Fugro’s sick bays were slowly transferred to shore facilities once deemed stable enough, the sailors got their briefings and lessons on the new world that awaited them outside the wire, they left them plenty of intel and tips. They even raised a radio relay.

But there always came a time where you had to leave. With Kings Bay all set up and ready to face the world on its own, there was nothing else the sailors of the WSU could do for them. Already, messages were coming over the radio from Savannah that Amandine was done with her own works and cabin conversions, and that the truck stop had become a fully-fledged colony.

Which meant they were technically free to move on and investigate Cuba. Lorelei’s Third Officer had already enlisted the help of the Cadets to prepare the charts for their passage to Havana, all the data was calculated, the tides accounted for, and they even had a meeting point with Amandine somewhere off the coast of Florida provided they sailed slow enough for the last ship in the fleet to catch up with them.

This was how Captain Lorelei found herself on the quay next to her own ship, watching a plume of acrid black smoke rise up from the funnels as her Chief Engineer fired them up. Departure was imminent.

“It’s been a pleasure Lorelei.” She heard Green say as Georgia’s former CO trotted up behind her, the rainbow-maned pegasus having spared some time to make his mane look more professional.

She was tempted to tell him that was futile unless he dyed it.

“Likewise.” She nodded, not taking her eyes off her ship as she watched the gantry crane mounted on Rhine’s deck load up a few containers filled with supplies the US sailors had let them salvage from the base.“You’ll manage with your… men?”

“It’s going to be hard leading them as… a colt.” Green said. “How do you…?”

“Not have a mutiny despite looking like that?” She guessed, showing off her flank.

Lucky her, her new body wasn’t even past puberty yet (and woe her when she faced the heat season that came with it), so there was no further implication to the mare’s gesture than mere emphasis.

“That.” Green confirmed, pushing a strand of his rainbow mane behind his ear with a hoof. “Rugged sailors following… kids.”

“Unless you had issues with your command prior to the Event, I don’t think you’ll have any now. I’m sure they all remember you as you were before. Nothing that changes your wits… at least I’m pretty sure there isn’t.”

Because how the transformation may impact intelligence wasn’t a topic she ever wished to broach. The influence on behavior was sensitive enough already, so how would it go if anyone tried to assert some species were inherently smarter than others?

Badly.

Last she checked anyway, there wasn’t anything that would imply that was the case. Not to a noticeable extent at least.

“I’ll admit it’s not easy.” She went on. “But I think the main reason I wasn’t booted off my position is I have more experience being a Captain than all my Officers. I know the job already. I can lead. And frankly put they have their own problems to deal with and would rather that I hold the hot potato. I don’t think any of my crew gives a damn how old I am so long that the ship is well captained.”

“So long as you’re confident in your position.”

“What are you going to do now anyway?” Lorelei turned to face him.

“The same thing we already said we would.” He explained. “Get settled, build up our forces and our resources… and then we’re going to hit up the mothball fleet and see what we can salvage. We’ve cross-referenced the data you gave us with what’s available on base already. There aren’t any mothballed submarines to salvage, but I spotted a couple candidates in the list. Say… how many sailors do you need to run your ship?”

“Twenty five on a skeleton crew, fifty if you add the barge department to handle the auxiliaries. Why?”

Green shuffled a bit on his hooves before he pulled out a picture from under his uniform with his wing. Lorelei grabbed it in her telekinesis, finding it to show… what looked like a carbon-copy of Rhine Forest, except with a narrower wheelhouse and painted haze gray (the typical ‘navy’ color) instead of her actual black and white paint job.

“So what am I looking at?”

“Potential candidates. I got...” The pegasus colt looked up at the sky in thought. “Three of those in Beaumont. Cape Florida, Cape Farewell and Cape Flattery, all LASH vessels. Any advice?”

Lorelei looked back towards her ship, now finding that they were done loading the supply containers.

“Rhine is a good ship. She’s got great endurance, but don’t forget she was retrofitted very recently.”

“The auxiliaries and the container bay?”

“No, more than that. Before the Event I mean.” She shook her head. “Originally she didn’t have diesel-electric propulsion or azipod thrusters to manoeuvre as easily as she does. LASH designs are… fairly old actually. If the ones you salvage in Beaumont are like Rhine before her retrofit… it’s going to be barebones. Hell, she couldn’t even carry the tugboats before the retrofit. That’s a recent thing too.”

“It’s that extensive?”

“Rhine Forest was built in ‘72. She’s a very old lady, particularly for a cargo ship. Dunno how old those ships you’re going for are, but expect to have to update the crew quarters, redo the whole wheelhouse, replace the propulsion from the ground up, the cargo handling gear...” She paused. “Now that I think about it, it’s pretty much everything that’s not the hull. Don’t get me wrong, in this world the design is actually damn useful if you add the mods we gave Rhine.”

“How so?”

“The auxiliaries. That allows us to have dedicated combat escorts, launch tugs to manoeuvre and handle the barges in low depth, fish with the trawlers, land equipment ashore with the hovercrafts… you get it. Only thing she’s not too good at is launching operations inland. That’s what you want a Ro-Ro in your fleet for.”

“Like Amandine?”

“Like Amandine.” She confirmed.

“And Fugro?”

“Underwater stuff, diving, cable-laying, maybe even a bit of hydrography if she’s set up correctly.”

“Not cargo?”

Lorelei did a face.

“She… technically she could, but she’ll never be as good at the job as a dedicated cargo vessel. The deck cranes help a lot with the handling, but it’s the capacity that’s bad. And everything is carried on deck and left at the mercy of bad weather. Her type of vessels were only ever meant to resupply platforms, not to operate on common trade routes, get it?”

“Sort of, thank you.” Green looked towards the ready-to-depart ships. “I think it’s about time, no?”

“Yes. Best of luck with the salvaging.” She held out a hoof.

“Best of luck with the colonies.” He pressed his hoof against hers. The closest he could think of to a handshake.

And on that note, Lorelei left him to make her way up the gangway before he subordinates raised it. Green watched the little pink unicorn disappear behind her ship’s railing.

An hour later, Rhine and Fugro were gone, no more than a plume of smoke over the horizon, bound for Cuba.





That night, Aleksei found herself once more appearing as a spiritual projection inside of Epona’s realm. She blinked a few times, getting accustomed to the abrupt change of light from her dark cabin to the divinity’s holy plateau before she spotted Epona – as usual standing by her scrying pond with her foal- and bowed down.

For a second Aleksei threw a look at the foal. She had seen Epona give birth to… him. Played the role of midwife even. What a strange new life she was leading.

“Milady.” She finally greeted the Goddess, electing to use Gaelic for good form.

“Rise child, you of all mares should know I’m not too attached to such decorum.” Epona smiled. “Particularly from my own clerics.”

“Proper decorum with divinities is important. I only wish not to fall into bad habits that would garner me the ire of less lenient gods.”

“A good justification if I’ve ever heard any.” She stomped her hoof on the ground, beckoning the hippogriff to come sit by her and her foal near the pond. “I must say I’m happy with your actions already.”

“My actions?” Aleksei repeated, one ear tilting ever-so-slightly in confusion.

“Converting one of your shipmates wasn’t too big of an achievement, but it’s a milestone. Lady Sri’s prayers have already reached me and I’ve even influenced her dreams somewhat to soothe her confusions. I can’t wait for a proper conversion ceremony.”

“I’m glad to know she’s happy...” Aleksei looked down at the pond.

“And she seems willing enough to fill the void in her life through Celtic faith, but this is not what I was referring to.” Epona smiled. “Believe it or not, but you explaining your role as cleric and showing off your magic to those colonists netted us a dozen new followers.”

“I... uh...” Aleksei stammered. “A dozen? I thought they were just looking out of curiosity, not that they would actually… did they pray or something?”

“The formulation was a bit… haphazard to put it mildly, but it was enough for me and some other divinities to manifest ourselves in their dreams and seal the deal, so to speak. This is great news for all those that share the Celtic faith.”

“Thank you milady.”

“However, this does spark a new… issue, to deal with.” Epona looked down into her pond. Her eyes shone, and the waters shifted to show two earth ponies – a stallion and a mare- walking side by side. “Our ideology was designed for humans, and I can tell you the halls of the Tuath Dé are in perpetual debates as to what suits the world best.”

“I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this.”

“I noticed the griffons you hang around with. The two couples. I noticed the way they mate for life to form families, the details...” Epona tilted her head slightly. “Family is the building block of a strong society. Without it, the males run around wildly doing nothing to help the world advance, the females become vapid parasites living off what they can steal, and the children are either used as pawns or outright abandoned. No society can survive like that for long.”

“So… you want everyone to mate for life like griffons?”

“Actually I don’t. Some would benefit from such a scheme, humans most likely would if given a magic ritual to develop griffon-levels of pair-bonding… but ponies aren’t griffons which aren’t dragons either. And yet all must form families eventually. Hence, I give you this mission: study the mating habits of all species in this fair new world, gather what information you can, and help me figure out what sort of family unit we have to encourage for which species. I am a fertility goddess. Many would believe I have to encourage wanton lust and orgies.”

There was a pause.

“Do you, milady?”

“I am one god among many. What I would like to encourage doesn’t necessarily fit what our whole pantheon suggests as a whole. What I can say is that a family is meant to produce and raise offspring. What we have to figure out now, is what kind of family a species needs to produce the most children while raising them properly so that one generation can stand on the shoulders of the previous one. If such involves creating a ritual so species that aren’t griffons may pair-bond the way they do, so be it. But I’d be surprised if it were the case.  Understood?”

“I understand.” Aleksei nodded slowly. “This… this will not be easy, but I’ll do my best to compile all the data I have at my disposal.”

“Thank you Lady Aleksei, you’re a good cleric.”

“I’m flattered, milady.” She thanked the equine divinity as she stood up, already feeling her ethereal self fade away with the end of her dreamwalk. She was waking up.

“And… Aleksei?”

“Milady?”

“Learn to relax. Have fun. Practice your spells.” Epona smirked. “Use banishment sometime. Just for fun. I won’t mind if you blow up a tree or a wall with the spell.”
> Chapter 80: Running down to Cuba
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even for Amandine, getting from Georgia to Cuba wasn’t actually that long of a passage, at about 650 nautical miles in length. On paper it was also pretty straightforward: leave Savannah, sail south along the east-american coast until they were past Miami, then alter course south-west and aim for the bay of Havana. One day and a half of travel.

Of course they also had to play catch up with the rest of the fleet. Rhine and Fugro held a head start of roughly a hundred nautical miles, meaning the RoRo had to push her engines beyond her usual cruise speed. Not by that much though: she was, after all, the fastest ship of the three and could push to 25 knots if necessary. A respectable speed for a merchant ship.

And compared to Fugro’s paltry 16 knots? They caught up with them by the time they were abreast of Ft. Lauderdale. The area wasn’t too bad to sail in, if different from what they’d experienced in Georgia. Clear weather kept throughout the whole passage, showing no sign of turning into the tropical storms that had battered the area prior to their arrival in the US.

If anything they actively longed for a bit of breeze to stave off the heat. The tropical warmth gimmick got old real quick for the engineering department in particular as the sheer heat within the engine room soon passed the 40°C threshold.

From the outside, they watched the relatively undeveloped Georgian coastline and its wetlands turn into the far more urbanized Florida. Gone were the odd houses built upon the sparse dry land, now replaced by long sandy beaches that stretched for miles, behind which they could see villas, seaside resorts and seafront skyscrapers, the latter becoming more apparent the closer they got to Miami.

There were the Bahamas too, on the opposite side of Florida, but the archipelago was so far from their convoy it was only visible if they tuned their radars to their maximum range, a distant yellow blotch on the circular display.

That didn’t tell them much about the state of the Bahamas, but in all likelihood it was still better than Florida. Sure, the region hadn’t suffered a quarter of the destruction they discovered in Georgia, but that didn’t mean it was in a pristine state by far. The damage to all the seaside resorts for one was particularly visible with a quick check through their binoculars, most of them now nothing but broken, empty husks -some having burned and collapsed from unchecked fires- that served to house the downright monumental flocks of seabirds they spotted flying around. Seagulls mostly, all too glad to live off the rotting scraps of a dead society.

Abandoned urban centers were biomes in their own right.

Biologists would have a field day nerding out about the phenomenon. Animals reclaiming urban centers that is. There were plenty of resources mice and other rodents could survive on within the confines of the many empty houses and skyscrapers, these same buildings also providing safe nesting grounds and shelters for all those animals.
It wasn’t surprising to see their population had skyrocketed.

“Well, ain’t you observant?” Nastya chuckled from her position behind the helm as the griffon hen was running a file over her talons.

A frequent habit for her species, whether they put covers over their talons to avoid damaging stuff – as Vadim usually did- or not.

“Nah… just speculating. I need to keep the gears running up there you know?” Greet replied, tappingatalonon the side of her head. “It’s not like there are a lot of obstacles to pay attention to anyway.”

Beyond the other ships in the convoy, of course. And even then, all three Captains had been adamant that they keep a safety distance between each of them. That, in turn, meant watchkeeping on that stretch of sea wasn’t much more than filling the logbook and keeping track of the outside weather and currents.

That’s usually what happens when you have waypoints as far apart as a hundred nautical miles. You start your watch going in one direction, and four hours later by the time you hand the watch over to the next Officer, you’re still going the same way. As it stood then? Maybe Micha would get to accomplish the thrilling event of turning five degrees to starboard when they were clear of the Florida Keys.

For a job involving steering multi-thousand tons vehicles, navigation could be surprisingly boring at times.
“I’m seeing some shoals on the map… I think...” Nastya commented.

Without saying a word, Greet walked over to her helms-… hen and took control of the ECDIS, quickly checking the distance between them and the shoals off the Bahamas. 

“Closest we should pass to them is sixty miles. You were saying?”

“Nevermind then.” Nastya shrugged. “God this is going to be boring.”





One deck below, in the Captain’s office, Dilip was in heated talks with some of his crew members regarding their next port of call. Or rather: they were heated and he was rather nonchalant about their concerns.

“What do you mean you don’t mind?!” Artyom raised his voice, the dragon planting his balled fists on his desk as the Captain kept calmly sipping his tea.

“Calm down, bosun, you’re out of line.” Dilip calmly said after squeezing a few drops of lemon in his teacup.

“Sir, they’re communists!” The recently recovered blue dragon waved a claw towards a porthole pointing in Cuba’s general direction.

For someone who was just recovering from blood loss, the veteran was being surprisingly energetic. He wasn’t alone of course. Behind him were a couple of the crew’s ratings, Eastern European mostly. Not much of a surprise. Micha and Vadim were among them too, though the two Officers had yet to speak up.

And behind Dilip’s seat, his Chief Officer and Engineer were poised and ready to support him.

“I’m aware, yes.” Dilip inclined his head. “But I fail to see how that’s a problem.”

“Captain, you can’t just wave off all the damage caused by this… ideology.” Vadim carefully said, the griffon walked forward of the little crowd, nudging Artyom back with his wing. “Communism, that’s what caused the Holodomor… it’s killed millions in the past century. Ask anyone from post-Soviet countries about all the misery, the police state, the scarcity…”

“Yet I’ve heard jokes about communism. From all of you.” Dilip pointed out.

“Eh it’s Slavic humor. We like it like our coffee: black.” Vadim explained with a shrug of his wings. “Soviet times were terrible, and most of us that didn’t live through it or weren’t old enough to realize grew up with parents telling us how bad it was. The jokes are just to make levity of a catastrophe.”

“I second that.” Micha spoke up. “Gramps was in Solidarnosc since its founding. Told me all about the martial law, the repression, the struggle… Never stopped him from telling jokes about it all either.”

“Ok ok, I get it.” Dilip raised a paw to halt her. “But what’s your point then? I get it, none of you are big supporters of communism. What does it change to what we’re going to do in Cuba?”

“We can’t support them if they’re going to stick to communism!” Artyom was quick to say.

Dilip just leaned back in his seat, with his teacup still steaming in his lap. Calmly, he turned his head towards Alejandro to his right.

“Chief Officer, would you please remind me of the policies our organization has decided to follow? I think you know which I’m referring to.”

He saw the hyacinth macaw take a deep breath, his crest of feathers rising slightly before he opened his beak.

“The Switzerland Clause. We have a strict policy not to interfere in how any colony or group we come across decide to govern themselves. It is not our right as foreigners to dictate the kind of government they choose to form upon setting up their colony.” He recited.

“A bit more wordy than the original...” Dilip turned to the rest of the crowd. “… but I think you get the gist of it, no?”

“So you suggest we just let it slide?” Artyom scowled.

“Let them choose however they want to govern themselves. Ultimately it doesn’t matter much to us. They want to remain communist? Good for them. Only thing we want is to set them up enough so that they can trade with us in the future.” Dilip told them. “It’s not like I’m asking any of you to go live there for the rest of your life.”

“Question is: where will we live eventually?” Vadim suddenly said. “I mean… there will come a point where we’ll have to set up a base somewhere, right?”

“That is another matter entirely… but I agree.” Dilip nodded. “And when it will happen, I promise it will not be subjected to the Switzerland Clause. You’ll all have a say in how it’s led.”

“But wher-” Artyom was about to say when the office’s door opened to reveal Sandra. Their radio operator was cradling a thick stack of papers between her bat-like wings, looking a bit tired.

“Hello Miss Jensen.” Dilip greeted her. “We were just done discussing colonial politics. What brings you here today?”

“Captain, do you remember the attack on Sao Paulo I mentioned a couple days ago? There’s something I discovered, a theory if you will.”

“Go on then. Best lay it out while we’re all here.” He told her, beckoning her in with a wave of his paw.

Sandra nodded eagerly before she trotted over to his desk and laid out her documents in front of him. Many were weather charts and satellite pictures of the past month, and he could also see a few emails and transcripts. Among the bunch, a bigger map showed the tracks followed by the last couple of tropical storms that had plowed through this part of the world.

“As you know, there have been a couple odd weather events as of late. Storms and hurricanes doing stuff they really aren’t supposed to like moving across the Equator, going overland without losing intensity, backtracking a couple times, stopping...” She recited, punctuating each word with little jabs of her wingtip to show certain areas of her maps. “… and yesterday I was reviewing the transcript of my communications with Sao Paulo when it dawned on me.”

“How so?”

“Captain Cordeira – their colony leader, police guy- told me a storm began prior to the attack, then it faded away immediately after the… the pirates left. There’s a correlation. I think. These weird storms? They follow the pirates. The demonic ones from Equus I mean. Here… look at this map. I traced the path followed by the storm that passed through Sao Paulo.”

She brought out a weather chart showing most of Latin America, with different points each labeled with a date. It showed how the storm had started off in the Lesser Antilles before it continued North for a bit. Then, seemingly out of the blue, it stopped near Dominica, then backtracked all along the Southern American shores until it stopped for a little while over Sao Paulo.

And then it resumed its voyage towards Cape Horn.

Sandra pulled out some old data they had on the pirates most likely to have crossed over from Equus to Earth, and had thus supposedly joined Charybdis’ lot.

“The storms… they’re pirate ships.” She grinned. “And we can track them.”

Dilip looked down at the map.

One pirate in the South Atlantic. Identified as a cruiser by the survivors in Sao Paulo.

One in the South Pacific. Likely an airship since it had crossed overland through Central America.

And a third one roaming about in the West Pacific.

Dilip grinned.





There were many things Eko had to do beyond just overseeing their little alliance and trade agreements with the WSU. The sailors held the prime spot in what occupied his time, but they weren’t the sole thing that did. Agents like him weren’t tied to a particular department of the HPI. They weren’t the Upper Echelon, sure, but they were the ‘black suits’ the dark organization had made use of so extensively prior to the Event.

Most of the Agents’ force had been lost, probably doomed to reappear anytime from now to a couple millennia later, because their role was to be liaisons. Spooks. Intel Officers. The black suited guy in the back of the embassy’s ballroom who kept a pulse on current affairs and signed the deals under the table to get the HPI everything they needed.

Eko? He was of those few lucky enough to have been handing out his reports at the american facility when they went into lockdown. These days, the general lack of liaisons like him was what gave him so much leeway and freedom of action. The Upper Echelon had been quick to turn them into… managers of sorts, who ensured that all the various departments that were the cogs of the HPI’s underground facility ran with a modicum of cohesion. They did their best to keep a leash on loose cannons the likes of Lexington…

Bad example. Eko scowled. In this particular scientist’s case, he was ashamed to admit he was more dancing to his tune rather than the contrary.

But that didn’t mean Lexington represented all cases. There were a couple overeager engineers in their research department he had to keep from wasting valuable resources, just as there were many requests he had to shoot down coming from scientists that wanted the sailors to run experiments for them.

At the price they were asking? Experiment requests were a luxury solely reserved to Lexington, and that was because he had dirt on him.

Then when it wasn’t about making sure all departments ran cohesively, that the researchers didn’t waste their resources, that the sailors were making due on their contract; he also had to enlighten operatives about the realities of post-Event life.

“We’re giving away our humanity!” Kipling protested shrilly.

Eko scowled at the pudgy blonde from nucleonics.

“If that’s your argument, I’m afraid you should try and look outside someday.” He drawled. “Real enlightening. Humanity? Kind of a dated concept to anyone that’s not bound by the limitations of a thaumic shield.”

They were several stories deeper than the underground rail yard, in one of the many concrete hallways that ran throughout the facility like galleries through an anthill. There were dozens upon dozens of those, a real maze that was all too easy to get lost in if you couldn’t pay attention to the proper hints.

An idea from the Engineering department: most of their wiring and piping was color-coded with symbols at regular intervals, all of it visible through the gratings that lined the ceiling of the hallways. If you needed to get anywhere, you just had to follow the arrows and the code.

Brown would get you to shield and reactor, green to hydroponics, red to engineering… But that was the only detail you could rely on to get you anywhere. There weren’t any signs hanging anywhere or even maps, just plain concrete galleries, wide enough to let vehicles and forklifts through, with bracing at regular intervals and maybe a depot, workshop, or an accommodation block if you were in the proper area.

It took a while getting used to.

Right then, they were right by the entrance to the nucleonics' accommodation block. The reason for his presence? The pudgy female nuclear scientist currently jabbing her finger at his chest because he was apparently ignoring her.

“Don’t you try to dodge the question with sass! What they’re doing in biology, it ain’t right!” She yelled shrilly.

The noise was starting to amass a crowd. A couple folks started to come out of their rooms and dorms to investigate, all of them wearing the standard black HPI coveralls.

“What they’re doing is necessary for the survival of mankind.” He calmly stated, pushing her hand away. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

“You’re having us go down a very dark path.” She ground out.

“Dark times beget dark solutions. Listen, I don’t approve of it either...” He sighed, throwing a glance past her and at the other nucleonics folks. “… but all of you should be smart enough to understand this: there aren’t many of us left. Less than a thousand in this facility alone. And we aren’t even properly balanced for reproduction. We’re speaking long term here. These artificial wombs, they’re the only solution if we don’t want to fall to inbreeding and insufficient reproduction. How hard is it to understand that?!”

“Doesn’t make growing babies in vats any more ethical.”

“We. Don’t. Have. A. Choice.” He repeated slowly. “The whole human genetic stock has fallen below a thousand living members, plus whatever genetic material we had in cryo.”

That was practically the same pitch the guys overseeing the reproduction banks had told him when he visited the facility, a couple floors below the biology department. There, in what might be one of the most heavily reinforced sections of the whole facility, was the device that could supposedly recreate humanity from next to nothing.

Two things allowed that.

First, as he just said, were the artificial wombs. Essentially: vats that made babies out of collected genetic material. You didn’t even need eggs or sperm from donors, just DNA that would be implanted in artificial eggs. That in itself was already a prowess that had taken them billions to develop, but then those ready-made eggs could be implanted in the artificial wombs to develop under carefully-controlled and monitored conditions.

Eko had seen the wombs. They were… eerie. Rows upon rows of stainless steel cylinders lining the sides of a bunker, each with a little window that let observers look at the fetuses developing inside, connected to artificial nutrient bags that mimicked placenta.

Needless to say, the experience wasn’t something the Indonesian wanted a repeat of.

Second? The genetic scramblers. To an outsider like Eko they didn’t look like much, but apparently they were the one thing that would prevent them from being reduced to a bunch of morons in the long run because of inbreeding. One of these could apparently remix what DNA they had, clone it, and essentially create the genetic code of an entirely new person that never existed in the first place.

From a limited supply of genetic material, they could grow and clone it well past the threshold that was the minimum viable population.

The caveat with all that stuff?

Not everyone was fully on board with rendering old school style reproduction obsolete. Or human cloning for that matter.

“You know very well we could have come up with another solution.” Kipling insisted in a low tone. “This… this could start us down a very dark path better men have given their lives to avoid. You can’t get away with playing God, unearthing eugenics from the deep dark corner they had been shelved in, and hope nothing bad will happen.” She turned towards the little crowd of nucleonics personnel that had been assembling behind her for the last few minutes. “Is this what we all gave up so much for? To have mankind become a mockery of itself? An affront to God?”

Eko scoffed.

“An affront to God?” He half-laughed. “Lady, you’re delusional. There ain’t no God watching over us on this Earth. If there were, I’m pretty sure we’d have had some kind of miracle make us able to leave this bunker without suits and shields. No. The Gods out there? They don’t care about those same humans that forsook them. Not anymore.”

And as he was saying that, he watched Kipling’s face fall as the grim state of their situation dawned on her, the pudgy woman’s shoulders sagging. She stared at the ground blankly, barely noticing as her superior Lockwood made his way to the front of the crowd, the gaunt South-African putting his hand on her shoulder.

“We’re in a bad spot aren’t we? Humanity I mean.”

Eko’s eyes turned more sympathetic.

“We’re in a very dark place.”





“You know, this place isn’t so bad come to think of it.” Angelo nodded appreciatively.

Vadim had invited the minotaur to his and Micha’s cabin, if only to sort out some questions he had over the fuel bunkers. A triviality done in a few minutes before they moved on to just playing video games in the cabin’s living room.

But it did let him take a peek at the griffons’ new cabin.

“I know right? Feels a lot better to have something that’s been designed for griffons than the old cabins. Easier to keep an eye on Andy too.” Vadim acknowledged as he motioned with his beak towards the cub that was play-hunting with her toys next to the couch.

“Can’t relate.” Angelo shrugged. “Not much of an issue for me. Minotaurs, humans, the difference isn’t too drastic.”

“The size though?” Vadim asked as he was laying belly down on the couch with a controller in his talons.

“Annoying, but nothing I can’t live with.” Angelo shrugged. “You get used to it, like not breaking stuff randomly by managing your strength or not gouging ceilings with your horns.” He explained, tapping a finger against the corks he wore on his horn tips.

But really, Vadim had it good with the newly modified cabin. What used to be two Officer-sized cabins, each with its own bathroom, had become a little apartment in its own right, modified to better suit quadrupeds the size of griffons. One bathroom had been removed to make some room, the bedrooms reduced in size slightly, but the space saved allowed for a lot if you used it cleverly.

From the passageway side, there were still two doors, except that now one of them led to a small Office for both Micha and Vadim, while the other led to a small hallway that was their actual quarters. The hallway led to two bedrooms, a big one for the parents with a double bed set at the proper height for griffons, and a smaller one for the kids – Andy that is-. Two other doors would lead to either a slightly enlarged and revamped bathroom, or to the living room in which Angelo and Vadim were currently sitting.

And it itself had a door that led back to their office.

Granted, it still was a cabin on a ship. It was a bit cramped, it had storage spaces filling up every nook and cranny, the living room didn’t have room for much more than a couch, a coffee table and a television, but it certainly was an improvement over their previous quarters. Better than having their little griffon family spread over three cabins, and more efficient. Decorations from their previous cabins covered up the walls: Micha’s Sabaton posters, Vadim’s collection of war records and books, his kit car schematics (if he ever got back to Poland he’d get that Escort Mk.2 back!), all hiding the beige hues and fake wood panels of the original walls.

Plus there were the perches they’d added along the walls. The feline part of a griffon? No shame in indulging.

“So whatcha gonna do in Cuba?” Vadim asked offhandedly, rolling over on his back on the couch.

“Dunno. Relax I guess? Tropical island, so maybe I’m just going to waste some time on a beach, try and hit up Artem-” He stopped.

“Well there it is.” Vadim grinned.

“C’mon man. You got Micha. Boris got Anton. She’s a mino’, she’s pretty hot, she’s Greek like me… a bull can try, can’t he?” He snorted bovinely.

“I get the feeling. You do know though?”

“Yeah. We minos are like you.” He nodded. “Pair up for life and all. Not a bad thing if you ask me. Reason why I wanna ask Artemis out too you know. Greek remember?”

Vadim glanced away from the TV for a moment.

“Isn’t there another minotaur on Fugro too? Can’t recall exactly.”

“Correct. She ain’t Greek though… and much as I like bangs on a girl, Highland cattle levels? Bit much pal.” He smiled. “Enough of me though. Your plans?”

“Man, I’m sooo gonna get myself one of those Cuban taxis. Don’t even care if what it’s got under the hood is an old UAZ engine.”





It wasn’t until the next morning that the fleet made it to Havana a little after sunrise. For what there was to say about the shoreline that preceded the Cuban Capital, is that at least it rose a bit higher above ground than Florida and Georgia they’d just left behind. It wasn’t steep by any stretch of imagination – if anything, the beaches they could see ashore were a proof of the contrary- but it wasn’t as vulnerable to the wrath of the elements as what they’d previously seen.

There was also a little peculiarity in the Northern Cuban shoreline around Havana in that, surprisingly for a coast that was relatively linear, it held a respectable amount of bays and coves. They weren’t the expansive inlets of the Georgian wetlands, nor were they canal-worthy, but the little indents could provide for some shelter from the weather for anchored ships, depending on whether or not draft allowed them to enter in the first place.

As expected of the country’s capital, Havana had been built in the largest of those bays, one that dug about two nautical miles inland and provided shelter from all directions. On their charts, they could see how progressive works over the last five hundred years the area had been inhabited had turned the bay into a (very) vaguely star-shaped area with a multitude of quays and piers, small or big for all the ships that plied the Caribbean Island.

It also wasn’t very deep.

Well, it was, but not for vessels of Amandine or Rhine Forest’s tonnage. The latter vessel (the biggest in the fleet by a respectable margin) in particular had to be extremely careful with her maneuver when they made their approach lest she grounded herself on one of the many sandbanks that dotted the bay.

There was little doubt the Cuban government hadn’t been particularly stringent on dredging requirements for their harbors. Embargos and all…

Ultimately, Rhine Forest wouldn’t be able to berth either. Not that was much of a problem: she was a barge carrier, piers were a luxury for vessels of her type, not a necessity. That was what her fleet of auxiliaries was for. She anchored right in the middle of the bay, leaving the other two vessels free to enjoy the shallower parts.

From a country with a reputation as poor and decrepit (at least when compared to their neighbor up north), Havana didn’t look too bad either, given current standards. It hadn’t suffered any kind of storm or hurricanes, so most of the buildings were only slightly more decrepit than they already were when their inhabitants disappeared. It was among the oldest towns you would find in the whole Americas, and it showed.

Just as the convoy entered inside the bay, they were greeted to the sight of the old Spanish forts guarding the fairway, with the lighthouse of Castillo del Morro still standing proud on the eastern side. These were old constructions, with their pale gray, sun-drenched ramparts so thick they could withstand anything from the worst of storms to the might of a British armada. Above the old fortifications, more colorful stonework indicated buildings that had been added over the years: a radio station with a rusting antenna, a few barracks flying tattered Cuban flags, and some brickwork intended to plug some cannon impacts that had marred the walls here and there long before Batista was even a thing.

You could fault Havana for being decrepit, you couldn’t fault it for being poorly defended.

And even then some would argue that wear and tear was what gave the city its charm. The architecture was eclectic, ranging anywhere from colonial architecture, to buildings that mimicked European centers from the 18th and 19th century with intricate sculptures and wrought iron balconies, to the ultramodern terminals and skyscrapers that were the hallmark of the budding CBD and tourism industry of modern Cuba. All these styles mixed in a light brown and red mix with the odd vivid highlight of a painted facade and the greenery from the palm trees that lined the seafront.

Even the quays carried the same feeling. Unlike modern ports, they weren’t the grid-pattern, fully linear stuff you’d usually see.It instead showed clear signs of having been extended and expanded over the years to the point where industrial-era warehouses with bolted structures shared the docks with modern gantry cranes and the ground wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to be asphalt or pavement.

Naturally they’d also fared worse than the town. The sea never was very slow at wearing out infrastructure, and already some of the lesser jetties had sunk beneath the waves, along with a plethora of small crafts and harbor tenders that had been empty at the time of the Event. The larger vessels couldn’t be found though. Unsurprisingly so. Past a given size, ships were rarely ever left fully unmanned, and there only needed to be a single person on board to trigger the ‘vehicle effect’.

There was also some great damage, but only to given sections of Havana. The industrial district, directly east of the harbor, for one, was now nothing but a smoldering ruin. The blackened skeleton of the refinery a grim reminder of what could happen to unattended plants, and the damage had spread in all directions for several hundred meters.

So much for reactivating a refinery there. Looks like they’d really have to wait until Mexico for that.

The locals weren’t very tardy in manifesting themselves. A little after Rhine Forest dropped her anchor and the other two ships began approaching a cruise terminal, some colorful blotches emerged out of the cityscape to inspect the new arrivals.

From very close actually. The vast majority of them were either Ornithians or hippogriffs, species that didn’t mind water overly much. Many parrots walked over the water to come and attempt to strike a conversation with them while the hippogriffs had to be coaxed back to the surface lest they actually catch one in their propeller blades.

It was an odd sight really, to see some creatures coming to take a look by walking up to the ship as they were mooring while others hovered in the sky, flicking about from one ship to another.

Out of caution, Dilip had Micha shut down the radar. He could see Alejandro down below on the main deck, his Chief Officer peering over the railing and yelling a couple words in Spanish to ensure the locals kept clear.

“Looks like Chief’s gonna be useful with the locals.” Vadim commented once the griffon overseeing the docking was sure Amandine wouldn’t drift away from the quay.

They and Fugro Symphony had picked the same pier: a relatively recent cruise terminal that jutted out perpendicularly from the shoreline. It was fairly narrow, to the point that the two large ships dwarfed the shorter passenger center between them as they tied up on either side of the pier.

“Of course he is.” Dilip paused and waved to Artyom to tell the bosun to tighten the mooring lines. “He’s the only native Spanish speaker in the entire fleet.”

“Really? Nobody else?”

“Portuguese we got, Italian we got, Spanish? One native speaker, and maybe a few cadets on Rhine who said they took it as an extracurricular once.”

“That’s...” Vadim looked over the numerous locals, the colorful bunch that they were. “… inadequate.”

“Maybe you can hope there are a few tourists in the bunch, or that the locals knew a bit of it to accommodate the tourism industry… but don’t hold your hopes up.” Dilip told the Third Officer. “Now, back to business. Grab the port security checklist. The updated one, not the old ISPS stuff. I want a security perimeter around the ship and I want a roster for guard duty before the ramps are down. No room for the stern ramp, so it’s out the side ramp like in Savannah. Get in contact with Fugro, we’ll see if we can secure the whole pier and terminal. Saves us some manpower. OK?”

“Aye Cap’n.” Vadim nodded firmly.

“Good. Get to it yesterday.” Dilip then turned away from him and walked over to the bridge wing.

Off in the distance, on the seafront facing the pier they were moored at, a neon pink ‘57 Bel Air gleamed in the sunlight. A big burly Ornithian was casually leaning against it, arms crossed.

The WSU had made it to Cuba… and it looked like they’d be busy with the locals for a good while.





When Martin finally woke up to his new life as an Element Bearer, both Rock and Meadow did their level-best to keep things normal for the little fawn. He still went to school with the other kids in the colony, he still followed his lessons under Meadow and Starswirl.

There was just a lingering feeling that something big awaited him. Try as they might to hide it, Martin wasn’t dumb. He knew there was a lot more to the meeting he’d had with Concord than he’d initially thought. He could even feel it within himself, a little tug not too dissimilar to the one he’d quickly assumed was his connection to Cernunnos. And it provided him with some extra power too.

Case in point with Starswirl’s training. The ghost of Merlin had given him what he called a training staff. It wasn’t as intricate as that of the Fay Ladies of Broceliande, let alone that of Merlin himself – which in all likelihood was still held in his tomb-. Instead, his training staff was a piece of enchanted wood Starswirl had retrieved from a sacred grove and improved with a mildly potent core.

He had left the carving down to his apprentice though, and the fawn had been elated when, after several hours of training and meditation trying to tap into the ‘human’ side of his magic, he’d finally managed to lift a pebble.

Fair enough, that wasn’t very impressive given that unicorns could do it a lot more casually, but there was a lot more growth potential to a wizard using human magic than there was to a unicorn sorcerer. Provided there was no magic-related Cutie Mark in play, of course. Plus there was the whole bonus that Martin would also learn potions, druidic rites, and he had his connection to Cernunnos.

Rites that among other things, involved the offerings given to Cernunnos and Broceliande at the castle’s altar. That wasn’t quite as fun for the fawn to learn, albeit no less important given how it regulated the relationship between Trecesson and the forest around the village. A few villagers attended the ceremony to watch the fruit of one harvest be swallowed by the green magical flames after a brief prayer and chant.

They didn’t doubt the necessity of the thing. The glowing green runes on the offering bowl, the holy fire, the blatant magic and the ghost of Merlin near the altar were enough of a proof.

Didn’t make it any less disheartening. To see the fruit of your labor be swallowed by mystic fire to disappear in an ethereal void.

Like taxes.

At least they could boast about all the progress the village was undergoing. The palisade had been completed a couple days ago, a rough but solid wall of pine logs and crudely-fashioned planks that surrounded both the castle and the outbuildings-turned-village. The whole thing was so new you could still smell the freshly-cut pine if you got close enough, a scent that stuck to whichever guard happened to spend his time on post at the watchtower overlooking the outer gates.

The palisade extended further around the farmland as a fence. Not a big one, but sturdy enough to protect the animals and prevent critters from damaging their crops. That was enough to sate their needs, and Rockhoof didn’t expect to need to expand their defenses anytime soon. Not until the village got enough of a population to warrant it anyway.

And if he wanted to do it in the first place, then they’d need to build up their stores and offer enough crops to appease the forest. 

“Thinking again, dear?” Meadowbrook asked him as the mare joined Rockhoof on the castle’s rampart.

He could almost swear she was showing a bump now. Along with looking quite a bit younger than when they’d first come to Earth, though that was owed to her potions the same way they’d shaved off a few years on his own end.

“Sort of. I just like to let my mind run after a day’s work. Muscles are sharp, no reason my wits shouldn’t be, don’t you think?”

“Oh these are some sharp muscles I agree.” His wife grinned as she nuzzled in the crook of his neck, her red beehive of a mane tickling the underside of his muzzle. “And what is it you were thinking of?”

“Besides our deal with Cernunnos and the offering at the altar you mean?” He motioned with his head towards the now empty altar in a corner of the courtyard. “I was thinking about the Elements and Concord.”

“I still find it odd that there are seven of them here. What’s wrong with six?”

“One seed doesn’t have to produce the same Elements. The gist of them is still similar to ours too.”

“But Concord and Harmony are two very distinct beings.” Meadow added, looking off into the sunset as she found a comfortable between her stallion’s hooves. “I get that. Concord though...”

“Cut him some slack. How old is he? Two months? Three? That he’s able to manifest himself so soon is a testament to his power. You heard Starswirl.” Rockhoof told her.

“Going by your tone, that’s not what caught your interest.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” He frowned. “I’m mostly wondering about the upcoming bearers and the artifacts.”

“Artifacts?” Meadow repeated. “Do you mean the bearers’ regalia?”

“No. You know Excalibur? Well, guess what: Concord got it into his… is it head or trunk? Anyway...” He huffed. “He wants to gather some ancient human artifacts to boost their power. He has yet to say which, but I caught Starswirl gathering some notes on the stuff to discuss with him.”

“Someone’s being quite enthusiastic about this.”

“You don’t say.” Rockhoof rolled his eyes. “I know Star likes to throw shade at Princess Sparkle for her attitude, but the research spree he’s on… you just feel those two bore the same Element.”

Meadowbrook chuckled lightly.

“No argument there – though I never caught you telling her snout to snout-. And the Bearers?”

“Concord heavily implied that while some are on Earth, others have yet to return. Chiefly: Leadership isn’t here yet an-”

Their discussion was brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of a door being bucked shut in a fit of frustration. Behind them, Miles had just emerged from Starswirl’s tower, the pegasus mare not looking too happy. As one of the guards and Rockhoof’s lieutenants, the American had taken to wearing some medieval armor they salvaged from around the region, a suit of chainmail and a gambeson that she wore under her UCP camo poncho. Holes had been made to fit her wings, along with the addition of a sheath for her .45-70 lever action, and a couple ammo bandoliers and pouches.

A weird mix of both modern and ancient, like much of the village.

Yet the amazing thing was that despite the considerable weight, she could still take to the air. A recent change at that. It had been less than a week since she could actually fly.

“Problem Miles?” Rockhoof left Meadow and called out to his Lieutenant.

“It doesn’t work, that’s what’s the problem!” The mare seethed.

By which he assumed she was referring to Starswirl’s ‘treatment’ of her gender-swapped condition. The unicorn had managed to spare some time to address the issue, though… Permanent transformations were already finicky with just Equestrian magic at hoof, adding human magic into the mix didn’t help.

“You know, he-”

“I know I know.” Miles stopped in a hover and raised a hoof. “It’s only the first try. An actual solution would have been a miracle. Doesn’t help with the mood.”

“So what were his conclusions?”

“Merlin says he has to… I dunno… ‘trick’ my magic into thinking the new stallion form is my true form so it  doesn’t revert the changes. Problem is, there are two magics working to revert them, and… it’s complicated. I don’t really get all the magic mumbo-jumbo, you get?”

“The feeling’s familiar. Yes.” Rockhoof acknowledged. “Still, progress is progress. You’ll get your stallionhood back someday.”

“Yeah...” She sagged dejectedly. “Thanks boss. I’m off to Emeric’s. He said he had some contacts on the radio station. Sailors apparently or something. You should check it out sometime.”

“I’ll spare the time. Thanks for the info.”

Miles just made a quick salute with her hoof before she buzzed over towards the castle’s upper floors where his other Lieutenant always kept a window open right next to where the radio antenna poked through the roof.

Still, she was right. News of civilizationis not anything he should ignore.
> Chapter 81: It's a Different Kind of Magic
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

By this point most sailors were relatively well acquainted with the process they went through every time they moored. Amandine would open up her ramps and let the designated security teams move on to secure the terminal while another team would follow shortly behind to shore up their defenses and deploy the APC’s – or even the CV90- in overwatch positions.

That was not too different from what they had begun to do at the cruise terminal here in Havana, the difference being that this time around they could rely on Fugro’s help to secure the perimeter, and that there were locals in close proximity of the terminal.

Said locals were exactly why Dilip had asked Alejandro to follow him outside so they could go and assuage the locals’ fears that no, they were not some kind of pirates or an invasion force.

No really. He doubted they actually thought that, but they’d best kill the idea in its infancy before it bit them in the ass.

And they weren’t going not to set up a security perimeter either, that was out of question. Even with locals present, Dilip wasn’t willing to risk his ship’s safety on the assumption that the Cubans had kept Havana clear of monsters.

Which was exactly what he’d just asked Alejandro to justify to who they assumed was the local leader, the Ornithian with the ‘57 Bel Air. He was a big burly parrot with the feather pattern of a red crested amazon: mostly green overall, with strips of dark blue around his eyes, a bright red crest atop his head, and a yellow tip on his tail feathers.

To that the parrot added a pair of dark slacks, a Hawaiian shirt – no surprise given Ornithians’ taste for anything garish- and a Panama hat. No shoes though, unlike the sailors he seemed to think his claws were tough enough for the dry dusty stones of the streets of Havana.

They met him at the cruise terminal’s exit, where a small crowd of parrots and hippogriffs had gathered around his car. Behind him, the city opened up to a small paved plaza with a dry fountain and greenery that was just starting to edge into overgrown territory.

But no visible traces of a colony. Clearly they hadn’t settled in this specific part of town.

Dilip stopped his visual survey of the area when the burly parrot squawked something back in Spanish to his Chief Officer.

“So what’s he saying Alej’?” The Indian dog casually asked.

“He says his name is Eduardo Quiros.” Alejandro folded his arms over his chest. “Local leader, yes. Doesn’t seem to mind the security measures. They’re not really set up around this part of town.”

“Anything we should look out for?” Dilip asked Quiros.

“¿Qué peligro hay?” Alej’ said in Spanish, translating the Captain’s question.

“Perros.” Quiros replied. “Watch out for wild dogs. There are a lot of them and they come back in the old town every few days. If you have an enclosed car you’re good, but you’ll want to protect yourself. We keep to the rooftops when they come by. The buildings are close enough to jump from one to another. Or just fly.” He explained, waving with his claw towards the rooftops

Now that he noticed it, most of them couldn’t be further than three meters apart towards the top. That would have been hard for humans, but even for an Ornithian unwilling to shift his arms into wings that wasn’t much of a leap. In either case the close proximity of buildings and the urban environment was just about ideal for their type of flight.

And the second most prevalent species in town appeared to be hippogriffs. They could just fly without the endurance difficulties usually experienced by parrots.

“Wait. So you have the dogs slipping into your colony every single time they come to town?” Dilip frowned once Alejandro was done translating.

“No no. We have a couple blocks barricaded to block them off. We just can’t wall up the whole town.” Quiros told them. “Excuse me but I can’t help but wonder… where are you from and what are you here for then?”

“A bit of everywhere actually.” Alejandro spoke. “I’m Spanish, Dilip here is Indian… we have Russians, English, Belgians, Filipinos… a lot of people actually. That’s just the way freight transportation is these days. We are the World Seafarer Union, the WSU...” Alejandro hesitated. “Unión Mundial de la Gente de Mar I believe would be the translation. UMGM.”

Didn’t carry quite the same meaning in Spanish though. Might need to look for something more suitable in Spanish.

In front of them, Quiros looked at the moored ships with renewed interest just as a tug from Rhine Forest arrived on the pier now that the barge carrier was solidly anchored with both anchors. At about the same time Skinner left Fugro too. The hedgefog had needed a bit more time to go over the guard duties.

“Cargo uh? I guess I can see that. The guns though...”

“We’ve faced monsters, wild animals, bandits even. Believe me: they are necessary.”

“I believe you. What’s your deal with Cuba then? Why even come here?” Quiros cocked his head to the side in curiosity.

“We have access to satellite imagery. That’s how we found out about you.”

That just made the local leader cock his head even further to the side. Like a curious bird.
“¿Entonces?”

“We have plans. Goals that we follow. Those would be that we will readily help you and provide assistance to developing groups and colonies, but in turn we ask something. That thing, would be trade opportunities.”

Quiros furrowed his feathery brows, a reaction that was matched by some among the crowd behind him as they erupted in hushed whispers.

“Something wrong?” Dilip inquired worriedly.

“Must be an American Embargo thing.” Alej’ shrugged before turning back towards the other parrot. “What says then, Quiros? We already have a couple colonies willing to trade and exchange. We have the ships to carry that cargo. And I wouldn’t be surprised if we added an oil refinery to that in the future.”

“In the future?”

“We have reliable enough intel to point us towards Mexico once we’re done here.”

“Oh alright then.” The Cuban paused to throw a look at the crowd behind him. “We have many people of all skills and crafts here, but I’m not sure what we could do for trade.”

“There are always possibilities. Our last port of call was in America, and we have someone who’s really good at finding what you can manufacture. He’s called Roberto, he can help.” Alej’ confidently told.

So long that the Italian cat didn’t catch word of him giving out praise like that of course.

Quiros raised a claw to signal them to wait for a second before he motioned to the crowd behind him and they formed a tight circle around his car. Alejandro caught a few snippets of a brief debate that didn’t last more than a few minutes before they broke up.

Their local leader faced the sailors, now looking a bit more resolute.

“Fair enough. The people of Havana will accept your offer.” He clicked his beak. “We’ll have to hash out some more details however. There are some tourists still stuck here, and we want that trade agreement on paper, understand?”

“Crystal.” Alejandro grinned before he addressed his Captain a curt nod.

Dilip’s grin matched that of his Chief Officer as he grabbed his walkie-talkie.

“Amandine, Prateek here. Please deploy all those field hospital containers we got from Copenhagen. Inside the terminal. Looks like we got a deal with the locals. Over.”

“Prateek, this is Amandine.” Vadim’s voice filtered over the radio with just a hint of static. “Confirmed for deployment of field hospital within the security perimeter. Anything else Captain? Over.”

“Yes please. Contact Doctor Delacroix for additional assistance as soon as possible, and get Roberto to the checkpoint. We need the alley cat to run a colonial assessment with the locals. With Alejandro as interpreter of course. Out.” He concluded before reattaching the Wa-Ta to his belt.

“Interpreter? Me?” Alejandro repeated.

“Sorry friend, we’re not exactly spoiled for Spanish-speakers around here. Looks like you’re going to translate a lot. I can relieve you of some duties if that becomes too much.” His superior apologized.

“No need just yet. I’ll ask around with the locals. See if some of them know any foreign languages.”

“You do you.”





“Remember Martin… you have to feel the connection before you can get the magic flowing. This isn’t wizard magic, you’re reaching for your connection to Cernunnos, not your own power.” Starswirl explained sternly in French.

Martin nodded mutely. The little fawn was sitting on his haunches inside the mage’s pocket dimension, where he had invited his pupil within the spire that towered above his realm. An artificial magic breeze rustled his fur while he meditated on the balcony.

Did he like meditating? Not really. He had been at it for a bit more than a week already, and he was still having difficulties making a distinct difference between the multiple sorts of magic he was supposed to use.

At times he felt like he’d rather be out wandering through Broceliande.

Not too often though. Ever since he’d pulled off his first wizard spell, magic had remained  on his mind. The things he could do, the sheer awesomeness of having honest-to-goodness Merlin – or Starswirl, same person- as his teacher...

Even the potions he did with Meadow was something he really loved doing. The mare was a kind teacher and adoptive mother, so the lessons were a bit more relaxing that what he was doing with Merl-

“Focus Martin. You’re letting your concentration slip.” His teacher reminded.

“Pardon monsieur Merlin!” He quickly apologized, not opening his eyes to look at him.

He knew the unicorn – material of course, as he was when he stuck to his pocket dimension- was just beside him taking notes about that mana stone Lady Morgane had given him. He could hear the scratching of his quill against the parchment.

Maybe he should tell him about pens.

No. Focus.

From an outside view, the little fawn shifted his meditating stance, leaning just a bit more forward as he furrowed his brows, eyes clenched shut. He had already located the magic he needed for wizard stuff, he was prettysure he did it subconsciously when it came to potions – or so said Meadowbrook-, so the link with Cernunnos couldn’t possibly be that hard?

Focus.

Find the magic.

Reach for it.

There?

“That’s wizard magic Martin.” Merlin pointed out.

Dang it. At least it meant that particular power came to him easily… though molding that one type of magic into a proper spell was another affair entirely.

“Try to discern all types. Imagine they’re different colors, it’s all in your mind. Do you see it? Can you highlight the difference?” His teacher provided.

Martin nodded briefly before focusing his attention inward once more. Wizard magic? Just… white maybe? There. He could see it clearly now, strands of white power that coursed through his very soul. He kept his attention on it for a bit, just to make sure he wouldn’t lose track and have to highlight it again.

Now for the rest…

The innate deer magic that provided his connection to nature and made his potions stronger he found soon after, electing to highlight it in yellow. It came to him as naturally as the wizard magic, easier to use too, instinctive even, but not as flexible. Its flow was different. It wasn’t so focused within his core, his soul, instead spreading out through his whole being.

It took him the better part of his meditation session to finally locate the next magic that resided within him.

Bizarrely enough, that wasn’t the one tied to Cernunnos. That one immediately sprang to him as fitting the color purple. Something powerful. Something ancient, now closely tied to his own essence.

He took ‘hold’ of it – at least as close to holding a mental image during meditation-.

Merlin’s head jerked towards his pupil, a honed sense for magic suddenly perceiving a force he hadn’t felt in a long time. Martin had suddenly taken on a purple aura that shimmered no more than an inch above his fur, still seemingly deep into his meditation.

The unicorn didn’t say a word lest he break up the phenomenon. Instead, he set his horn aglow with magic and began casting observation spells in quick succession to identify what it was exactly that was going on.

It didn’t take more than a minute for him to get his results back.

Eeyup. That was Element magic alright. The fawn had somehow managed to take hold of his connection to his Element, something Starswirl had never even tried to do. Mostly because it never dawned on him that it was possible in the first place, and that meditating to access your magic wasn’t necessary once you were past the neophyte stage.

And he was well past that point when he became the Bearer of Sorcery. Reason why it never came to him to do what Martin had attempted right now.

“Hold on...” Starswirl muttered under his breath as another of his observation spells came back to him with its results. “What is that? Uh uh… a connection? No… several? Fascinating.”

They were like invisible tethers, a perceptible sign of those same ties that kept a generation of Bearers as the tightly knit group they were supposed to be and connected them to the tree from whence their power originated.

Even though it was his first time actually seeing the phenomenon, that wasn’t actually too much of a surprise. That it was visible – tenuous as it was- was the actual surprise.

But there was more.

In addition to the ephemeral cord of filaments that arced out of the fawn before they became so thin even he couldn’t track them, probably to link him towards the Golden Tree where Concord and the unassigned Elements still were, there was another thicker filament.

That one was much more intense and anchored in the material realm, so much so that he could even track it with his mage sight. It definitely was related to the Elements of… should he say Harmony or Concord? Whichever. But the relationship was there.

“So what does it connect to?” Starswirl stroked his beard pensively.

Martin chose that moment to come out of his meditation with a gasp as the purple aura faded away and the little fawn tipped over to the side. He didn’t seem too alarmed by the fact however, because he was on his hooves in an instant with the cheekiest grin Star had ever seen him sport.

“Are you alright there?”

“Yes Mister Merlin!” He replied eagerly before he pranced over to the edge of the balcony. “I had a vision!”

“Did you, now? And what did you see?”

“I saw Concord… but he didn’t say anything.” Martin furrowed his brows, one hoof reaching for his antlers. “Then there was this shiny string. I followed it through the woods, and there was this clearing with a raised stone in the middle.”

Starswirl eyed his pupil carefully.

“Was there a circle of stones around it? With runes on them?” He asked.

“Yes! How did you guess?”

“You found my tomb.”

“Pardon?”

“You just described my tomb. It’s off to the north-east past Vivian’s lake. We passed by with Meadow and Rock when we first came here. You didn’t think this old ghost was actually alive, did you?” He chuckled.

“I uh...”

“It’s nothing.” Starswirl reached out with his hoof to ruffle the fur between his antlers. “But what you saw… that’s definitely my tomb. With my body underneath.”

“But why would I have a vision of Concord and your tomb?” He asked in confusion.

“I don’t think it’s about the tomb, but what’s inside.”

“Your corpse?”

“Not the corpse. Remember how Concord said he wanted to tie artifacts to each Element? Think.”

“There is an artifact under your tomb?”

“My staff.” Starswirl nodded calmly. “It stands to reason it would be picked as your artifact...”

Needless to say, the fanboyish grin Martin sported at the prospect wasn’t leaving anytime soon. He just managed to keep his giddy squeal to himself.

“… seeing as we share a similar Element. Funny, I have its ghostly version when I shift to human form, so I entirely forgot it technically was still under the tomb. We’ll have to retrieve it sometime soon.”

Starswirl paused, only then noticing his pupil’s reaction, which elicited a sigh from the mage.

“Don’t get carried away Martin. I made this staff myself. It’s extremely powerful, so don’t hope to master its use for a good while. You’ll have to stick to the training staff until I say you’re ready, understood?”

Martin was silent.

“Understood?”Starswirl repeated sternly.

“Y-yes! Yes Mister Merlin!” Martin smiled sheepishly.

Going by the look his teacher threw him, the words came across as less faithful than he really intended.

“Very well then.” He worked his jaw a few times. “I still need to finish my research with the mana stone. Judging by the time, the castle’s kitchens won’t have dinner served for a good hour. You know what this means?”

Inwardly, Martin winced.

“Martin?”

“Yes Mister Merlin. Meditating.” He lowered his head before trotting back to his spot on the balcony.

“Good. Now try to reach for the right magic. It’s what we’re here for after all.”

Martin frowned once he had his back turned to Merlin. Magic was hard.





Cleric magic was… actually rather neat.

There wasn’t much the engineering personnel had to do while the ship was alongside. Sure there were a couple system overhauls and planned maintenance that they would have to get over with at some point, but beyond that they only really needed to keep a diesel generator running to provide electricity. That and guard duty, but they had the benefit of two ships sharing one pier, so that wasn’t even that much.

What that led to was a lot of free time for the whole department. And while the geek trio in the form of Carlos, Angelo and Radiant were all too satisfied to use that time to run a marathon game of Civilization (one of the few games Radiant really liked); Aleksei had decided to follow up on Epona’s advice.

She was actually trying out her spells. Along with Scarface too.

Finding the right spot wasn’t even too hard. The end of the pier wasn’t facing any of the ships, not even Rhine Forest that was anchored further away in the middle of the harbor. A mild breeze was blowing in from the sea, serving to alleviate the Cuban heat that permeated the air through the blazing sun that battered anything that left the shade.

On the bright side, no more dank Georgian swamp with the prevalent humidity. Instead: dusty piers, old colonial architecture, and a tropical island.

So there she was in her cleric robes, spell tome in her satchel, facing the water where a target buoy had been tossed in the water some… twenty meters away maybe?

“Have you actually tried your spells once?” Scarface asked.

“Not really… I only ever used my daily spells and those weren’t technically given to me with the cleric function. Sooo… only rituals so far. Plus the speechcraft boost from my bracelet.” She told the gargoyle beside her. “You?”

“Of course I practiced!” He laughed. “God, I’d be dead if I didn’t have my telekinetic shield in Savannah. It’s really easy to come up with new spells as a gargoyle. Intuitive I mean. Comes to you naturally.”

“So how many spells do you have so far then?”

“Fifteen.” He folded his arms and smiled proudly. “Well… fourteen if you remove telekinesis. It’s so widespread it might not even count for all I know. All of them, I wrote down in my notebook.”

“Good on you then.” She said before she pulled out her spell tome.

The leatherbound book felt weighty in her talons, its pages made of thicker parchment than modern paper. She knew the contents held a wealth of information on her spells, complete with illustrations, illuminated ogham script, and even some miscellaneous information she had yet to fully read through.

“What can you do then? I remember those daily spells were ‘appeasement’ and ‘relieve pain’, but what else do you have?”

“Not that many combat spells, unlike you.” She said. “I have uh… about fifteen actual spells and cantrips. Book says it expands with practice though, dunno how that works. I have the fertility stuff, some ‘cure wounds’ spells, a couple wards, blessings, ‘detection’ spells for magic, holy and evil.” She paused. “Yeah… that really isn’t much for combat. I only got ‘repel evil’ and ‘banishment’ for that.”

“Care to explain what it does then?”

“First one doesn’t actually do damage, but it makes monsters and demons flee. The other one… demonstration?”

“That’s what we’re here for.” Scarface beckoned with his hand towards the target buoy.

Slowly, she walked closer to the edge of the pier. She had already gotten a feel for the energy she needed to call up through previous cantrips and rituals she had used.

Banishment was just several orders of magnitude above that.

Aleksei dropped down on her haunches and held her talons close to her heart. She closed her eyes and recited a quick prayer under her breath, feeling the magic she’d been gifted by Epona flow through her. She molded it according to the instructions she’d read in her book. Tug here, push there with her mind, channel towards her palms.

A sphere of white and golden holy magic coalesced into existence between her talons. The air crackled and hissed as the scent of ozone reached her nostrils.

“Here goes then...” Aleksei finally said, pushing her palms outwards in the general direction of the buoy.

Like a fiery lance, the ball of holy magic turned into a thin beam that raced towards her target with a speed worthy of a bullet.

For a brief second, she almost felt like she’d missed her mark before the beam arced towards the buoy and hit it dead-center. The spell went right through the plastic, leaving a fist-sized hole behind, before it impacted the water with a sizzle.

“Wow...” Aleksei looked down at her palms in wonder. “Just… wow.”

“Nice shot.” Scarface complimented her. “That looked powerful. So what’s your limit?”

“My limit?”

“Yeah. How many of these can you pull off? Here...” The gargoyle’s forearms became wreathed in magic as he summoned up his power, waving his arms briefly before a surge of crackling purple magic arced from one arm to the other, which he fired off in a beam through his finger.

It impacted the buoy just below the surface, gouging out a significant portion of the plastic and sinking it in a matter of seconds.

“Hmm… bad aim. Was aiming for the center.” He grumbled. “Point is… that was my most powerful spell so far. I call it the magic lance. The limiting factor is… the more spells I use, the more it takes a hit on my stamina. That one? Probably got like… five shots. Maybe six in an adrenaline rush. And that’s starting from top shape. You get my logic?”

“Oh… doesn’t really work on stamina for me.” Aleksei smiled awkwardly, dropping back down on all four limbs. “I have limits too, but it’s not tied to stamina. I just… tap into my connection with Epona to get the magic. I want more spells, I need some rest, a few prayers, maybe some meditation.”

Or she could try and channel Epona to ask for a favor… but abusing the connection for more firepower when she had four shots of banishment was a bit of a stretch. The spell was meant to neutralize big monsters and demons, not to be wasted on fodder like timberwolves or twittermites.

Lest they forgot: they still had guns. And she was pretty sure some of her ward spells could prevent the former from reassembling.

“So what else you got, Scar?”

“I made a neat trick with my fireball last time I trained. Observe...” He grinned.

In a gesture that only took him a fraction of the time he needed to pull a magic lance, a small fiery orb appeared in his palm before he brought the other down on it. The fire darkened, smoke turning the orb an acrid black before he lobbed it away from the pier where it exploded into a massive smoke cloud after a few seconds.

“Okay… that one is a bit wasteful ‘cause it burns as much stamina as a regular fireball… but eh, I made myself fucking unlimited smoke bombs. Neat right?” He boasted.

“Pretty much.” She acknowledged. “Say… I know I don’t have many combat spells, but you mind throwing out a few more spells yourself? I think I can help you some with my support spells and I wanna try them out.”

“What, the fertility stuff?”

“Tell you what… ‘cause I know you’re one horny bastard that’s just itching for some local tai-”

“Why, glad to know my boss got me figured out.” The Bulgarian laughed out loud as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Shush you. Deal is: you give me the opportunity to test my support spells, I got one contraception spell in the oven for you. Twenty four hours of safety, STD’s included.” She held out her talons. “What says?”

The gargoyle in front of her had his scarred muzzle split into the biggest shit-eating grin she’d ever seen him sport before he clasped her proffered claw.

“You got yourself a deal.”





In stark contrast with Cuba, Narvik didn’t exactly share the tropical heat. Sure, it wasn’t the frigid wasteland most would expect from a town so far up north, but September had rolled in, and it was clear to any of the locals that ever journeyed up the mountains that the relative summer warmth was slowly fading away. Temperatures at sea level had already dropped to the single digits, and it wouldn’t be long before the night-and-day cycle started shifting towards the long winter nights the place was known for.

That, however, was nothing the local returnees weren’t already used to. If anything, their new bodies actually made it easier. The majority of them (a mere two dozen, Narvik had never been densely populated) had been turned into reindeer, and the others were either the one dragon, or a couple of griffons who seemed eager to keep to the summits that surrounded the town despite the rocs sharing the skies with them. Those few times they were seen down at sea level were either at the market – however much of a stretch the term may be- or to fish for a while and replenish their supplies.

Either way, all three species were decently suited for the cold.

Now… Narvik had its uniqueness as a colony in that none of the returnees that called the region their home could have ever been called socialites. They liked their space, and it showed in how… decentralized the whole region was, to put it mildly. Narvik wasn’t so much of a colony center, as it was a commercial node where they gathered periodically to trade goods, gear and information.

Otherwise? The town population amounted to a returned married couple, both reindeer, who kept the local dock and marina stocked and maintained while they salvaged the urban center. And they ran a bar by the dockside on market days. Can’t forget that one. Most of the population lived in homesteads that dotted the shorelines of the many fjords around the town, with a scant few like the griffons living higher up in the mountains.

Gunnar could live with that kind of solution. There was always the lingering risk of rocs swooping down and attacking, but the damn birds really sucked at attacking groups. That might have been a problem for a truly isolated reindeer, but he? He had his dog Sitka, his cattle… and a herd of regular, non-magical reindeer that stuck around for no apparent reason.

Okay… maybe the reason was what he was doing to the females in the herd, but there was no way he was giving out that secret. You just get lonely sometimes, working the farm on your own at the end of a nearly inaccessible fjord.

Life and trade had reached a routine of sorts. He had his cattle to care for, a few patches of vegetables to maintain – and maybe build a greenhouse for before winter fully set in-, and stores he needed to build up enough to feed the cattle and all the (feral) reindeer he was accommodating on his homestead.

Telekinesis or not, tough work on your own.

He knew his own fields weren’t enough to make feed for all the animals. That’s where trade came in. He  had a small sailboat tied up at the pier near his farm which he used to carry his supplies to Narvik once a week for trade. Out: milk from the cows, wool from the sheep, vegetables in general, and some medicinal plants he gathered from the woods around the farm. The woods with the magic rock carvings.

Gunnar suspected the magic in the air was why all his vegetables grew so fast, as well as the medicinal plants. Might be worth planting a few saplings to see how fast he could make lumber.

Regardless of that, all the stuff he brought to Narvik with the sailboat, he traded for supplies. Feed for his cattle mostly, plus some oil for his generator. The feed was rather cheap thanks to a couple algae farmers that produced it in bulk for the one fish farm that had been reactivated, so acquiring it in bulk posed little trouble and let him keep the best food for himself.

A decent trade, with the infrequent addition of extras like ammo, tools and parts… which he didn’t really like buying. Not because he didn’t need it, but because the uselessness of currency had forced the local market back into direct bartering. You try and convince someone a couple crates of tomatoes are worth a hundred rounds of 12 gauge. And he was among the lucky bunch: he produced food. Everyone needed food.

No such luck for those few folks that didn’t have a generally traded commodity to exchange.

He didn’t pay that much attention to them though. He had his routine every time he journeyed with his sailboat to Narvik: 

Offload the sales products and trade them for what he needed in bulk by noon.

Pay off the reindeer couple that maintained the docks with a crate of vegetables.

Exchange the leftovers for miscellaneous supplies. Exotic food was always a plus, even canned.

Keep an extra load of goods – any would do- for the weekly visit at the temple.

That last one wasn’t actually much of a temple. They just called it that since it was pretty much how they used it. Previously, the building had been a little wooden church by the waterfront, a tidy white-painted building with solid stone foundations. Now, it was about another kind of Gods entirely. And it showed in the removal of previous Christian effigies and decorations, all of them now replaced with ancient Nordic symbolism, runes, and a stone altar where the preacher’s pulpit used to be.

As ironic a reversal as it could get given their history.

Surprisingly enough considering how close he lived to the convergence point, it wasn’t actually Gunnar that first came into contact with their ancient gods. That merit went to the colony’s lone dragon, a stout member of his species with thick diamond-shaped red scales and a very angular snout that accentuated his yellow eyes. The angles carried on into the rows of dark red spikes he sported on the back of his head, their darker tone serving as a sort of stand-in for hair. He may not have been very tall for a teenager of his species, but by virtue of being the only bipedal in a colony of quadrupeds, he still towered above everyone from griffons to reindeer.

Agmund. 

He used to be a miner before the Event happened, and he had been hiking up in the mountains when he reappeared all red and fiery. Nobody knew what kind of standing stone, rock carving or burial mound he found, but by the time he came back down, the dragon was clad in yellow and blue robes and proclaiming himself a representative of Thor.

Did they think he was a looney?

Did they still think he was a looney after lightning struck down a sea serpent that had popped up close to town? On a clear day?

You couldn’t fault the inhabitants of Narvik for not being practical-minded. One God they had never seen, the other saved the harbor and had a magically-gifted dragon serving as his envoy.

The case was closed as soon as it was opened. The conversion was quick. Now… weekly visits by the temple were considered the norm, and offerings at the altar a promise of protection from monsters. Not a single one of them had appeared out of a summoning circle in the region ever since the temple had opened.

Didn’t stop rocs from flying in every few days, but so long as that wasn’t a sea serpent popping up out of nowhere, the improvement was palpable. Monsters that moved normally you could always track. Not those that teleported inside your homestead.

That week’s service wasn’t too different from the others. They did the usual procession where Agmund presented their offerings to the Aesir and the gifts were swallowed up at the altar in a flash of light. A little sermon was given, though it felt more like stories about the Gods’ adventures and other legends, and a pair of mated griffons received a blessing for their coming eggs much to the cheers of the assembly before they slowly filtered out of the temple.

What did that leave in Gunnar’s routine then?

The last social event of the day before he was set to pick up his boat from the dock and head back to his farm.

The bar of course.

He didn’t fail the routine this week either. The bar by the docks was the best occasion to keep track of what the other homesteads were doing and what projects were being undertaken around the area. There were rumors about possible trade opportunities in the future coming from a few radio enthusiasts, a couple algae farmers asking for help to expand their operations – that one he raised his hoof for-, a couple reindeer flirting in plain sight in a corner of the bar around a heavily inebriated youngster, laughing.

Seriously though. Temple service had been over for less than an hour, and this kid was already piss-out drunk? Thor almighty the youth these days…

“Didn’t take you for such a grump pal.” He heard Sven say behind him as his friend joined him at a quieter table while he shuffled a deck of cards in his telekinesis.

While sipping from his beer at the same time. Praise be given to the almighty telekinesis.

Sven was his griffon friend, a fairly muscular mix of an eagle-owl and a lynx with sharp orange eyes and the prominent ear tufts of eagle-owls. He wasn’t of the couple that just got their blessing at the temple, being decidedly single and all too glad to keep to the ruins of the ski station further up the mountains for most of the time.

“I’m not a grump, I just like my peace and quiet.” Gunnar dropped his now empty pint down on the table with a clatter.

“Yet you come here every week.” The griffon chuckled as he slid inside the chair facing him.

Gunnar threw him a brief glance. As per usual, his friend had eschewed what would be considered sufficient clothing at this latitude, instead having opted for a pair of gym shorts for decency’s sake, and a harness tightly wound around his avian half with pouches for utility.

Bold choice north of the arctic circle. Fur or not, Gunnar still didn’t feel like ditching human clothing standards. His flannel shirt and denim overalls? Tacky he knew, hot as all Hel for a reindeer like him, but he was sticking to his guns.

“You and I both know coming here is as much of a necessity as me realizing I can’t become some crazy lone hillbilly.” The cards he was shuffling stopped and he served Sven a hand. “How was your week then? Done fixing up your truck I saw. Ain’t jealous some griffons are getting some action while you’re on your own?”

“Not at all.” Sven fanned out his talons. “Pair bonding for life? Buddy, I’d rather be careful with that. Make sure I don’t pick the wrong hen, and we’re not exactly ripe for choice in these parts. But yeah… truck’s fixed. Just needed to rewire the electricity for a bit. Took me an afternoon in the shop, but I’d rather have it to haul supplies than do it all by wing. The ski station is nice and all, but it’s a bitching time getting up and down.”

“Yeah, you bet.” Gunnar paused to wave at the waitress and request another pint. “I know I can fly, and I do, but carrying supplies while running on air? Did that once. Not twice. Why do you keep to the ski station anyway? Can’t see what’s in it for you.”

“Crazy good radio coverage my dude. Those WSU contacts you gave me? I got a satellite setup ready to chat with their DJ. Helps with the boredom, and she gives me plenty of tips. I just pass on questions from the others. Hel, the other day she even sent me a weather warning about the little storm that passed through. That’s worth the boredom of the Mile-High Club.” Sven explained, casually leaning back in his chair as he examined the cards in his talons.

Gunnar critically eyed the griffons, seeing him fidget in his seat ever so slightly. And that wasn’t his usual reaction to a bad hand.

“You know you suck at subtlety.” He pointed out after a minute.

“Okay, fine.” He clicked his beak and dropped the cards.

Looky here… a pair of eights at best.

“You figured I had to deal with the whole ‘owl’ part with my transformation I hope, right?” Sven asked him.

“Well, duh.” Gunnar snorted. “Is that your problem? That you live at night, so the current daylight-cycle annoys you at this latitude?”

“No – wait, yes actually- it’s infuriating. But that’s not what I’m getting at.” He leaned forward, claws propped on the table. “Flying through the mountains by night,you don’t get bothered by rocs… but I saw stuff.”

“Monsters?”

“Ain’t sure. There’s that circle of standing stones by a lake near the summit. Spotted flashes of light coming from there the other day. The next day? I see a burned-out summoning circle. Tracks too. Footsteps… but small.” He told his friend in a voice low enough that the other bar attendants didn’t hear him.

“Worries you?”

“I want to investigate. With you. Just to make sure I’m no fool before I go and tell everybody.”

Sven cautiously glanced to the rest of the crowd. They were still distracted by the drunk reindeer on the opposite side of the room, or just busy hashing out deals.

“I followed the steps a bit before I decided I needed you. Here...” Sven pulled out his phone. “… went back in the morning. Took a picture.”

He flipped through a few documents, using his knuckles to interact with the touchscreen so his talons wouldn’t damage it, before he finally slid it across the table to Gunnar who grabbed it in his telekinesis.

There on the screen… was a mine entrance. Not a regular one mind, because that one was entirely carved out of the cliff face, a very squarish style with linear patterns added to it for decorations… and glowing runes lining the pillars.

“Your call?” Sven queried.

	Gunnar slid the phone back across the table and took a short minute to answer.

“I still need to help at the algae farm so I get better prices on the cattle feed. You let me do that next week, I’ll call you by sat phone when I’m ready to head in. Looks dangerous. Don’t go without me, we’re hitting this thing… around Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest. Got it?” He paused. “And tell Agmund. I feel this is the kind of stuff a cleric like him can help us with.”
> Chapter 82: First Artifact
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

All things accounted for, Roberto ought to count himself pretty well set with the post-Event world. From a shipboard secretary who worked around the clock getting through red tape, he had become some weird amalgam of a spook and IT guy with but a fraction of the paperwork and a lot more leeway than he could ever hope for.

He still had to deal with the servers’ hardware on board, but that never took up much of his time.

What did was all the data he had to wade through and sort for their intel files. That… he might need to find a librarian or something at one point or another.Database management wasn’t his forte, and adding folders upon folders to sort that stuff was getting old real quick.

At this point, the black-furred Abyssinian with the crooked ear was pretty sure he was the only one who could reliably navigate the cluttered menus and obscure folders.

Hence: he really needed to sort out that mess at some point.

Not now though. Now was on with the best part of his job. Surveying new colonies.

Felt like being some kind of explorer.

He had left Amandine to meet up with Alejandro at the exit of the cruise terminal where the hyacinth macaw was chatting with one of the locals. There was still a little crowd gathered around them, but most had already gone back to their own affairs once they realized the sailors were still setting up. There would come another day to exchange stuff and trade, the fleet had just arrived after all.

“Hi Chief, got word that I was needed to work my miracles.” He greeted him.

“Miracles? What, you’re a cleric now?” Alejandro joked before he waved his talons over to the other parrot who was still leaning against his car. “This is Eduardo Quiros. Local leader. Had a chat with him, he’ll show us around, explain what they got going and what they don’t.”

“Greetings.” Roberto held out a paw for Quiros to shake. “Me llamo Roberto Costa. Sorry but that’s about all the Spanish I know. Mind doing the translation, Chief?”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He folded his arms resignedly and shook his head. “He’s the guy that’s going to figure out how we can help you set up the colony and make exports. You good to go?”

	Quiros nodded curtly, the parrot turning around and sliding in the driver’s seat of his pink ‘57 Bel Air before he beckoned them in with a wave of his talons. It was only after he turned the ignition that it became clear the car only looked pristine, because the rumble coming from under the hood definitely didn’t match what the two sailors expected of the American straight-six it was supposed to have.

Visually though… it certainly was well maintained. The white leathers and chromes were in pristine condition for their age, and there was this tacky collection of bobbleheads lining the dashboard. Plus the colorful streamers lining the ceiling.
“Family taxi. Passed down from my grandfather who got it before the embargo.” Quiros told them. “She’s… moody at the best of times. Not made to leave the city. The engine is capricious, and the steering and brakes aren’t what they used to be, but it’s good enough for urban driving and she’s all about looks anyway.” He went on as they left the cruise terminal behind.

Neither Alej’ nor Roberto were geared for a long expedition, both only wearing a flak jackets with only the front plates and pistols, but they figured if worse came to worst (because of monsters, they really doubted anything bad would come out of the locals) they could always make a run for it by using the urban landscape at their advantage. Alej’ could fly in short bursts, and Roberto had that feline agility all Abyssinians benefited from.

“Say Roberto...” Alej’ eventually broke the silence while Quiros drove them to his colony. “I never bothered to ask, but what kind of cat are you?”

“Black cat with white spots.” Roberto smiled. “Do you need glasses, Chief?”

The squawk of frustration that escaped his beak was enough to elicit a chuckle from the Italian, much to Quiros’ confusion in the front. The local threw them a questioning look through the rearview mirror, only to be waved off by Alejandro who muttered something about bromas.

“I meant, what kind of uh… magic you got. You know, how you cats can be either empaths or prescients. I already know Nguyen is a prescient, so what are you?”

“Empath.” Rob’ filled in, looking out the window at the decrepit streets of Havana. “Makes it easy to get under people’s skin… you should see Rahul. Poor cook pup, I’m all over him in our verbal jousting.”

“And he doesn’t mind?”

Roberto’s ear twitched, seemingly catching the sound of the packs of dogs that roamed the city, off in the distance.

“It’s a game Chief, nothing more. I don’t dislike him personally. Never have. And with the empath thing I’m positive he doesn’t dislike me either.”
“It tells you a lot?”

“Yes and no.” The humanoid cat made a face, only just stopping himself from clawing at the taxi’s upholstery. “Takes practice. The more I know a person, the better I can gauge them. Complete foreigners like the Americans in Savannah, I just get a vague idea of their mental state, how they’re feeling. Then...” He shrugged. “… Practice makes perfect. After a while, you get an idea of what you ought to say depending on someone’s state of mind. It’s only really annoying when you’re in overload or you catch a whiff of emotions you’d rather not.”

“You can’t shut them out?”

“Only if I actively focus on that. It’s… disagreeable at times when someone is injured or I catch a feel of something private.” He threw his superior a pointed look. “Thin walls, you get?”

“Oh...” Alejandro blinked. “Must get old real quick.”

“You don’t fucking say.” Rob’ snorted.

Quiros took them west, deeper inside the city. Most of the streets were eerily deserted, just dusty corridors through which a sea breeze carried the trash left in the open whenever those roving dogs knocked garbage cans over. Old wrappers and papers mixed themselves with dust whenever a gust kicked through a street.

It wasn’t that Havana didn’t have parks, it was more that what parks could be found in the city were more like paved plazas with a couple palm trees surrounding them rather than actual parks with lawns and greenery. Decent for a marketplace, but not something you can make a garden out of.

Roberto pulled out his notebook and began taking notes, quickly throwing out some general questions for Alejandro to translate. Stuff he needed to know, the resources available, the manpower, the possibilities.

How many people did they have available? Just short of a hundred, evenly balanced between parrots and hippogriffs. Without counting the tourists. By Quiros’ reckoning, they had around two dozen of them from various nations, though assessing where they came from was hazy at the best of times. Some were reindeers, one was a dragon, a couple ponies and other assorted species thrown into the mix.

Now as to where they were, that was a little more complicated. Of all the survivors that called Havana their home, few were willing to move and group up for the sake of safety. That had led to a myriad of blocks of two to four buildings, walled off with junk fences to fend off the dogs, and usually with less than a dozen survivors in each.

Not the most practical of solutions. Blame their stubbornness for that.

Worse even was the limited means of transportation they had available. Cuba already had a limited automobile pool prior to the Event with a poor car-per-inhabitant ratio compared to more developed countries, and most of them disappearing along with their drivers hadn’t helped a bit. The amount of available cars that they could fix was dreadfully limited-
Roberto jotted down a few notes about that. Maybe he could ask Scarface to fix up a truck for them.
– with vehicles that were either cheap Chinese brands, a rare few European cars that were too complicated to reliably fix, the Soviet stuff that dated back from before the nineties (though, thankfully, easy to fix), and the pre-embargo American cars like Quiros’ taxi, cars half-a-century old which said a lot about how careful you needed to be to handle them. And a few of those vehicles had already been dismantled and turned into makeshift generators.

“Isn’t there a power plant somewhere?” Roberto mused aloud.

Was, as Quiros provided after Alej’ translated. There had been an oil-fired plant. Problem was: it had been built near the refinery and the shore tanks in the harbor. Also known as: the blackened ruins on the south-east side of the bay. A few tanks had been spared from the flames thankfully, leaving them with enough low-grade fuel to run generators for a while (provided they didn’t mind cleaning filters every week or so), but the power plant was toast.

Another note: give them an oil recycler. That would stretch their supply and might make up for long supply chains in the future.

“And here we are. Bienvenido al Hotel Gran Caribe Plaza.” Quiros told the two sailors as the taxi took a turn after the capitol building that brought them next to a set of squarish light brown buildings.

Easily among the fanciest the city could offer. Built during the surge of wealth the island had undergone in the early 20th century before Batista was even a thing, the hotel’s architecture matched that of famous european cities such that it wouldn’t have looked out of place in Paris or London while still carrying that distinct colonial tang in the wrought iron railings that lined the balconies, the stark white shutters and the contrast they made with the otherwise ochre tones mixing light brown with faded yellow along the facade. Dark storefronts between the solid grey pillars of the ground floor also denoted its former use as a shopping gallery boasting luxury brands an apocalyptic economy didn’t lend itself to anymore.

All in all: a pretty decent place to settle.

And being settled meant that additions had been made to the structure to accommodate the locals. A group of Ornithians noticed them and opened a gate in the junk fence that surrounded the whole block, a mess of corrugated steel, scaffolding, old tires and barbed wire that looked like it had stopped a number of feral dogs already.

“This is one of the good parts of the city. Me and a couple hard working folks felt like it was worth it to use all that luxury space and make something out of it. Lots of room in the basements to store supplies too.” Quiros told them as they passed the gates.

Roberto also took note of the distinct change in crowd as the Bel Air drove past the gates. There were still parrots and hippogriffs, as normal for the city, but now he could also see…

“You gathered the tourists there.” He guessed.

The Cuban didn’t need a translation for that. He just nodded.

Ordinarily, there weren’t that many genuine hotels like this one in Havana. Those that existed were built prior to the rise of Castro like the Gran Caribe, and next to none had been built ever since. Much of the market was handled by small-scale B&B, so most of the tourists had been found wandering the city a bit all over the place, confused.

By common accord between the locals, the Gran Caribe was where they brought them and lumped them onto Quiros by virtue of him being their de-facto colony leader. 

He also assumed most of them didn’t feel like dealing with disgruntled foreigners for whom a tropical holiday had turned into nothing short of a waking nightmare. They would see what they could do for them. Would that be enough?

Roberto doubted it.

Ignoring the tourists for a moment, he set his mind on analyzing the premises. There were several monkey bridges and boardwalks linking the rooftops, a means to avoid the dangers of the open streets if you didn’t have a vehicle to take shelter in. Their addition gave the already narrow streets a tentacular vibe that might have felt a little oppressive, were it not for the colorful modifications Ornithians seemingly liked to make to their surroundings: multicolored splashes of paint in varying patterns, facades repainted a bright pink with blotches of cyan, kitsch murals lining the walls of the former shopping gallery as though brown and grey were an affront to parrot-dom in need of a culling.

One thing was for certain: Ornithians really liked their colors.

And were those Christmas streamers? Talk about tacky.

The only thing holding back the multicolored barrage of the parrots was the fact they shared the colony with hippogriffs that had less of a taste for the kitsch, and even then the pastel hues they typically had for coat and plumage tended to make them stand out just as much as their parrot countrymen.

As for the locals standing watch on the junk fence… their uniqueness kept the same trend as Quiros’ fashion sense: Hawaiian shirts and Panama hats had been paired with Soviet equipment in the form of positively ancient leather chest rigs, Makarov pistols and SKS rifles.

Probably police-grade equipment given the country. That, or some ceremonial gear they got from the Capitol, if not reservist weaponry. Roberto wasn’t sure. Old Soviet gear.

Quiros stopped his car in front of the hotel alongside a lone UAZ and an old and battered Kamaz filled with wooden crates, the only vehicles seemingly present around the Gran Caribe. The Bel Air’s patched-up engine came to a stop with a shuddering hiss that made Quiros frown for a brief second before he shrugged and led them into the hotel’s lobby. Much like the exterior, the room was a mix of old luxury and parrot decoration: rich marble flooring and intricate mouldings now shared the space with multicolored streamers and flashy drapes hanging off the ceiling whose fabric hid the supply crates stacked wherever there was room for it.

Not their goal though. Quiros led them to the other side of the room, past the counter and into a little stuffy office which he told them was used for their ‘administration’.

Most of the walls were covered in piles upon piles of cardboard boxes and manilla folders collected from all around town, from the library’s archives to the Capitol itself, in addition to a small computer terminal than ran on Windows 98 which the parrot opened to show them what intel he had gathered on the area.

Alejandro threw his shipmate a side glance. 

This was going to take a while.





	Back on board of Amandine, Vadim and Micha had taken to doing something that wasn’t about their usual tasks as Officers. It was all about Andy.

The topic had popped up once while Anton was showing Micha the incubator in which she kept her eggs – still a few months before those hatched, too- and they started talking about raising kids and how Andy behaved. Micha had found a sort of kinship with the genderswapped Ukrainian despite being unable to converse with her in anything but English. Each of them had gonethrough a pretty similar experience, so it made it rather easy to break the ice and relate to one another.

Things leapt from one topic to another and eventually the two hens had found themselves talking about education and how they were supposed to make sure kids (was it cubs or fledglings with griffons? You’re never sure if you’re supposed to use avian or feline terminology) were raised properly.

And much as Micha loathed to admit it… Anton had struck a point with their conversation.

You can’t exactly set up a primary school on a cargo ship. Home schooling it was then.

Did any of them have any kind of idea how to go about it? Of course not. Sailors tended to be jack-of-all-trades in a fashion, but never to that point. Needless to say, finding out how to go about the issue had involved a lot of discussing and even outright arguing between her and her mate.

Lighthearted of course. It was more of a heated banter than an actual argument. Mated griffons were unable not to love each other, so it was actually a challenge to stay angry for more than a couple seconds.

A bit concerning at times really, but they had eventually found their solution to the issue.

Subtlety would be their go-to word with teaching Andy. Until they got in contact with a proper teacher at least. Maybe she should ask Sandra? Their radio operator ought to know of a colony with an actual teacher, if only to ask for directions.

Either way...

Young griffons tended to be very outdoorsy kids, wild even at times. Andy was no exception, what with how she liked to play-hunt with her toys and wander around the ship despite their continuous warnings.

But they could be coaxed into learning something with a bit of effort.

Exhibit A: story time. One of the evening rituals Vadim tended to go through with Andy was that he would put her to bed and read her stories – in Polish- to lull her into sleep.

The idea? At regular intervals when the plot picked up and Andy’s attention was at its height, he would… doze off. Or act as if he did that is. The result was immediate: Andy was so intent on finishing the story that she would pick up the book herself and attempt to finish it out of her own interest.

Of course she wasn’t entirely self-taught. Vadim still needed to read aloud for her most of the time and Micha had taken it upon herself to have the fledgling exercise by reading some simpler texts aloud for her adoptive mom… but the seeds were sowed.

And that was just the beginning.

Plus she had managed to snap a neat little photo of Vadim actually snoozing with Andy finishing the read on her own, comfortably nested under his wing.

She would hang it in the office.





Merlin’s Tomb.

For a rather unassuming raised stone in the middle of a clearing, the place unsurprisingly radiated with energy and magic… albeit less so than it had when Starswirl first found it. That was most likely due to him rediscovering and reconnecting with his human soul and removing the area’s main power source. After that, most of the wards protecting the empty shell of a corpse under the stones had just faded away.

Main. There still was power coursing through the area of course, both because of Broceliande and what was left below the raised stone. The artifact. His staff. And of course his corpse.

If a ghost could have a chill run down his spine, he’d have. Casual as he may be about wandering Earth as a ghost – and his other half was still alive back in Equestria-, trotting over your own place of burial wasn’t any less eerie. Particularly when half of your mind still felt very much alive reading off a couple manuscripts deep in the Royal Archives of Equestria.

“Are you alright Mister Merlin?” Martin inquired.

The little fawn stood on his hooves a few steps behind him, looking a bit worse for wear from traveling through the forest. He may be both a deer and a neophyte disciple of Cernunnos such that he should easily traverse woodlands and not be bothered by the many creatures that called Broceliande home…

But he was a fawn. Merlin’s Tomb wasn’t exactly close to Trecesson Castle. Quite the contrary in fact: if you started from the Golden Tree, the Tomb was in the opposite direction you’d normally take to the Castle. Twenty kilometers away too, so it was no surprise Martin would be tired.

“I’m quite fine, thank you. Just an old wizard reminiscing how his life led to...” He waved a translucent hoof at the tomb. “… this. Competent though I like to call myself, that doesn’t change anything to the uniqueness of my condition. Question is: how are you? I’m a ghost, I don’t get tired.”

Martin smiled awkwardly, taking a second to readjust the strap that held his training staff over his back.

A change of attire that had come recently at Meadowbrook’s behest. Unlike modern Equestrians that didn’t have issues with going nude, the Pillars were from a more… prudish time where it was considered normal for ponies to wear something.

History books would have it that it was under Celestia’s prolonged reign as sole Princess and the extended peace that they decided clothes were unnecessary.

She and Rockhoof were from harsher times. They didn’t share the feeling… which accidentally made them get along with standard human customs.

For Martin? From the dirty, tattered clothes he had come to Trecesson with, he had now upgraded (after a little while, good at potions as she was, Meadowbrook was a poor seamstress, so the fawn had spent a fair amount of time in the nude) to clothing worthy of a wizard’s apprentice.

Dark green wool covered his back in the form of a thick hooded cloak above which he carried his staff and a little canvas satchel that contained some gear and basic potions Meadowbrook insisted he carry with him. And a small list of ingredients the mare wanted for her potions, if he ever came across those while out in the forest.

Along with the cloak came a simple white tunic tied up around his midsection and a dark green pointy hat without a brim that denoted his status as a neophyte.

Simple, but it stated his role clearly and provided semi-decent protection against the drizzle that had been raining down upon them since early in the morning. The droplets didn’t even pass through the cloak, a little potion treatment that Meadowbrook had applied to the garment to make it water-repellent.

“It’s a long walk.” Martin finally acknowledged, scraping a hoof against a nearby tree to get rid of the mud that was clinging to it. “But I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“Sure you aren’t.”Starswirl smirked. “Don’t try to hide it. I can read right through you. We will teleport on the way back.”

Martin wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved at the decision.

Starswirl jerked his head, motioning for his apprentice to follow him to the center of the clearing. Above them, the skies were a uniform shade of light gray that gave the whole forest a dull gloom it didn’t normally have in clear weather. The smell of dirt and soil hung heavy in the air as the sound of the rainfall hitting the canopy battled that of the breeze shaking the branches.

Rockhoof would have a field day about it. The stallion had complained the crops were a bit on the dry side earlier that week… that should hydrate them and fill up all the aquifers.

And naturally the rain couldn’t come normally. This was Broceliande of course. In woods where you could expect anything from a silver mist at ankle height, to glowing moss, bio-luminescence and magical wisps, of course rain had to come with its own local flavor.

The sheer magic in the air was enough to ignite the biggest drops of the drizzle with a blue ethereal light all the way down, like miniature comets that popped and sparkled whenever they hit the ground, a tree, a leaf. Those sparkles would then drift off and form little mist banks that floated for a couple minutes before they scattered between the trees.

With the tomb being so magically-charged and in the middle of a clearing, all those droplets created the illusion of a vortex around the raised stone where they crashed against the small circle of stones embedded in the forest floor around it, forming their mist before the magic in the area pushed them deeper into the woods.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Starswirl smiled. “Magic works wonders sometimes… this was never intended to be that way, yet the beauty shines through over the gloom of a tomb. You’ve got to appreciate what magic gives you when it deigns to show it Martin. Also… try to commit this to memory. If a place is charged enough with magic, you may not even need mage sight to spot its flow. Small particles can pick it up. Dust. Raindrops. Ashes. Try and keep some on hoof. Might save you from wasting some time and mana on a spell. Understand?”

“Y-yes… I think?” He blinked slowly.

“ It’s important you remember that using human magic will always be more complicated than a unicorn’s sorcery. It’s seldom about throwing your weight around. You’ve got to be clever, use what’s around you to your advantage and have a very good comprehension of how the world functions to make it work.” His teacher recited. “Don’t worry about writing this down. We’ll go over it back at the castle, you’re not good enough yet that I’d ask you to pull out a notebook out in the rain.”

Wait. Implying he eventually would?

Right beside him, Martin watched Starswirl shift to human form, the ghost quietly summoning up an ethereal stool and sitting down, one leg folded over the other, looking expectantly back and forth between his pupil and the tomb.

“Sir?” Martin quirked his head to the side.

“It’s your artifact after all, my dear pupil.”The wizard’s ethereal eyes twinkled in amusement. “Did you actually think I was going to retrieve it for you? All the relevant wards are already down, you don’t need me.”

	He jerked his head back towards the raised stone. To a fawn, a huge monolith covered in burned-out runes that was easily half a dozen times his height, probably with a stone slab underneath it that hid his teacher’s corpse itself.

“I don’t think I… that I can… lift that.” He stammered.

What was the heaviest thing he had lifted again? Using his training staff? A pebble.

“Use what’s around you to your advantage. Wits. Not raw power.”Merlin repeated.

Martin tried to discern something in the ghost’s expression, but he just kept grinning and stroking his beard. He furrowed his brows and rounded up on the tomb. So there was a trick. A trick he needed to figure out to lift the stone.

The magically-charged raindrops shimmered as they fell around the tomb.

Oh.

	That.

	…

	Dummy.

	Subconsciously, the little fawn’s snout twitched in frustration as he unslung his training staff and tucked it under one of his forehooves, business end pointed towards the stone.

Now how to use all that?

Well… start off easy. He closed his eyes and focused just a second to take hold of his wizard magic, an exercise he’d already done enough while meditating. Easy.

Next up? He worked his jaw in thought.

He could literally see the magic in the air, he just needed to reach out with his own and leech off of it to boost his own spells. Maybe… he steered his own magic into his staff and used it to ‘grab’ the surrounding mana flowing through the air to pull it into himself.

All of a sudden, it felt like he was chewing on a live wire. The inscribings on his staff and his eyes lit up with a white glow and his thought process felt as if it had been sped up twofold.

Merlin quirked an eyebrow at the display, still stroking his beard but this time in wonder at what it was his student was attempting.

“I- I got t-this.” He forced out, teeth chattering from the raw power.

Now that he had the power… he just needed to… gah, too much energy… hard to focus. He rerouted his wizard magic through the staff once more, except this time he repeated what he had done in training for telekinesis: send out a tendril of magic, like an invisible arm, wrap around the raised stone…

Huh. Neat. All those burned out runes carved in the stones actually felt like grooves his magic could anchor to. Made it easier to grab it. Guess Merlin meant what he was saying in more ways than just the extra magic available.

Martin was grinning when the stone came lifted off, encased in a powerful white aura. He effortlessly floated it aside, almost giddy at how easy it was to lift the multi-ton rock with the extra magic.

What he didn’t see was Merlin counting down on his fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

Crash!

The white glow of extra magic had faded in a fraction of a second, leaving him with just his baseline power that had yet to grow powerful enough to lift Menhirs. His telekinetic grip slipped, and the old stone crashed down with a tremor that sent moss and leaves flying up in the air.

“Whoops...” Martin said sheepishly.

“Al-right...” Merlin slowly said, shifting back to unicorn form as his stool disappeared. “That was decent. Not perfect, but were you a regular Canterlot student that would be enough to pass the entrance examination.”

A tentative smile crept up the fawn’s muzzle.

“But there is room for improvement. I saw you tap into the surrounding magic. This is good, you should get used to doing that whenever you can. What you could have done instead of swallowing it up like that, was just create a flow. Smoothly. Let it go through you.”

“Through me?”

“Yes. What happened here is not only that what you took in was limited, but it also brought you close to your overload point. This will grow eventually, but do you remember how it felt? Getting too close to your limit… it feels good, but it’s very dangerous. You can miscast from the decreased focus, grow overconfident, you might even overcharge and blow yourself up.”

“Blow my-” Martin paled under his fur coat.

“I would have stopped you if it got to that point. Don’t worry. Key element today is: you had the right idea using the surrounding magic, but you have to let it flow through, not grab a chunk of it. It’s more complicated than just that of course, but we’ll get into it once we’re back at the castle, OK?”

His pupil nodded.

“Good. Now there’s a time to try that again.” Starswirl waved a hoof at the slab that had been unveiled after the removal of the menhir. “Again. Now with the flow. We’re not leaving until we have that staff.”

It took him a little more time to focus and figure out how to handle the technique, but this time he didn’t drop the massive stone once he ran out of juice. It rose up smoothly in the air, floated off to the side, and then he dropped it in the mud with a wet squelch. A purplish glow immediately began radiating out of the tomb.

The staff. Merlin’s skeleton was still clutching it tightly, a piece of perfectly-straight, polished oak covered in a thin layer of varnish that protected it from wear.

Not that it was really necessary. Artifacts were self-repairing after all. Nevertheless, the varnish gave the wood a fine sheen that covered the shallow carvings that had been inscribed upon it over the year. Multiple scripts covered it: Nordic runes, Celtic ogham,Latin and Greek writings… all covering a shaft that ended in a pair of bronze bits on either end.

One of those extended out further in a claw that grasped at another thing that made the staff so unique. Where other mages would just use a jewel as the artificial foci on their staff – and that was already expensive enough on Earth, diamonds weren’t as plentiful as on Equestria-; Merlin had gone the extra mile when he first made the staff.

Trapped in glass and covered in ink, a fist-sized mana stone was what gave the artifact its power.

Starswirl was about to take the artifact for safekeeping and leave a comment to his visibly giddy apprentice when his eyes flicked to his skeleton’s legs.

Leg.

He could feel the tang of her magic in the air, now that he paid attention.

Morgane.

“Damn witch stole my tibia!”





Gunnar silently cursed himself for thinking the expansion works at the algae farm would be simple. He may be a reindeer that could basically run on thin air and lift stuff with his mind, but that didn’t mean that a whole day of installing new grow nets for the algae wasn’t tiring.

They had been at it the previous day, from sun-up to sun down. Given Narvik’s latitude… that was some serious overtime spent planting spikes in the fjord aboard his sailboat. Plus… even with reindeer fur, the frigid waters still got to you, eventually.

On the bright side, he got paid with a batch of rifle ammo and a price cut on any future feed he bought from the farm. That was nothing to scoff at. And the added output to the farms would allow both the fish farms and his own herd of cattle to grow and expand some more in the future.

Yeah for post-apocalyptic economic growth.

Truthfully, Gunnar would have been happy just mooring his sailboat at the algae farm and sleeping off the overtime there… but he was a farmer. Living your animals on their own is already a gamble with pets, not visiting your cattle for a prolonged time is just playing with fire.

And thus, from overtime at the algae farm, he went on to spending the night refilling the feed and water for all his animals, making sure the reindeer herd was kept in line, that his dog Sitka hadn’t wandered off or something.

Sven of course took his opportunity to complain when he waited until well past noon to call the griffon. So what if he needed to catch up on his sleep? It wasn’t like his mystery mine was going away anytime soon, and there was no way he was sailing out of his fjord without a few hours of sleep.

That and he needed to pick something up at the convergence point for Agmund. The cleric had told him it was important. He frankly didn’t see the use in these stones, but if the dragon did more power to him.

With all the travel time, going to the temple to find Agmund was already up at the station, pay off the marina to keep his boat, and finally fly his way up the mountain; it was only well into the afternoon that Gunnar reached the ski station where two disgruntled companions were waiting for him.

Now in terms of the ski station… Narvik being so far north made it possible for a layout you wouldn’t normally see in common stations across the Alps. In the way that the bottom of the station was basically in town, at sea level where most of the slopes converged.

What they referred to as the ski station was actually at the very top where the chairlift – that nobody bothered to repair since almost everyone could fly anyway- would normally drop its passengers a short distance below the summit, well above the treeline. It was at an altitude where nothing but lichen, moss and hardy bushes would grow above and between the smooth rocks that were nigh-permanently buffeted by winds that threatened to send inattentive flyers off-course.

And next to the chairlift was a lodge with a balcony, built on solid foundations with thick log walls to sustain the winds and weathers that buffeted the mountaintop. As ideal a nesting ground as it could get for a griffon in Narvik, and if Gunnar let his eyes trail towards the summit he could see a few poles that linked the lodge to an antenna.

That and it used to be a high-altitude bar for skiers. The bar was stocked well-enough for its lone inhabitant when he commandeered it.

Sven and Agmund didn’t look too happy when he touched down and they turned away from the griffon’s pickup truck that he used to bring his supplies to the lodge.

“’bout damn time. You have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?” Sven glowered.

“Long enough for me to catch some rest. I have a busy schedule.” Gunnar replied simply. “Don’t act like those algae won’t help the region in the long run.”

“You’re boring.” His friend shook his head. “I give you a mysterious mine to explore… you set your priorities on farming.”

“Boring but practical is my motto.” Gunnar chuckled as he shrugged off some of the bags he had brought along for the expedition. “Mind if I drop off some stuff here? The mine, it’s not too far is it?”

“Fifteen minutes by air if the wind blows right.”

The reindeer nodded softly as he began digging through the gear. He had his bolt-action along, just in case which he slid in a scabbard he carried across his back before he pulled out another gun – his shotgun- which he passed over to Agmund along with a bandolier.

“Here… green shells are 00 buckshot, white shells are slugs, shoot whichever you prefer so long as you don’t flag me.” He told the cleric. 

The dragon gingerly accepted the gun, though he still threw the over-under a dubious glance.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of punch you pack with your magic or how quick you run out of juice, mister walking flamethrower. The 12 gauge is my security.” Gunnar deadpanned while he and Agmund were momentarily left alone as Sven went to fetch his own gun and gear.

“If you insist.” The cleric of Thor shrugged, the gesture only then making Gunnar notice how the dragon was affected by his status.

You wouldn’t notice it from up close, but there was more to his position than magic and neat robes. There was a thin layer of crackling electricity over the membrane of his wings, the blood vessels in them shining with a barely noticeable blue glow.

His eyes were similar: outwardly yellow, but with an electric radiance from up close that you wouldn’t normally notice at the temple.

“Now if you don’t mind, there was this one thing I asked of you.” Agmund pressed.

“Yes of course.” Gunnar remembered, turning on his hooves towards his bag and grabbing a small cloth pouch in his telekinesis before tossing it to the dragon. “There you go. Dunno what you need this for.”

Agmund blinked. The miner-turned-cleric quickly shoved his claw down the pouch and pulled out a glowing blue gem.

“Do you even know what these are?” The dragon asked him.

“No clue.”

“They’re mana stones! Pure magic made material!” He exclaimed so loudly it elicited a surprised squawk from Sven as the griffon finally emerged from his lodge. “They’re basically mage fuel, of course I need them. You can do magic dude, did you even try anything with them?”

“Meh, too busy.” Gunnar snorted dismissively.

The cleric looked down at the reindeer for a couple seconds before he shook his head sadly, muttering something under his breath about boneheaded farmers or some such. A guy gets given magic and the ability to interact with his environment without touching it, the ability to run on thin air and fly… and he decides to act so casually about magic.

People sometimes.

Being the former miner that he was, Agmund insisted on giving them a few brief warnings about what they should pay attention inside the… mine while they were on their little expedition. Don’t fire your gun without warning the others to avoid turning anyone deaf, use the explosion-proof flashlights he had brought along, the oxygen meter too…

It was only a quarter of an hour later that they left the lodge behind, much later than Sven would have liked.

Not like he would go out and into the mine on his own anyway. He wasn’t crazy. He had seen those silhouettes wander around the mountainside at night.

Sven’s claim wasn’t wrong. The mine wasn’t far by air. The mountain extended in a ridge behind the ski station, which they followed up until it sloped down into a shallow valley tucked between two peaks. It formed a semi-open cavity deep enough to allow for a small frigid lake surrounded by the thin layer of permafrost found at this altitude.

Behaving much as a guide would, the eagle-owl griffon led them to the circle of standing stones by the lake where he had first spotted the signs of activity, pointing his talons this way and that at the summoning circle and the tracks that littered the area.

Gunnar and Agmund shared a look. This looked like a little crowd had come right through the circle, and the way the area had been disturbed showed they had brought supplies along. Plenty of them by the looks of it… which they had dragged through a narrow path to the side of the valley opposite to the lake.

“You recognize those tracks?” Sven asked them, finally done with his explanations and… wild speculations.

“Not at all.” Agmund shook his head. “I mean… it looks human, but the length-to-width ratio is off. Plus it’s about the size you’d expect from a 10-year-old yet it’s way too deep.”

“On the bright side...” Gunnar looked off towards where he could see a hole in the mountainside which he recognized as the entrance in Sven’s photo. “… whatever came here dragged supplies along. That rules out monsters. My conclusion… is we best go and greet the neighbors. You with me Agmund?”

“Yeah...” The dragon cleric inclined his head sharply. “I second that. Just make sure to keep the guns holstered.”

	That much wasn’t really a problem. And neither was getting in. The mine entrance shared the same signs of activity as the standing stones, but it was… odd. It was carved right out of the mountainside, intricately decorated with linear patterns that put emphasis on the smooth gray stonework.

If that wasn’t already out of place on a mine entrance, then the fact the doors were made of the same stone yet opened effortlessly without making a single noise only compounded the fact. A chilly mountain breeze blew across their back the moment the doors came open, a small stone latch locking them into place with a click.

Inside was a dimly lit tunnel that descended into the mountain at an angle, decorated with the same carved patterns as the entrance, with the exception that the lines at head level (for quadrupeds) had been filled in with a squishy phosphorescent substance to provide light, though no brighter than a dim penumbra.

They saw no guard when they passed the doors.

They didn’t see any when the doors faded from sight, deeper into the tunnel.

It was only when Sven turned around to check how far down they had gone that he noticed the beady glowing eyes staring right at their group.

And of course the several crossbows and spears pointed their way.

“Hei kjære naboer.” He greeted sheepishly, the griffon raising his talons in a wave.
> Chapter 83: They Live Below
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several seconds were spent in a silence so profound Gunnar could hear his heartbeat as the… creatures stared them down, weapons still pointed their way. None in the group of three dared reach for their guns, so close were they to the group of mysterious creatures that kept to the darkness.

Sven had tried to turn on his flashlight when he took note of the group, but a quick series of guttural cries of protest and weapons flashed threateningly had driven him away from that attempt. The locals didn’t like the light.

Their silhouettes were hard to make out in the dim light, with just enough to reflect off the tips of the crossbow bolts and spears they kept trained towards the three intruders. What Gunnar could see attached to the beady glowing eyes that pierced the darkness were small, stout silhouettes no bigger than human children would have been, except with a far stockier if misshapen build.

But there wasn’t enough light to make out more details than that, other that they all wore thick metal armor of plate and mail that clicked and rustled at their every movement.

Sven’s greeting had made them start a sort of silent conversation where they exchanged gestures in the back while the front line watched them vigilantly. Try as he might to figure out what they were saying with that sort-of sign language, the front line’s joined frames prevented Gunnar from making out anything significant.

They were agitated though, that was for sure. Not much you could read in their beady, glowing eyes, but they hadn’t expected visitors. Much less as eclectic a group as the trio. Every so often, one of those in the back would peek above the shoulders of those in the front row for a couple seconds before returning to their silent discussion.

“Agmund… any idea?” Sven whispered to the dragon standing by his side.

“Why would I have an idea?” The group’s cleric whispered back heatedly.

“Pal, if that ain’t related to the whole magic revival I’ll stuff my antlers up my arse.” Gunnar joined in, momentarily taking his eyes off the mysterious beings. “I have my assumptions, but c’mon, do something. That’s your area of expertise, mister I-got-Thor’s-backing.”

“Oh, and what would that assumption be then?” Agmund snarked.

Gunnar slowly turned his eyes towards the group of creatures. They had gone still now, still pointing their weapons towards them, but they had caught on to the whispering and were listening on curiously.

“Dwarves.” He stated flatly.

“Dwarves?” Sven did a double-take and jerked his head towards his companions, surprised to find Agmund nodding in agreement to the assumption.

“Dwarves.” Gunnar repeated, staring right at the creatures, small and misshapen as they were. “Except err... not those of modern post-Tolkien tales and their embellishments. Actual dwarves, creatures from another realm, creatures of the dark uh....”

“Svartalfheim?” Agmund completed, earning a nod from the reindeer.

That got a reaction out of the so-called ‘dwarves’, as they finally broke the silence they had kept themselves to up until then. One of them pushed his way to the front of the group, one that carried a pickaxe and wore thinner armor than the rest, before he jabbered something very quickly in a gravelly – literally, his (its?) voice sounded like gravel turning inside a dry cement mixer- in a tongue Gunnar didn’t recognize.

Though he may not have recognized it, it did sound vaguely familiar, familiar enough for Agmund to furrow the scaly ridges that stood in for his eyebrows and slowly reply in the same dialect – if only with poor diction-.

“Agmund, what’s going on?” Gunnar inquired. “What’s he saying?”

“Shush...” The dragon raised a claw. “It’s ‘she’ apparently, and they’re pissed off some wild animals would stride into their mine unbidden.”

“We’re not wild animals!” The reindeer exclaimed in outrage.

“I know, I know...” Agmund admitted before he switched tongues and told the weirdly enough – female- dwarf something.

Something that got a reaction out of her as she turned around on her heels and started yelling at her brethren.

“What now?”

“Eh, I just pointed out they left the door open.” Agmund shrugged innocently. “By the way: they’re speaking old Norse. East Norse as a matter of fact.”

“You speak that?”

“Got the ability in the package when I became cleric, among other tongues.” He explained before folding his claws behind his back, distractedly stroking the membrane of his wings. “Didn’t think it’d come handy so soon.”

“So soon?!” Sven erupted.

“Bound to happen eventually, with Yggdrasil’s network of realms reconnected and all. Now if you don’t mind… diplomacy is in order.”

It didn’t take more than a few words from their cleric and a show of magic to demonstrate his status for the dwarves to take them, not deeper into the mine as they’d have expected, but higher. Dwarven masonry was the finer stuff, and coupled with the dim lighting of the main gallery the trio had accidentally overlooked the barely noticeable passageways that ran perpendicular to it.

Not unsurprisingly so, mind, because the female dwarf showed how almost perfectly hidden the access was as she led them inside a circular chamber with a deep dark pit in the center. There were more of them there, and the moderately brighter lighting – thanks to the soft reddish glow of a forge- allowed them to take note of further details, both about the underworld dwellers and their architecture.

They were very different from the modern man’s idea of a dwarf. Creatures of the underworld as they were, there was little in the way of ‘organic’ materials to be found in their dwellings. All cold stone and metal, with no wood or leather to garnish their craftsmanship.

Only exception to that rule were the glowing mushrooms they grew in beds on the edges of the chamber and which they used to light up their galleries, and those weird chitinous creatures Gunnar managed to sneak a peek of as a dwarf on the opposite side of the cavernous chamber led them into what he assumed to be a ‘pen’ cave.

And the dwarves themselves…

Old tales would have it that the actual inhabitants of Svartalfheim would turn into stone at the touch of sunlight so ugly they were.

Legends didn’t stray far from the truth, turns out.

What little ‘skin’ the trio could see – on the guards, they kept eyeing their visitors like hawks from veeery close up- was this odd greyish stony surface with cracks all over along with unsightly wart-like protrusions. Through the cracks in that skin, reddish sinewy ‘muscles’ could be seen. It added to the lichen and moss that grew on them instead of hair, giving them some weird verdigris-colored beards – even on the thinner females- that Gunnar assumed were there to hide their ugly features. Jagged edges, fat noses, beady eyes that glowed in the dark…

It was no surprise most of the Edda had divinities scoff at the dwarves’ ugliness, all despite the quality of their crafts.
	As it stood, while the mossy beards hid part of their features, the armor did most of the work, being extremely intricate pieces of metal decorated with the utmost love and care which covered them from head to toe in plate and chainmail.

Gunnar had to thank his inability to understand anything that was being said for even noticing those details. There wasn’t much he could make out of the East Norse that was being spoken, particularly given that it was from a dialect not native to this part of Scandinavia.

A few paces in front of him and Sven, Agmund was in heated talks with the locals, gesturing at his two companions every so often while he spoke, mostly to the female dwarf from the beginning. The cleric was hard at work asking questions and trying to figure out the situation, learning about what had led to the dwarves’ arrival. 

And the arrival was recent. The sound of pickaxes working the stone even here in the higher galleries implied that they were still setting up, regardless of how impressive the stonework and the extent of the galleries already was.
That they could build a mine in so little time was a testament to their skills.

By their admission, the reason they had ventured to Midgard was to search for rare magically-charged minerals now that the sudden increase in magic spurred the formation of such alloys within ore veins. An endeavor that had been encouraged by the High Throne of Nidavellir – their capital in the realm of Svartalfheim- as there were little to no signs of activity in Midgard to contest their founding a new mine.

They weren’t aware of humans having turned into mythical creatures however. Nor of the sudden appearance of monsters all over the place. That apparently the gods up in Asgard had yet to tell them.

Nevertheless, Agmund was all too happy to clarify what was going on above the surface of the Earth to the assembled dwarves. Monsters, returnees, the whole ten thousand years shebang with the return of magic and new species replacing humans and all.

Interesting as it was, the topic didn’t last long before it shifted to something else entirely.

Trade. Of course.

It was Gunnar that brought up the topic for Agmund to translate, and judging by the interested gleam in the dwarves’ eyes, they were interested.

By what exactly, that took them a little while to figure out. Despite being interested in some stuff such as food from the surface to garnish their plates as well as materials they couldn’t produce themselves such as leather and wood – a valuable rarity in their society-, the quantities they desired weren’t very high.

Probably because there weren’t that many of them in the mine. Barely more than four dozen or so. The mine was recent, and most of its dwellings were still under construction. More dwarf settlers would come… later.

The real interest came when they caught word of the technology the former humans had on hand (or the closest approximation thereof) and the potential there was for them to further their craftsmanship.

Apparently the prospect of high-tech salvage was equivalent to ambrosia for them, because a smith-dwarf eagerly pushed his way to the front of the little crowd that had formed around the trio of visitors. He jabbered in a rough, tinny voice at Agmund, inquiring about their guns and gear and whether or not he could get a look at them.

“Uh… no, I’d rather not.” Gunnar quickly said when he got the translation. “We can get him guns later if he wants, but he ain’t touching mine. I know something you can give him to sate his curiosity.”

“What then?”

“Show them the mana stones.”

“But I might need them!”

“Might. And I can get you more. I live next to the convergence point. Now, show him the good stuff.” Gunnar insisted.

Begrudgingly, the dragon cleric dug his claws under his robes and fished out the little pouch that held his bits of solidified magic. He carefully deposited each of the little glowing gems in his palm and bent down to the smith’s level.

The smith was a lot broader than the female miner, wearing thick armor with hulking pauldrons each emblazoned with a hammer symbol that matched the enormous thing he carried in a sling across his back. Paired with his already bulkier frame, he was easily twice as large as the female, with eyes that flickered with interest at the sight of the mana stones.

Gunnar didn’t need his companion to translate the gravelly jabbering to figure out they had just gotten themselves a deal.





The hotel’s office was stuffy.

As simple a term as it was, it was the best Roberto could think of to describe it. Dust hung heavy in the air, with the breeze from the ceiling fan only just enough to kick it up and not at all do anything to combat the Caribbean heat. 

Roberto had already shed his flak jacket, and still he found himself tugging at his collar from the sheer heat as he opened up yet another manilla folder while voices shouted in the hotel’s lobby. Cat fur, great against the cold, not so much when you’re trying to keep cool.

The shouting was coming from the ruckus that had sprung up when the grapevine ran its course and word of the sailors visiting the hotel reached the tourists. He caught bits and snippets of Alejandro quickly switching from Spanish to English as the Chief Officer did his best to appease the stranded travelers.

But he didn’t pay it too much attention. The Spaniard would whip up something eventually. Give them some paperwork to fill out, say they were going to solve it…

Somehow.

Didn’t detract Roberto from his task. Which was going through the locals’ intel to sort out some kind of export. That and stabilize their situation.

Turns out, so long nobody was speaking, he could actually make some sense of texts in Spanish, if only slowly. The language wasn’t too complicated to figure out, and for someone who already knew French and English along with his mother tongue of Italian, he could get the general gist of a text.

And from that general gist he peeked at through the multiple manilla folders Quiros had provided him, along with what little data was available on the office’s computer terminal – the old thing wasn’t much good-; Roberto had managed to draw a picture of where the colony was at and where they could bring it. Semi-realistically at least.

For one, there was one thing they hadn’t been told verbally but that he found in the documents. The plantation. Quiros and the locals did get their food from somewhere, and that place was a small plantation up in the hills away from the city next to a reservoir, which was also the extent of the local trade. The Cuban hippogriffs were no fishers, but where their Ornithian compatriots got fruits and vegetables from the plantation in exchange for salvage, they traded it for freshwater fish obtained from the vast lake that was also the freshwater supply.

Roberto drummed his digits against the table, a purr of satisfaction already beginning to rumble in his throat. There was the beginning of something.

Food. Secured by the plantation.

Electricity. That they could provide. Just ensure they had a makeshift power station – maybe a salvaged train, a diesel-electric might do if they could find one- and they could import fuel in the future.

Water. Again: the plantation and its reservoir. Running water might be trickier to achieve, but they could just do as they had in Belfast and assign a freshwater tanker truck and a waste water truck to handle it. Give all the inhabited city blocks the tanks to store a week’s worth of water and waste, and that might be a done deal.

Security? If it were only about small fry for monsters and feral dogs, the locals’ deal with the ‘urban jungle’ and the SKS guns would have been enough.

Sao Paulo pointed to the contrary. There were pirates about, and they would readily attack colonies given the opportunity. Their fleet could track them with weather satellites and escape. A colony didn’t have the luxury of being mobile.

Did Roberto have a solution for that? As a matter of fact, yes he did, and it lay at the entrance of the bay. El Morro. The old Spanish fort that watched over Havana.

If it could protect the fairway back then, there was no reason it wouldn’t now… with some adjustments. Quiros’ files told of many old Soviet guns lying about in military depots all around the Capital.

In short: the old fort was overdue for an upgrade to 130mm naval guns. Give them enough height advantage to improve range, and no pirate ship could ever hope to take the bay and threaten the colony. Eagerly, the Abyssinian jotted the idea down in his notes just as his ear twitched at yet another outburst in the lobby.

By the sound of it, Alejandro had just located a disgruntled Karen. Pity the fool.

The Karen erupted shrilly and Roberto’s grip tightened around his pen, ears going flat against his skull. Pity his ears, feline auditory prowess be damned. And there was no way in Hell he was stepping in the lobby as an empath. Hard enough to tune it out from within the office, all those nasty vibes.

Rob shook his head firmly, one paw reaching to fiddle with his whiskers. At least he had something to show for the security aspect, which left…

Ah, the exports. Their main interest.

Shame it was so bland. Again, his notes only arced back to the plantation. Sure, there were other colonies that had farms and the works, but Havana was the only one so far he expected could reliably produce stuff like fruits, tobacco and sugar cane. He really doubted that O’Connell dragon in Ireland could compare to that.

But maybe they could do more than that. Intel did point out to some canneries near the docks, which would facilitate export, and the sugar cane… well, its use was self-explanatory. Roberto wasn’t exactly reinventing the wheel there.

He was just about to finish up his notes and open a map to chart out recce missions when a small mare barged in his office with the clatter of hooves and shouting behind her. She stood squared up in front of his desk, panting, while he just stared at her in annoyance.

Dammit Alejandro, you let the Karen loose.

	No doubt about the nature of the annoyance. The Earth Pony’s haircut was enough of a tell, only made worse by the cheap clip-on earrings and hastily-resewed flower dress she wore.

“I demand you take me back to America!”

Roberto’s annoyed glance switched from the equinified Karen to Alejandro just behind her as the Chief Officer stood in the doorway. Roberto quirked an eyebrow, to which Alej’ only replied with an apologetic shrug. He could also make out a crowd of assorted creatures right past him, all gathered in the lobby.

“That is quite the demand you have here… miss?”

“Brown.” The Earth Pony puffed her chest up self-importantly. “Katherine Brown, vice-treasurer of the Silverthorne city parish.”

“Oh you’re important then.” He drawled sarcastically.

“Very!” She jabbed a hoof in his direction. “Which is why I must get back stateside immediately. They need me back home. Take me to your manager.”

He shook his head quietly and set down his notes momentarily, leaning forward on his desk to get closer to the pony, a soft chuckle rumbling in his throat.

“Manager? Miss, you just blew off a Chief Officer – that’s standing right behind you might I add- trying to barge in on a secretary as he’s working through paperwork. Doesn’t really help with your making demands. Now simmer down, go back to the lobby, and file whatever document they give you so we have your intel on hand. Fleet command will study what to do with you tourists when we get to it.” He paused before he leaned to the side to address Alej’. “Say, Quiros, he told you if they had a relief team from Equus tell them what’s what?”

“Don’t think he did, so I assumed the answer was no.” The hyacinth macaw replied.

“Care to verify that?”

“Hold on… are you ignoring me?!” Miss Brown cried out in outrage.

“And you’re making it very hard, sporca troia.” Roberto’s ears twitched at the noise. “Back to the lobby with you, we’re busy. Alej’, my question?”

“I’ll ask.”

And if no Equestrian relief team had met them… then that would mean even more resources had to be spent to ensure all the locals were up to snuff on their biology, magic, and any other matter pertaining to the Event.

Folks always got so riled up when you mentioned the whole 10.000 years deal.





	While some in Cuba were busying themselves with paperwork, security, or plainly resting… something else entirely was occurring for some of Amandine’s crew. Not too soon after Roberto and Quiros had left for the hotel, a couple vehicles were seen exiting the cruise terminal, forming a little column that headed west towards a little military airfield.

The closest one available actually, closer even than the commercial airport to the point that the airfield was actually situated in one of the less dense parts of Havana near the university. That proximity made it so that even prior to the Event, it hadn’t seen use in years. For good reasons. Too short of a runway for most MiG’s the local air force used, and much too close to habitations for regular flights.

But the reason they went there wasn’t for looting or salvaging. It was a test, of sorts. For their pilots, and for Scarface as well.

One of the things about Amandine’s still new air wing, was that the Super Tucano they had obtained back in Belfast just couldn’t be carried in a ready-to-fly state, nor could they launch it from deck. Dilip didn’t seem to consider it such a big deal, but he did insist they find an opportunity to test its capabilities.

Now was as good as they would get.

With Schmitt supervising the whole operation and taking notes so they’d have a procedure to go by in the future, the little convoy of three vehicles burst through the rusty chain link fence barring access to the airfield and set up camp in one of the rusty, decrepit hangars.

One unimog with the team and some comms to keep in touch with the aircraft.

One tanker truck full of kerosene.

And at last a hooklift truck carrying a forty-foot container that held the Super Tucano and its associated gear.

By their reckoning, it was probably the plane best-suited for their purposes, or so Schmitt claimed as Scarface opened the container and set to assembling the plane. It embodied the concepts of ruggedness, low-cost engineering and efficiency to a point, being a simple two-seater turboprop originally designed in Brazil to strengthen the country’s grip on the Amazon with a purpose-built aircraft.

The result was something that clashed with an age that had seen the rise of high-tech aircraft such as the F-22 and the Su-34. What boiled down to an armed trainer craft.

It didn’t need much in the way of maintenance (at least compared to jet fighters).

It didn’t guzzle a lot of fuel.

It didn’t even need particularly long runways and could even make do with dirt or highways.

And lastly: it’s status as a glorified trainer made it so damn simple to fly their two helicopter pilots actually had the skills to fly it.

Schmitt’s claims weren’t that far from the truth then. It still took Scarface most of the morning to get the aircraft ready for take-off, a delay he blamed on quality control – didn’t want the wings to come off mid-flight after all- and being unfamiliar with the task.

Just a few minutes before noon though, the pilots finally got their call to board the craft and get on with the test-flight, now that the engineers were confident nothing would come loose that shouldn’t.

“Anything I should pay attention to?” Flynn asked as the pegasus took his seat in the front seat, wingtips flicking switches here and there to boot up the electronics.

“Sorta.” Schmitt answered as she leaned on the edge of the cockpit before he and Owen could close the canopy. “I gave you a flight plan to follow, but consider it more of a suggestion. Today’s goal is to put this bird through its paces. Go the scenery route and patrol if you want and have fuel to burn, but it’s test day, got it?”

“Eeyup...” Flynn took a look at the weather notes he had in his lap. “Weather looks fine, not much wind, clear skies, shouldn’t be too rough on the Tucano. Anything else?”

The orange dragon lifted two of her claws.

“Two things. One: we’re being cautious, as ever. This Tucano’s got two .50 cals. One at the base of each wing, loaded. 550 round-belts per side, all tracer. Pay attention though, it’s M3 fifties, not M2, so the fire rate is like three times faster.”

Flynn raised his gaze to the front of his cockpit, only then really noticing the gun sight in his HUD.

“Ooo-kay...” He slowly said. “I see a monster...”

“You do to the monster, what we do to monsters.” Schmitt confirmed.

“The second thing then?”

Schmitt’s head turned towards Owen in the back seat.

“That one is mostly for you. You’re not carrying ordnance in the hardpoints, but we still fitted the observation pod in the underbelly. Try it all out. The thing’s got thermals, laser designation, zoom, you catch my drift. Main thing is with the designator. Not gonna spout all the tech cant to you, but apparently it’s keyed in to the GPS. You point at something, it should give you it’s coordinates to transmit to other units.”

“Make sure it works fine?” Owen guessed.

“There’s a good pilot.” Schmitt smirked before she jerked her head towards the runway. “’kay now, go and get that bird airborne while we sit with our thumbs up our asses over here. Have fun.”

Flynn smirked right back at her before the pegasus closed the canopy and taxied the aircraft to the end of the runway. It didn’t need more than a short distance to get airborne, and then its pilot took it on a wide turn around the city, steadily climbing above the cloud cover to get a feel of its handling.

Back on the ground, Scarface lowered his binoculars and turned to face Schmitt.

“That’s our part done… now what?”

“You really think we’re just going to wait here?” The orange dragon smiled at him as she made her way to the back of their unimog.

“Not really seeing much to do here.” He waved a hand at the surrounding decrepit airfield.

“You’d be correct...” Schmitt admitted. “… but I’d be damned if I didn’t make the best of the time here. The others are probably already enjoying the shore time, so it ain’t a crime if we do as well?” She questioned.

And as she was saying that, she reached for a crate in the back of the truck next to their comms gear, along with a couple folding chairs and a cooler. A cooler filled with a case’s worth of cold beer that earned an appreciative look from Scarface.

“Why boss, I could kiss you for that.” He laughed out loud.

“Thanks, but the change only swapped my sex, not preferences. I don’t swing that way. Still…” She cautiously eyed the other handful of sailors that had accompanied them. “No reason why we can’t have our fun, but it ain’t just alcohol. Got soda and water too. We still got guns, a plane and kerosene. No drunkenness on the airfield, and an eye out for threats, but we’re more relaxed than usual. Two beers per person, you want more, you’ll have to wait ‘til the evening when we’re back on the ship.”





	Naomi wished she could enjoy a cold beer.

Unfortunately for her, being in the middle of the Tanzanian savanna hardly came with that kind of luxuries, and she couldn’t fault herself for trying. Having grown up in rural Texas before she decided to become a vet – and off-grid at that- had made her pretty handy at securing herself the resources she needed… in their own unique form. She doubted many survivors could compare their situation to hers…

Except maybe for that sphinx she had heard of on the radio. Some survivor nut in Montana who kept away from civilization and lived with mountain lions.

Her? Actual lions, because for some reasons big cats didn’t mind being in the presence of sphinxes at all. So here she was, living alongside one of the biggest prides to roam the Serengeti National Park. Prior to the Event, she had been pretty certain of the path her life would follow. Study, become a vet, work a couple years with big cats at a conservation center in Africa… and then she’d have found herself a cozy job back in the US. Houston maybe. San Diego if she pulled the right strings.

That had gone haywire when the Event happened. When the wave swept her, she had been busy heading for the lions’ den in her Hilux intent on sedating a lioness to take some blood samples.

By the time she had her bearings back, her Hilux was on its side in a ditch by the den, she had been propelled through the windshield, turned into what she at the time thought to be a small lioness – with a mane, weirdly enough- and wings, and the lions were examining her.

She still thanked the heavens for her transformation and sphinxes’ relations to big cats. Had she been any less lucky, she might have turned into a pony as she heard over the radio most Americans did and become lunch for the local fauna.

In a unique turn of events, she was now cohabitating with them. Studying them. Surviving. The recent apparition of magic had done something to enhance their intellect, not to the point where she’d call them sapient yet… but they showed a lot more wits than the big lazy cats she had grown to know over the months she had spent in Tanzania prior to becoming a sphinx.

Part of the reason why she chose to stay at the den instead of making her way back to civilization. Another was that she doubted she could get along with what locals she found if they weren’t tourists of people from the park’s conservation center… and from what her sailor contacts told her on the radio, making it back to the US wasn’t really an option.

The safety of a lion’s pride was well worth living alongside her research subjects.

The den Naomi now called home was a tall rocky protrusion that jutted out above the sparse trees that dotted the savanna as if it were a giant termite mound, with the same galleries and chambers you’d expect from the insects’ version, serving as housing for the lions that protected them from the blistering African heat. While far from the nearest watering hole, the knife-shaped mound was surrounded by a thick row of thorny bushes and saplings that stood out against the yellowish grass and formed a rampart with only a few easy accesses.

One of which involved flying. Naomi had wings, she’d have been an imbecile not to learn how to use them.

And of course the den had received some modifications to accommodate her. Naomi deemed the place safer than the rapidly deteriorating conservation center some twenty miles away, so she had elected to salvage gear and whatever she could recover to turn the dark galleries and chambers into a proper home…

Despite the lions. Clever-er as they had gotten, it took her a whole lot of effort to keep them and Kiba – the pride’s leading male- from damaging her stuff.

In the last few months, she had thus made a couple trips back and forth between the den and the ruins of the conservation centre. Her Hilux had become a makeshift generator hidden underneath a couple thorny bushes, to which she had plugged some salvaged batteries and solar panels to provide electricity at any hour of the day or the night.

Cables mounted on poles then carried the load into the caves and to the top of the den to feed her electrical installation. Part of it powered a pump that drew water from the aquifer underneath the den, while the rest served to power her appliances, including the array of antennas that kept her in touch with the WSU.

Naomi rose from her sunning spot and stretched herself like a cat down to her wings. Cat naps were nice and all, but she had to make sure her research went ahead. Below her, snapping noises announced the pride had finally stripped the last wildebeest they had caught down to the bone. She’d have to get rid of the remains before they started to stink up the place.

With a yawn, she padded back inside the cave higher up in the den that had now become a mix of a lab and a bedroom with her cot and some lab equipment set on folding tables. The pale glare of a neon light hanging from the ceiling flickered above her as she moved over to the rugged laptop she used to monitor everything.

Connect to the satellite network. Done. Check the mail, answer Sandra’s questions, promise to look into something for a future broadcast… Her usual habit, but keeping in touch with someone who could actually string a sentence together was her daily social activity. She needed it.

	The lions were nice, sure… but so far they were just disturbingly clever, not intelligent. Not enough to socialize with, even though apparently she was lion enough for Kiba to show attraction towards her.

“That damn moron...” Naomi muttered at the thought of the lion she had seen napping by the trough she used to provide her research subjects with drinking water.

Kiba was a big male by his species’ standards, with a shaggy black mane, broad shoulders and a set of scars close to his left eye from when he had taken over his predecessor. From observing him and his pride before the Event, she had come to know him as a crafty brute – if lazy- that had only been made more intelligent by the magic in the air.

What made him a moron was his enslavement to the wills and whims of his ballsack.

Though to be fair, where repelling the interspecies advances of an amorous cat was one thing, the same moron had accidentally provided her with his fair share of research material. Cubs, that is.

One thing she had noticed early on when one of the lionesses had given birth was how much more the cubs were affected by the magic than the adults. With the adults she could reliably teach them basic stuff like how to relieve themselves somewhere specific, not touch her stuff, pull a lever near the water tank to empty water in the trough when they were thirsty.

The cubs… what little she had experienced when their mother allowed, they were actually responsive to what she was saying. They genuinely understood her, yet they were pure lions from what the samples she had managed to take told her. Genetically, 100% lions, no change reported.

A simple fact that had become a wall of text recorded in her research files with multiple hypotheses as to how magic may affect animals on an intellectual level, why it would not cause any genetically-perceivable changes, cross-references with Equestrian texts she had requested from the WSU.

Enough reasons to be stuck in her cave long enough not to be dragged into hunting with the lions – because yes, she did go alonga couple times- and to escape the African heat. She didn’t even need to hunt per se, canned food salvaged from the convention center could last her a while.

No way she was giving the lions any though. The water was already an overstep with wild animals, no telling what feeding them regularly might do.

A weak little meowl behind her signaled the arrival of the cubs.

Guess mommy thought the weird winged lion was good enough as a babysitter. She didn’t mind, that was time she could use to study the smart little guys.

“Why hello there, you little cuties...” Naomi smiled at the miniature lions – only weeks old yet- as they dutifully hopped onto her cot while she was still on her laptop, all four of the litter staring at her with wide curious eyes.

Provided mommy had fed them, she knew they’d just soak in her words while she spoke at them over various stuff. Like a sounding board, except fluffy.

There was a pang of anxiety in a corner of her heart though. About one seriously questionable thing she’d done one week prior, which she was only learning more about now.

IVF had been considered at the park to bolster the lion population. The gear was there.

She had salvaged it. It was all pristine and ready in a corner of the cave next to her lab equipment.

She had used it. A young lioness called Petra, most likely one of Kiba’s favorites and well in line to become the pride’s matriarch.

With Kiba’s activity, it was no trouble getting a sample from the male. A tranquilizer dart from her air rifle brought him down long enough for her to get what she needed.

The thing was…

The egg that made the embryo implanted inside Petra didn’t come from the lioness.

It came from Naomi.

And today? She’d taken her blood-work. It read pregnant.
> Chapter 84: Ghost mage talks to tree, grows frustrated
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	There were a lot of things the WSU wanted or needed to get done while they were in Cuba, both for their sailors’ sake to fill the growing need for R&R, and for the locals’ sake when it came to providing support and ensuring they would get a good footing to build trade capabilities on.

Roberto and Alej’ were still busy sorting stuff out at the hotel, but that didn’t mean the rest of the fleet had to remain idle.

Rhine and Amandine were still carrying the relief supplies they had acquired way back in Copenhagen, salvaged from the UNICEF depot. Containerized field hospitals, medical supplies in bulk, the sort of stuff they usually shipped to catastrophe-struck areas of the world.

Lacking any sign that the area had been visited by Equestrian relief teams, and given the rarity of doctors and other medical personnel in the current world, now was as good a time as it could get to use them and help out the locals.

Come to think of it, they hadn’t heard of the Equestrian relief teams in more than a month. In all likelihood they had all gone back to Equus when it became too hard to travel between the two worlds.

Which in turn meant Radiant Course really was stuck on Earth.

“So you’re not too hung up on that?” Angelo inquired to his friend as the two of them were backing up a truck to install the last part of the containerized hospital inside the cruise terminal Amandine and Fugro were moored at.

Fairly roomy, actually. The terminal was basically a converted warehouse from the late industrial period: stone pillars maintained a vaulting ceiling maintained by many steel beams, leaving enough space in the middle to let all of Amandine’s vehicles maneuver, while the sides consisted of old shopping galleries, abandoned restaurants and customs offices customary of a cruise terminal.

By the entrance where they had set up their checkpoint, some of the sailors on guard duty had reclaimed a coffee shop and found a way to fix up the machines.

Angelo didn’t spare them more than a glance. At least they wouldn’t nap on duty, not with how strong Cuban coffee was.

“I told you… I knew what I was getting into when I stowed away, and so far I’m not regretting it.” The much smaller pegasus told the minotaur as he hovered in place outside the truck’s window, guiding Angelo. “We’re all more or less cut off from where we’re from either way. Some of us are just a little bit further away.”

“Your call.” Angelo shrugged, stopping the engine at a wave of Radiant’s hoof. “So how does Earth feel for an alien?”
“Fascinating. All this tech, the ruins, and the ancient magics at play… There are authors back home who’d have a field day from all the inspiration it provides.”

“That’s not just Equestrian authors I think, but I catch the drift. You planning on doing anything while we’re in Cuba by the way?”

“No uh… not really.” The pegasus landed on the roof of the truck’s cabin, craning his neck down to look at the minotaur through the windshield. “Sandra said she had some plans though.”

“Oh right… forgot you and the DJ were an item. How’s she?”

“She’s a nice mare, I’ll give her that. Whether that’s to last… eh.” He ran his primary feathers through his mane. “I can’t really tell just yet. Hasn’t been long enough.”

Angelo eyed him dubiously.

“Pal…”

“Don’t start, please.” Radiant raised a wing to halt him mid-sentence. “I- I’m aware I’d gotten to a point where I was rather unaccustomed to ponies.”

“Weird given they’re your own species.”

“I’m trying Angie.” He sighed. “And it’s not like I’m using Sandra to get into ponies again. I genuinely like her, it’s just...”

“What? You still down because Aleksei blew you off?”

Radiant did a double take. “How did you even hear about that?”

“Just a rumor. Think I heard it from Carlos, but you pretty much confirmed it, sorry.”

“Look… I’m not using Sandra, I...” His wings sagged. “I’m only saying… I hung around Mount Aris too much way back. More than a pony should. You get to a certain point, you stop thinking ‘herd’. You’re… different. I’m just trying...” He trailed off.

“You feel like you have to go for ponies.” Angelo guessed as he pulled the truck’s door open and hopped out with a heavy thud.  “Why you think that way I have no idea, since ponies are able to reproduce with several other species.”

“Ah… No… I mean...” Radiant stammered. “Look, back in Equestria inter-species relations are kind of a taboo. Mom was pretty open about this since we came from the Crystal Empire before we moved to Cloudsdale and with Princess Cadence it was fairly liberal, but inner Equestria is different. I promise I like Sandra...”

“But you’d rather be with Aleksei.”

The pegasus’ shocked face was telling. True though, the hippogriff mare was hard to miss ever since she’d become a cleric and Epona made her so… curvaceous.

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Radiant whinnied. “I’d rather not be discussing the ethics of my relationships while you’re somehow fine with eyeing Artemis like you’re not sure whether or not to approach her.”

“So you caught that?”

“I did. But I’ll be the diplomatic pony and offer a skillful topic shift: what were you planning to do in Havana then?”

Angelo went silent for a couple seconds, though only as long as it took him to move over to the truck’s trailer and start dropping the container’s stilts.

“Beyond work you mean? Not sure. I had an idea of geeking it out with Carlos in my free time, but Vadim’s been nagging me that we should pull some strings and get ourselves some of those antique cars. Been told they were a piece of work to fix though… You?”

“If you two don’t mind, I’d be happy to play along with the geeking… and help out with the cars if you get some nice ones. I like those machines. Such an impact on your civilization, you see it in all your cities. It’s like every family has their own piece of high-tech machinery they can use on a whim to go wherever they want. You don’t get that on Equus. You want to travel, you gotta find room on a train or airship. It’s never quite as convenient as what you got.”

“Right…” Angelo blinked. “You mind checking the fitting on those stilts? Don’t want the mobile lab to fall over when I remove the trailer from under it. Bit of warning though: me and Carlos, we got our playlist planned out for the geeking. It’s gonna be gory, and I know you ponies ain’t fond of that.”

“I’ll bear it.”

That would come later, however. The fleet’s arrival in Cuba was still recent, and much had to be done before anyone could catch some respite. Engine room maintenance, security details, the usual fresh coats of paint necessary to combat rust, their work schedules were far from empty.

That didn’t change the fact that there was a shared sentiment across the fleet. A sentiment that Havana would be more about R&R than usual, which soon led up to all three Captains having little ideas and projects landing on their desks such as ‘rum soirees’ and ‘beach parties’.

They’d get around to it. Sure.

But first they had to loot commie guns. To fortify Havana.





“What do you mean by ‘I don’t know’?! Concord!”Starswirl cried out. “The artifacts, we need to know where they are! To locate them!”

In front of the ghost, the little cloud of magic that was the Golden Tree’s projection flickered and almost recoiled at the outburst.

“I- I’m sorry Mister Merlin… I know the artifacts all exist, but I can’t point you to them.”

“But why? Concord, I was there when we planted you, I was one of the bearers for your… ahem ‘sister’s’ set of Elements. I’m teaching one of your own bearers! Are you really telling me you won’t say anything about which artifacts you picked?”

The little cloud shrunk a little and hovered from side to side repeatedly, its hue darkening ever so slightly. Was he… was he shaking his head? Hard to tell a cloud’s body language.

“It’s not that I won’t. I trust you. I really do. But Harmony… she’s like me, and… I mean no offense Mister Merlin, but she probably knows better. For one, I shouldn’t tell you because destiny wills that they be found by their own bearers – Martin raised the stone on his own, I felt that-, and for second: even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t. Because I don’t know where they are either.”

“Hold on- you don’t?”

“I never had any idea Martin’s artifact was your staff. He found out on his own. I’m only aware there is a… a destiny bond I think it’s called? I know it’s there, but I can’t track it. All I know is: it will happen. At its own pace. You can’t force it.”

“B- but! Urgency! The Demons! Charybdis and Scylla a- and… their goons!” The old ghost of a mage stammered uncharacteristically, for once coming up short.

And why did it always have to be destiny? Even Princess Sparkle repeated that whenever it was about the Elements of Harmony, but why did Concord have to indulge in such… such…

Not unlike Concord’s cloud that would flicker when under strong emotions, Starswirl’s ghostly form shimmered. Except in his case it was frustration.

“Do you at least have an idea as to when they might appear?”

For some odd reason, he was pretty sure the little magic cloud grinned slyly.

“In time. They won’t be late. But if you were hoping to get rid of them in short order...”

“I know I know...” Star raised his hoof to halt him. “My pupil isn’t ready yet anyway. I’m just asking so I don’t sit around in expectation for a couple months when they won’t be there for another five years.”

He had to give it to Concord, for a tree restrained to expressing himself through a magic cloud, he could make it pretty expressive. Never in his life did Star think he would see a magic cloudlook at the sky sheepishly.

“I’d tell you… but it’s hard to tell to begin with. Some I know are here but aren’t at the point in their life where they’ll be ready yet, some are too young and poorly trained, some have yet to reappear at all. I… you know what, five years might actually be a safe bet. Yes, five years. Leadership looks like it will take time to come around.”

No shit. Of course the future wielder of Excalibur would take his sweet time. The one bucking Element they actually had the artifact for! But hey, on the bright side, if this cruel mistress that was Lady Destiny thought five years weren’t long enough for Demons to take over the world and sweep them into a millennium of darkness, then at least he could tell Rockhoof his new fiefdom was safe.

-ish.The Fomorians had yet to show their ugly mugs.

“Thank you Concord.” Starswirl nodded curtly, already conjuring up the teleportation spell that would take him back to his tower. “I’ll tell Martin he can come by sometime soon. I know you like his visits.”

“Oh yes-yes!” The little cloud fluffed up in a show of joy that actually denoted how young he still was. “Tell him he can come and go as he pleases! It gets so dull here without anyone!”

“I will. Promise.”

And then Star vanished.





A few kilometers away, Trecesson was yet again showing further signs of progress. More than just farming and lumber, life was well and truly setting into its own marks in the recently founded village whose looks blended medieval architecture with odd technological outbursts such as the electric poles that ran alongside the narrow streets and the tall radio tower that poked out through the castle’s roof.

It had been a little over a week since the locals were done with the palisade that surrounded the village as well as the fences that protected their fields and cattle.

They couldn’t just sit on their collective rumps farming though. Yields were high enough that it wasn’t a concern: Broceliande’s magic made it so plants grew so fast, they were already on their fifth harvest. Their stores were full.

Unicorn telekinesis helping, many of the craftier locals had taken to improving the dwellings and building more. Some only settled with adapting the ergonomics to better fit the deer/unicorn majority of the population, others…

Lionel had been one of the first returnees to arrive in Trecesson after Meadowbrook and Rockhoof. He’d come along with Sandrine, the same lazy doe Rock had been forced to toss in the moat before she got to work, manning their charcoal kiln.

A mere barman as he used to be, the unicorn stallion was nowhere near as lazy as his girlfriend. His former hobby of carpentry, in the past contained to his toolshed, had first been turned into being the colony’s resident handyman, before becoming something more. He had been the one to go into details as to how the palisade and the watchtowers should be built, and he had been the one responsible for the conversion of one of the outbuildings’ lower floor into a proper schoolhouse (leaving the upper floor free for the village’s teacher). And he had his share of projects at the ready too.

Trecesson had a lot more potential than you’d first think. More than just the admittedly roomy castle that could house a fair amount of settlers in its own right, the outbuildings were what he thought truly held potential.

A taste for aesthetics had pushed the previous owners into toppling some of the least used buildings to create room, leaving just the essential farm buildings along with a couple houses for tourists visiting the region. And it did achieve its goal: the sturdy gray stone buildings with their shingled roofs were nice to look at, with plenty of room to breathe between them.

It also left plenty of unused plots of land. In a steadily growing village that saw returnees join the fold on a weekly basis.

Of course they wouldn’t stay empty for long. There was already one plot reserved for the temple they were due to build come next year – and that they’d need to get around to collecting the stone for at a nearby quarry, that wasn’t going to be much fun either-. Lionel was already drafting some plans for it. Maybe something inspired from a stave church? Wood was easy to get, so maybe the style would cut down on the amount of stone they needed to get.

No, no… Too much wood wouldn’t fit. A stave church would look out of place. Maybe with just the lower third of the building as stone and supporting stone pillars all around? They might work nice, like Menhirs… He’d find something.

But the temple was only one plot of land.

Others… he was doing his best to convince Rockhoof there was a need for. More than just houses mind.

“So… you drafted plans for what exactly?” The large Earth Pony repeated as the two of them settled at a table inside the castle’s library.

Neat place too. Varnished woods panels and tinted windows warmed up the atmosphere considerably when paired up with the thick reddish carpets and dark furniture, bookshelves notwithstanding. Were it not for the vaulted ceilings above them you wouldn’t even notice you were in a big hulking medieval castle.

The previous castellan sure had taste. Only issue was the furniture was a bit too tall for quadrupeds, and the doorknobs… weren’t ideal for deer.

“For you, I got some simple houses, modifications to add wooden floors to existing stone buildings to enlarge them and get us extra accommodation, some drafts for a workshop that blends a smithy you’d already be familiar with modern machining tools...” The unicorn said as he lit up his horn and lifted the plans and drawing out of his satchel. “...and I made a tavern too.”

“A tavern?” Rockhoof deadpanned. “You drafted plans for all essential buildings, chief of which would include... a tavern.”

“Why yes!” Lionel laughed. “Peeps need a place to relax, and with Meadow pregn-”

“You noticed?”

“Bump’s showing.” Lionel pointed out. “And as I was saying… maybe a lady like her doesn’t need a bunch of folks boozing up in the castle’s kitchens and banquet hall every day after work. It’s good for dinner so far I’ll give you that, and eating together works wonders for colonial unity, but even then there is only so much we’ll be able to cram in the castle before it gets crowded.”

“And a tavern would help?”

“Somewhat, at least. It would help with morale across the whole village and make it roomier than having everyone eat in the castle most of the time.” Lionel said.

“Didn’t you work in a bar before?”

“Eeyup.”

“And you wanna do it again?”

“Maybe, I’ll admit it.” He rubbed a hoof through his white mane. “I mean… that ‘cutie mark’ on my flank is supposed to mean something, and last I checked-unless I need glasses- it’s a beer keg. I like the job. I know the handyman stuff is more useful as a whole but… you know the apiary?”

“The apiary we built that other day? What of it?”

“Just telling you I know how to make some pretty sweet stuff with honey. You’ve ever heard of chouchen?” Lionel asked Rockhoof, punctuating his question by pulling out a little glass bottle from his satchel.

The large Earth Pony eyed its contents curiously, watching the rich golden liquid inside it shimmer slightly as it hovered in front of him, safely held in Lionel’s telekinesis.

“Today’s the first time… Mind if I taste it?”

“That’s the whole reason I brought it.” Lionel beamed. “And for your information, there is more we can make as alcohol than just beer from the extra wheat. Chouchen is our regional liquor in Brittany. It’s a kind of mead we make by fermenting honey with just a hint of apple juice to start the process.”

“You had me at mead.” Rock’s smile matched the other stallion’s as he downed the whole bottle in one go, fully taking in its odd blend of honeyed flavor with an aftertaste of cider. “Faust’s engorged teats!” He cried out boisterously. “That’s a good one if I’ve ever drank any. You say you can make more?”

“Chouchen I can make and keep you a steady supply in the fridge. I could also make some blends of beer and cider with all the extras we get from our harvests and…”

Lionel hadn’t finished his sentence before he found himself enveloped in a beer hug courtesy of one happy Rockhoof who he honestly hadn’t ever seen smiling so widely. The bright-eyed stallion kept a hoof wrapped around the much smaller unicorn, looking up as if he were posing for a painting, thick ginger beard blowing in the breeze.

Wait, weren’t they inside? Lionel blinked owlishly.

“Buddy… that here just secured you your tavern. Anything you want to get it done, you come by and I’ll make sure you get it.”

“You really like mead then?”

“Yes! And I hate wine. Do you have any idea how many casks of the stuff there are in the castle’s cellars?” He paused to look off in the distance thoughtfully. “Neither do I, it’s mostly Meadow that goes to the basement since she put her potions lab there, but I know it’s too much wine and not enough mead. Or beer for that matter.”

There was a bit of praise after that, encouragement to get the project going and complete it soon, Lionel had never seen the usually stoic stallion behaving so… effusively. He wouldn’t complain. He had a beer keg tattooed on his butt, and the pony motto was to follow the butt tattoo.

Words to live by.





	At about the same time on the castle’s ramparts, Miles was just looking down into the moat glumly, the pegasus comfortably lying down on her belly atop a piece of cloud she’d plucked earlier that morning.

She had stopped even caring how pegasi could even do that. She just wasn’t in the mood.

Earlier that day, before Starswirl/Merlin even went to visit Concord, the wizard had made his first attempt at turning her back into a male.

If it had worked she wouldn’t be in this mood to begin with. Or a she.

Right back where she started. Merlin had thrown a quick transformation spell. For a couple seconds it had actually worked. She had grown a couple inches, bulked up to the point that the collar of her poncho almost popped, even grown back her dick – equine or not she wasn’t going to be picky-.

She should have paid attention to his warnings.

Transformations were hard to pull off to begin with. Not only were the spells finicky, but then came the matter of making the transformation last. Most creatures had some form of internal magic, and that magic most often rejected transformation spells. In most cases? Beneficial. It ensured hexes didn’t last forever unless extremely elaborate spellcasting was used.

Bit of a problem when you want the contrary to happen.

Thing is… were it only human or Equestrian magic present at a time, Starswirl would have been able to turn Miles male without too much hassle. He had done it in the past, with both kinds of magic, in Equestria and on Earth.

Now though?

That same jumbled mess of manas that made Broceliande so damn powerful and hyper-charged the entire planet had thrown things for a loop. Any returnee’s magic included a blend of both Earth and Equestrian mana that not only rejected spells and transformations on their own (something he could work around), but combined together to work against his efforts of turning back (that one he couldn’t work around, not yet at least).

As a result, the ‘test spell’ he had tried out to see if the transformation was possible hadn’t lasted a quarter of an hour as it should have. She had shrugged it off in seconds.

But hey, there was an upside: Starswirl was more or less certain returnees wouldn’t be forever petrified by cockatrices, or even gorgons, if any fool ever became too nosy in Greece.

“Looking like somebody murdered a puppy in front of your eyes there, Miles.”

That was Emeric. The wiry unicorn had managed to sneak up on her while she was busy moping about herself. He trotted over to her side, horn lighting up to reach into the cigarette stash she kept hidden under a loose bit of masonry.

“Yeah… so close yet so far they say. Never figured it was so darn frustrating.” She whinnied. “For a couple seconds I was male again… and then poof. Back where I started.” She made a blowing-up motion with her forehooves.

“If I recall… you were warned it wasn’t gonna last the first time around.”

“Doesn’t help.” She leaned further into her bit of cloud and flicked her mane to the side. “Believe me. I’ve kept telling myself since this morning and it’s done jack shit to improve my mood.”

“That bad uh?” Emeric stuck a lit cigarette in his mouth and took a long drag. “If it comforts you, it’s Merlin after all. Ain’t nothing but a matter of time until he figures out something… and then it will not only help you, but all the folks that have had their gender swapped too. It’s alright.”

Miles frowned. Sure it would be a solution… and she wasn’t the only one to have had her nethers swapped around by her transformation…

But she was the only one to be somewhat proactive at turning things around. All the others, male-turned-female or female-turned-male, they didn’t seem to want to bother. Hell, some of them had already found partners.

“What if the cure comes out too late?” She muttered under her breath.

“You were saying?” Emeric asked, the unicorn draping a hoof over her shoulder.

The gesture didn’t help her state of mind. She had slept with the stallion. For a first with their equine bodies… the experience, in the intimacy of the castle’s thick walls and her chambers… it had been downright breathtaking.

If odd. Emeric had felt compelled to bite her neck for some odd reason and she didn’t even mind. Equine instincts, probably.

“What if I reach a point where I don’t feel it’s necessary anymore? That I get… too acquainted to femininity.”

“You’re thinking about this too much.” Emeric shrugged. “Unless you wanna say something else, all we did was fool around. And you’re not gonna get stuck either, or enslaved to your bodily needs. We have protection, Meadow can make you potions to combat the effects of heat cycles, you’re good.”

“Yeah...” She sank deeper in her piece of cloud, relishing in the contrast between the chilly dampness of the water vapor and the relative heat of Emeric’s hoof over her shoulder. “I’m good.”

Down below in the moat, there was some wild flapping of wings and quacking. Martin had just tossed some bread crumbs in the water, and the resident mallards began a race for the best bits.





Way to the north in Narvik, morale ran high in the colony.

Their recent first contact with the dwarves from the mine high up in the mountains had come with the news of one of their first trade opportunities. In practice it wasn’t very easy to manage since the little creatures from the underworld outright refused to come out of their galleries so long that the sun was up, but the resources they offered to trade were well worth the trouble.

Unsightly as they were without their armor, they made up for it in spades through sheer craftsmanship that saw plenty of uses among the locals who bought their goods those few times the dwarves journeyed to Narvik for a night market. Many of the items, components and tools they sold came with enchantments that put them above their mundane equivalents, pricey as they were. Language barrier was a thing though, but Agmund was there to translate every time one of the stout little miners was in town.

And the dwarves, they were fascinated by human technology. Centuries of advancements had been missed due to the disappearance of magic, and they were eager to catch up. Technical manuals, syllabi, even old editions of Popular Mechanics regardless of the language, anything they could get their little hands on to catch up with the humans, they bought regardless of how expensive it was. And salvage too, obviously.

In addition to that, many of the local farmsteads and fisheries had found they also had a thirst for the exotic. Production of anything organic in the underworld was limited, and dwarves relished a good meal and drink to light up their days. Folks such as Gunnar – who was already selling them some very lucrative mana stones plucked straight from the convergence point near his farm, since the dwarves apparently used the stuff for their enchantments- would thus regularly sell them anything from meat to milk along with leather, lumber, fish.

By rule of thumb, if it was organic, you could barter a dwarf into buying it at the night market.

The increased economic activity also spurred further changes in the colony. Gone were the temporary stalls usually raised near the marina on market days, now replaced with a more permanent trading hall raised out of a converted warehouse, with solid stalls, refrigerated storages and even a handful of actual shops manned by those few locals who weren’t working on farmsteads or salvaging.

Narvik was once more blooming into a town proper. They even had an actual doctor now!

Ok, maybe the doctor in question was just a reindeer that used to be a veterinarian, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to start being picky. She toured the fjords to go after patients, she treated cattle, she treated people, she even did dentistry!

Yeah, you try to find a dentist after the apocalypse. See how much luck YOU have!





Dilip sat down at the table only once he got his paws on a cup of Darjeeling, much to the annoyance of his fellow Captains as they looked at him expectantly. The three of them had settled down inside one of the ultramodern meeting rooms the Fugro Symphony had available for the company executives she would sometimes transport. Arrayed between them on the table were several folders filled with intel reports, including Roberto’s first assessment of Havana now that the cat was back from the hotel.

So now it was up to the three of them to set a course.

Which wasn’t going to be easy with their limited resources.

“And it’s why I think we will have to split up the fleet once we leave Havana” Dilip enunciated after taking the first sip of his tea.

He frowned slightly.

Maybe he’d have to ease off the Darjeeling while they were in Cuba. The whine of the A/C fighting off the tropical heat was hard to ignore, creating a fresh breeze that blew through the meeting room, ruffling the bronze fur on his neck before it escaped through a nearby porthole left halfway open.

Green tea maybe? Moroccan green tea was pretty good at combating the heat after all.

“Why would we have to split up?”

“Recent intelligence. I think we need to attend to local colonies in as short order as possible before we head back to Europe and set up a base of operations.”

“Whose location has yet to be decided as of now.” Skinner reminded, the hedgefog punctuating his words by tapping a digit against the table for emphasis. “Lots of candidates to sort through.”

“And it’s not why we’re meeting today.” Dilip clarified. “The HQ, we will decide the location of later on, with proper consideration for all our needs. Today is about what happens after Cuba.”

“Weren’t we due for Mexico? The fuel refinery?” Lorelei inquired quizzically. “In my books that was pretty straightforward.”

“And since your ship has the largest capacity to carry liquid cargo and fuel, youwill go to Mexico, rest assured. Plus intel and satellite pictures indicate it’s a decently big colony, so it’s high on our list.” Dilip acknowledged. “What I’m wondering about...” He looked pointedly towards Skinner. “… are the other colonies we have data on.”

“You want me to reach those?” The hedgefog guessed in a flat tone.

“Possibly.” Dilip nodded as he set down his teacup and reached for a specific folder. “Intel shows two colonies south of us. Sao Paulo is way too far and they have stabilized their situation since the pirate attack, but we have another colony in Brazil. Belem. And there’s another smaller one on the island of Dominica.”

“Dominican Republic you mean?”

“Not that one. You’re thinking about the large island in the Greater Antilles. Dominica is in the Lesser Antilles, just north of Martinique.” His fellow Captain corrected. “One of the islands hit by a hurricane recently, sat pics show a refugee camp that was gathered in a stadium prior to that has moved further inland. Roughly fifty people. None of our ships can dock in Roseau though… Except for Fugro.”

“I get it. Dock, find the locals, help them get their footing.” Skinner stopped Dilip with a raised hand. “I guess that’s what I’m going to get up to while you’re in Mexico.”

“Pretty much, yes.” Dilip confirmed. “As for Belem… satellite observations point to increased activity in the outskirts of the city as of late when the jungle’s overgrowth picked up noticeably. I don’t think you’ll find any problem with pirates there, but… we got objectives still.”

“Which are?”

“Armament, mostly.” Lorelei explained. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s still all about helping the locals get a footing, but where we’ll be busy getting the fleet a supply of non-recycled fuel and setting up a refinery in Mexico, you will need to get us guns. Big ones.”

“Hold on a sec...” Skinner quirked his head and pointed out the porthole. “Aren’t we already helpin’ them Cubans get cannons for the fort?” He asked, his Scottish accent finally rearing its head.

“Yep, but it ain’t what we need.” Lorelei shook her head. “Heavy guns like a 130mm are way too big. We need something more reasonable, and multipurpose. Easy to install too. You’ve seen the CV90 they got on Amandine? That’s the guns you’ll need to keep an eye out for. Bofors 40mm.”

“That’s the stuff you want to arm the fleet with?”

“To be fair, it’s an excellent gun. Good rate of fire and range with the proper optics, enough piercing power with the APFSDSto punch through any monster at sea or ashore, and small enough to be mounted on merchant vessels without requiring… well, I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy…” Dilip scrunched up his muzzle. “… but it’s going to be easier than trying to mount howitzers. At least it shouldn’t require any stop in a dry dock. Data reports the Brazilian marine corps used them, and there just happens to be a base in Belem, near an airfield.”

“Ok… so… Get Bofors guns for the fleet, with ammo of course, help the locals however they need it, and… ya said sumthin’ ‘bout overgrowth?”

“Ja, Belem isn’t on the Amazon, but it’s still a gateway to the jungle. With all this magic in the air, I wouldn’t be surprised if something’s changed.” Lorelei told.

“Great.” Skinner commented acidly. “Fun-fun times ahead. Findin’ survivors in the hills of Dominica and figuring out what’s weird with the Amazon.”

“We’re not forcing you.” She pointed out. “We really can’t. If you want to come along to Mexico it won’t be a problem. It’s just going to delay our plans.”

“Ah know that. But it’s necessary and me and my men will do it. Got some Portuguese folks on board anyway, language ain’t gonna be much o’ a problem.” Skinner sighed and shook his head ruefully. “At least morale is gonna be good when we leave. Havana… pretty quiet place all things accounted for. Worst thing on the block I heard of was packs of feral dogs. That true?”

“The grapevine didn’t lie. Monsters have yet to reach the city.” Lorelei stated carefully.

“Good. Crews could use the rest before what’s comin’. Setting up stuff ‘round here should be a cakewalk. Quick question: Dominica and Brazil, was that all the intel you...”

“Bought from the HPI?” Lorelei completed. “No, there is info on more colonies than just that. It’s just close enough that we can spread out to attend to that and regroup before we head back to Europe. All intel we bothered to buy so far was about the Americas, and there’s one more colony in...” She trailed off. “Quebec I think it was? Too far north to bother with just yet, we’ll reach out to them eventually, but only once we’ve set up a HQ.”

“Will do...” Skinner stood up slowly. “Now it ain’t that you’re both are annoyin’ or anything like that, but I’m trying to get as much work done as soon as possible so I can join in on the R&R once it’s all settled down.”

“The tourists though?” Dilip pressed.

Skinner paused for a couple seconds.

“Way I see it… for the Americans and Canadians we can just dispatch some of Rhine’s auxiliaries to drop them off in Florida. It’s not like there are that many of them anyway, and they’d have to sort it out for the rest of the way. Mexicans you’ll probably bring along to that refinery of yours which leaves… well, the Europeans ought to stay put while we’re busy in Brazil and Mexico.”

“Stop by and pick them up on the way back?” Lorelei guessed.

“Stop by and pick them up on the way back.” He confirmed.

Through the porthole, they heard the roar of an airplane engine. Right, the Tucano. They were still flight-testing that thing.





One day had already passed since she got Petra’s bloodwork and Naomi was still pacing around the lions’ den. Her guilt-riddled mind just wouldn’t let her sleep. She had even accompanied the rest of the pride on a hunt to buff up her food stores and help soothe her mood, but ever since she’d gotten the lab results and thus the revelation that her little stunt had worked… she couldn’t even look in the other lioness’ general direction.

Petra had yet to show signs of her pregnancy.

Had she still been in the US, then she was pretty sure her father would have taken his old-and-dying F100 all across the country from Texas just to slap her in the face and teach her a (perfectly deserved) lesson about playing God.

But… Petra’s hybridized offspring… her own offspring technically… it should be the last piece she needed in the puzzle of big cats’ heightened intelligence and their relations to sphinxes like her.

“Yeah keep telling yourself that...” She berated herself as the zebra stew simmered in a pot across from her,  suspended over a fire pit she had dug soon after settling down at the den. Last thing she wanted was to set the entire savanna on fire. She had dug it near the trough she used to provide the pride with drinking water, thus finding herself pacing in the middle of the whole pride as they looked down at her from their sunning spots.

Little winged lioness was weird. Made weird roars to herself and liked to burn her food for some reason. 

One of the cubs that had been eyeing the fire with his little curious eyes approached her and chuffed, patting her leg for comfort.

“Don’t worry kiddo...” Naomi smiled awkwardly as she patted him on the head and sent him back towards his nearby mother. “… it’s just adult worries. Keep your innocence.”

Her wings sagged at the thought of how people may regard her for what she’d done if the truth ever came to light.

But it wasn’t like she was going to tell anyone. Not even Sandra on the radio would ever know, and the batpony had been her long-distance confident for a while already. Nobody could know.

A thud behind her signaled Kiba was making yet another attempt at stealing her food. With a resigned sigh, she flipped around and used her telekinesis to grab the male by the mane before he could get to her food.

“Fuck’s sake, you want food then go hunt your own otherwise you won’t be nothin’ but a horny ball of lard.” She snarled as the male reared up on his hind legs with a roar as she tugged him backwards. “That’s my share, ya lazy shithead!” She roared at him.

Male of the pride or not, he didn’t respond to her challenge and opted to retreat behind his harem before she could relieve her pent up frustration on him. Going by the rumbling that came out of the lionesses that had observed the altercation, they found it amusing. Weird winged lioness was fierce.

Naomi just threw Kiba a withering glare, the male wisely deciding he had pushed his luck for the day. She waited a couple more minutes for the stew to finish cooking, then, after a quick spell extinguished the fire, she retreated inside her cave.

Aggressive white neon lighting and the sound of the water pump accompanied her as she set down beside her cot with her pot of meat between her paws. A mirror hanging on the wall across from her sent her back an image she would have thought completely ludicrous in another life:

Here she was, a slightly smaller than average lioness with an expressiveness to make Disney’s lions envious, bright yellow eyes, a lush red mane draped over her neck like a shawl, its tone matching the reddish hue of her belly fur; and of course the wings that denoted her status as a sphinx. Behind her, her tail lashed from side to side as a sign of her state of mind, its red tassel brushing against the furniture with a swish every so often.

Of course she didn’t go around in the nude either. She couldn’t exactly dress like a human anymore, but she still had her dignity. A photographer’s vest adorned her chest, its pouches filled with most of the stuff she’d need on errands out in the savanna like darts for her air gun and a water canteen, while not being so restrictive that she couldn’t fly with it. Its make was… shabby. Naomi was no seamstress.

To go with that, she had a pair of binoculars hanging from her neck, some khaki shorts with a hole for her tail, and a hat with the star of the Dallas Cowboys right in the middle. A gift from her father before she left for Tanzania.

“Look at you girl...” She chuckled, already digging into her zebra stew. “… park ranger of the apocalypse or some shit? Beats being a pony I guess.”

She would have spent the afternoon berating herself some more and documenting how the newly-born cubs were showing signs of more expressive facial features than their parents before a blood-curdling scream interrupted her work not two hours after her meal.

A scream that didn’t sound anything like what a lion or the local fauna could make.

In a beat of her wings and the clatter of spilled office supplies, Naomi was out of the cave and up in the air, to see…

A tiny zebra… no, not a zebra, a zebrican… He was wearing what from afar looked like the olive green set of uniform Tanzanian park rangers wore on duty, and the old AKM on a sling across his back seemed to point towards the same thing.

Except he couldn’t really use it. Not given how he seemed to have just reappeared and struggled to stand on his four hooves in his oversized uniform. By the looks of it, he had just emerged from the smoking wreckage of a Jeep that had fallen into a ditch, cracking the dry crust above the mucky soil.

But he wouldn’t get to experience his new form for long. Already some of the lionesses had noticed the foolish prey venturing close to their den, they were circling. And he had noticed, hence the scream.

But that voice… she vaguely recalled…

Naomi’s eyes widened. Her wings angled in a dive.

“Hang tight Adé I’m coming!”
> Chapter 85: Soul-in-a-Can™
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

With a roar worthy of putting the fear of god(s) in any hunter or poacher, Naomi landed right in the middle of the circle of lionesses that had formed around the little Zebrican. Back arched, wings spread wide and her fur standing on its ends, she hissed at them.

Back off. Mine. The language was clear.

To their credit, most of the pride got her point and backed off rather quickly. None of them were too eager to be on the receiving end of her paralyzing breath or her magic. That was something they’d rather she keep doing to Kiba.

In fact they were pretty glad she did. The male could really get obnoxious at times.

So, again, it was no surprise that where the lionesses had the good sense to back away from her, Kiba just had to overhear the commotion and decide now was the moment to tear himself away from his sunning spot. The large male sauntered down the den to come take a look, and judging by the way he was licking his chop, Adé looked like a nice replacement for the zebra stew Naomi had refused to share.

Behind her, Naomi could hear Adé mutter some frantic prayers in Swahili. The zebrican returnee was utterly helpless despite the Kalashnikov still strapped to his back, not familiar enough with his new hooves that he could even stand up properly.

In front of her, Kiba started circling the zebrican. She mirrored his motion, making sure she was always interposed between the two, eyes not leaving the larger male, himself eyeing the snack she was keeping him away from hungrily.

“Come on Kiba...” Naomi spoke up slowly, conjuring her magic to make sure she had a shot ready in her air gun. The darts were much faster acting than regular ones: she had filled them with her own paralyzing breath. “Adé is a park ranger. You know what happens to lions that attack rangers. You don’t want me to use my gas, do you?”

Her words had little effect on the lion, but the speech was enough to tear Adé out of his panicked state. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied him raise his head up at her in confusion, having recognized the voice and now the Dallas Cowboys hat she had on her head.

You don’t see many of those in Tanzania.

“Naomi?”

“Later Adé. First lemme make sure you don’t wind up as anyone’s dinner. Then we’ll talk.”

“What the Hell’s going on?!”

“Later I said.” She said more forcefully, throwing him a warning look.

Bad idea. Soon as her eyes were off Kiba, the lion took it as his opportunity to pounce and pin her down with a look she recognized as… playful actually. Did he really think she was just playing over who got first dibs of a kill?

No wait, actually that wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Git’ off me you big brute!” She roared, kicking him off her with her hind legs before she rolled back up on her feet, kicking up a bit of dust.

Good thing she’d gotten used to increasing her strength through telekinesis. You go and try to overpower a cat that’s three times your weight.

Kiba though, as much of a lazy brute as he could be, there was still a reason why he was the pride’s prime male. He had battled his fair share of challengers – and won-. Her enhanced kick barely fazed him as he stood up, shaking off the dust. Still playful, after all it wasn’t like that tiny zebra could escape. It couldn’t even stand up! Probably sick or wounded. He was doing its herd a favor.

Kiba really liked the little winged lioness. She did good to the pride. She’d make a good mother to his cubs.

Oh if only he knew what truly grew inside Petra’s womb...

He pounced again. This time Naomi was ready. A faceful of paralyzing gas greeted him as she used the sphinxes’ signature breath attack on him. The effect was near-instantaneous: he landed short of her in a heap with a surprised yowl, tried to stand up, and then the paralysis kicked in fully and he threw her some sad betrayal-filled puppy eyes.

“Oh quit it you overgrown cub, I warned you.” Naomi rolled her eyes.

The puppy eyes didn’t fade. If anything they got worse.

“OK fine...” She relented. “But it’s only because I blew you off once already today. Here...” She reached into a pouch of her photographer’s vest and pulled out some wildebeest jerky she’d made a couple days earlier.Using her telekinesis, she gently stuck it inside his maw. “… that ought to calm you down while you’re paralyzed. More if you stay well-behaved.”

Like it was gonna last anyway. Bloody lion forced her to resort to her breath attack so often he was already building up an immunity.

There was a moment of silence as she breathed out and calmed down. Around her, insects buzzed in the tall grass around the lions’ den. The dust had settled.

“Is he going to be alright?” Adé finally asked tentatively, the diminutive zebrican finally having managed to sit on his haunches.

Though by the way he was moving, that position wasn’t even stable.

“He’s fine. I do it all the time when he’s annoying, it’s just paralysis.” She sighed. “You wouldn’t believe it with just observing from afar as a ranger, but Kiba… most annoying asshole in the savanna. You alright there Adé?”

“No, of course I’m not.” He snorted, looking himself over. “What… what happened?”

Zebricans weren’t very big, at least compared to sphinxes and regular lions, or even humans. The former ranger was practically swimming in his uniform, an Earth-Pony sized equine with light grey fur and darker stripes all along his body in intricate patterns. His tail was still stuck inside his pants, but his mane was visible, an impressively tall mohawk that matched the tones of his coat.

Most striking feature on him would have been the eyes. Large, almond-shaped, their acid-green irises bore into her soul as he looked at her in askance. 

“In short: the apocalypse. Welcome to whatever comes after.”

“Since when does that involve living with lions?”

“Since a pride of alpha predators is safer than hanging out on your own. For a sphinx at least, big cats don’t seem to mind my kind. You however...”

“I realized that the moment I saw the stripes.” Adé deadpanned. “Jesus wept… I look like a barcode. You been here long?”

“A couple months. Apocalypse – which we call the Event- swept away the entire population. People come back after a while… for now it’s barely one in ten thousand people left.”

“And we come back as…” he waved a hoof at her and himself. “… this?”

“Among other things… yes. Apparently humans wouldn’t survive otherwise, so they come back as something different. It’s complicated. Even animals are influenced.”

“The lions?”

“Part of why I’m staying here. I’m studying them. They’ve become a lot more clever than they should be.”

“And you can’t really go back to America, can you?”

Naomi’s wings sagged.

“Please don’t remind me… I don’t speak Swahili, I have no reason to go and try to find other survivors. The lions are my best option.” She deplored before suddenly turning her head towards the den, ears flicking this way and that as she overheard something.

“Problem?”

“For me? None. For you? I don’t think the lionesses will wait very long when they see I’m not taking my ‘food’ if you will.” She told him before extending a wing over to him. “Now hop on, they can’t catch you if I keep you in the air. We’ll see what we can do for you.”

Adé smiled awkwardly.

“You see I just… uh...”

“Right, can’t walk. My bad.” She apologized before she picked up the zebrican in her telekinesis and set him down between her wings. “Just hang tight.”

“Was that?”

“Magic. Yeah, it’s a thing too.” She told offhandedly before she spread out her wings and took off as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Naomi felt Adé’s hooves clench around her neck, but he held fast.

The savanna and the den quickly shrank below them until she decided they were at an appropriate altitude and settled herself into a cozy cruise, wings spread wide. They could see the dry yellowish brush extending around them as far as the eye could see, with sparse trees dotting the sun-battered landscape and the odd rocky protrusions such as the lions’ den breaking up the horizon as multiple herds of miscellaneous animals roamed the land.

Of course there were also the little rivers too, barely visible despite being in the air, some of them having run dry at this season, forming the same ditches that hid a thick sticky muck under a muddy crust in which both Naomi and Adé had crashed their vehicles when they reappeared.

Difference being that she had managed to get hers out and use it as a generator. Adé’s… the little jeep was stuck in there deep. You’d need a crane to wrench it out of the muck, and the nearest one might be a good hundred kilometers away.

“You alright there?” She called to her rider, sneaking a glance to find the zebrican hanging on with an unreadable look on his muzzle.

“Of course I’m not.” She felt him lean into her mane dejectedly. “I just don’t… I don’t understand anything. One instant I’m...”

“What were you doing back there anyway?”

“Chief sent me to catch up to you. As a warning. Poachers have...” He caught himself. “Had been spotted breaking in on your side of the park. Guess that doesn’t matter anymore...”

“Not if they become like you when they reappear it won’t.”

“Don’t you have...” He trailed off, staring at one of his newly-acquired hooves in sadness.

“A solution? A cure? Sorry Adé, I keep some contacts on the radio, but I doubt even they know how to turn a zebra into well… anything else. And anything they might suggest wouldn’t even be available on this continent.”

“So I’m stuck?”

Naomi made a face.

“I’m afraid you are, friend.” She told him apologetically just as she angled her wings west, towards what she guessed would be their next destination.

The den could wait for a bit.

“So what’s going to happen to me?”

“I’ll have to ask for advice over the radio… but I have an idea.”

Naomi knew that she couldn’t drop everything she was doing with the lions, she was far too involved in her research to do that. But she could make sure her friend was given all the tools and teachings he needed to survive and maybe meet up with other survivors.

On that line of reasoning, she flew him to the ruins of the conservation center that used to be her workplace. The same place she had already – partly- salvaged to build her base camp at the den. From the air it looked pitiful: several drab prefab buildings with their rusting sheet metal roofs that used to be the lab and the animal care center, a half-collapsed shed that at some point had been their workshop, and the several rows of relatively pristine wooden cottages designed to accommodate both rangers and veterinarians.

Beyond the marks of her own salvaging activity, the conservation center had also been damaged by wildlife. A stampeding herd had managed to trample the fences, leaving them as nothing but bent scrap and useless wire. And they had also toppled the water tower to boot.

Even the cages and pens that would have housed recovering animals were empty. Some had died by the time Naomi reached them after her return, others had broken out, and she had freed the rest.

It wasn’t the only set of buildings in the vicinity, there were other ranger posts and visitor camps laid around the park – even an airstrip-, but it was the nearest, one of the biggest, and it was in relative proximity to the main road that led to Lake Victoria.

For the next few days, this would be Adé’s place of residence as Naomi did her level best to combine handling her daily leonine affairs and ensuring the newly-returned zebrican was taught and given everything he needed. From using hooves in his daily life to retrofitting an old pickup truck for use by an equine, she even asked Sandra for advice over the radio and helped him plan out his return to civilization and where he should look if he wanted to find more survivors.

But the fateful moment of his departure had to come. One morning, Naomi found herself sitting on her haunches atop the rusting roof of the conservation center as a plume of dust disappeared over the west, off to Lake Victoria where survivors were most likely to gather. Adé had come and gone, one of the few friends she’d had before this whole mess.

Worse even for her conscience… she’d been given the chance to at least try to reach civilization. To come with him. He would have helped. He’d have taught her Swahili even.

	She had politely refused and given him a sat phone to contact her in the future if he ever passed through.

	Naomi was sticking to her lions.She hadn’t even told Adé about her experiments.





Turns out, adding modern guns to a location that was already meant to receive breech-loaders centuries prior wasn’t actually that hard. El Morro – by its full name: Castillo de los Tres Reyes Magos del Morro- still remained the WSU’s chief focus on making Havana a secure port, and works had begun in relatively short order once all their plans were set in motion.

Under the guidance of the locals, they had managed to locate the depot where all the old soviet guns were kept. Obsolete as they were in modern warfare ever since the advent of missiles and advanced guidance systems, there was a simplicity to 100 and 130mm naval guns that made them easy to use and install around the various gun emplacements. Easy enough for the local militia to figure out and defend their town, and most likely powerful enough to fend off those pirates that had come with the demons, given their tech level.

El Morro was perched atop a rocky outcrop opposite Old Havana on the eastern side of the fairway, a position already higher than the rest of the town made even more imposing by its tall stone walls and the lighthouse that guided ships inside the harbor. A height advantage sufficient to significantly improve the range of any gun installed on its emplacements, giving defenders an inherent advantage over anyone that tried to take their town.

In addition to that, the old Spanish fort also came with its facilities: barracks, ammunition depots set deep enough underneath the ground not to be detonated by a stray shot, the harbor master's office, and a couple warehouses they decided to turn into emergency stores in case the locals were ever forced to fall back to the fort for safety. With a bit of work and some salvaged winches, they even managed to add an anti-submarine net across the fairway, so as to ensure monsters didn’t slip in.

And thus, for an entire day, activity bustled around the fort as entire convoys of trucks and lorries ensured all materials were brought where they were needed. Under Alejandro and Quiros’ supervision, teams made up of either local Cubans or sailors got to work filling up the ammunition depots deep underneath the fort, filling the shelves of the barracks and warehouses with emergency supplies that would last them a whole siege, while in other parts of the fort work crews mixed cement and modified the firing emplacements to fit the newer guns they would now receive.

Even Sandra took part in the operations: with the help of a few electricians, the DJ set up a phone line to connect all the gun batteries to the harbor master’s office – now the fort commander’s- in which she worked overnight to install a command center and a radio station that would connect it to the rest of the city through short wave frequencies, and to the world at large through the satellite array they set up on the roof.

They even set up a radar on top of the lighthouse, feeding into a display inside the commander’s office. Early warning, traffic monitoring, and fire control all wrapped up in one system.

In short: El Morro could now warn Havana of any incoming ships, defend the town if the arrivals didn’t play nice, and serve as an emergency shelter to protect the whole population of returnees in case of a siege. 

The magic with that? They used so much telekinesis to speed things up the whole operation only took them four days, including the time it took to locate and transport all the materials.

With Alejandro by his side, Quiros eyed the fort with a proud look on his beak as the two of them smoked a cigar by his car, parked on the seafront opposite the fort. The setting sun reflected off the fresh coat of paint they had given the guns, the finishing touch in the works.

“You know… I had my doubts Senor Mendoza.” Quiros admitted, arms crossed over his chest. “But you sailors did your part. The field hospital, now that… and all you want in exchange is some trade opportunities?”

“The world needs it. You can’t run on built-up supplies forever. At some point, you need farms, you need factories, you need mines. We sailors are just the intermediary, but so long as we will have a fleet we will make sure all colonies under our banner receive the goods they need, provided that they partake in crafting what’s needed of course. And nobody can do that if they don’t get a good footing.” Alejandro slowly said. “As for the fort… I’ll tell you what I know. Sao Paulo was attacked a while ago. People died because they couldn’t defend themselves from the pirates, and they still had trained personnel. Now… most of them still live, but they had to relocate their colony further inland and there is little hope their port will be reopened. Not for years at least, not after being burned that bad.”

	There was a moment of silence.

“So they survived?”

“As I said. From what their leader told us over the radio, they evacuated inland when a window of opportunity opened up.”

“Wait, if evacuating inland...”

“When a window of opportunity opened up.”Alej’ stressed. “The shelter in the fort has its uses. I know people will be safer inland at the plantation, that’s obvious, but you can’t evacuate them while the bad guys are shelling the place. That won’t end well.”

“Fair point I guess...” Quiros conceded. “But with all you’re doing for us, trade… that seems little as a payment.”

“If you want to give us more, we won’t stop you. But at the moment we don’t really need much. Sure, supplies are welcome, fresh food is always good to fill the pantries, but I’ll give you a suggestion if that’s what you want: all the sailors, they could use some relaxation. Beach stuff’s been the talks for a while, or rum, cigars, that kind of stuff. You folks organize things or help relieve some of the work so the ratings can rest, then that’s bound to make you a lot of friends ‘cross the whole fleet.”

The other parrot went back to looking at the fort just as someone finally flipped the breakers. After months of disuse, the lighthouse lit up once more, just as the radar came to life.

“You know what, I’ll look around. We’ll find you something.”





	Dilip was, per usual, working his way through the mounds of paperwork that unfortunately came with his job. Early colonial assessments, requests and ideas from the crew, open letters from tourists requesting for passage back to their home countries, plus anything that pertained Amandine and fleet activities at large, such as a note from Captain Lorelei that she would be using the bay to train her cadets and have them maneuver around in tugboats.

First though… One little sheet of paper covered in a neat script. It had been dropped off half an hour earlier by a tired Hawthorne, their resident pilot-pegasus had given him a salute with his wing before announcing he’d be resting for the rest of the day.

Flight-test report and assessment. (Embraer Super Tucano, milspec)

	Testing concluded with a unanimous agreement on the viability of the plane. To be noted for further deployment is an assembly time of 8 man-hours (w/ experienced mechanic) and the need for approx. 1 kilometer of flat runway. Field or roadway. On the latter, a width of three lanes is advised in favorable conditions. More in case of cross-winds.

	Disassembly time at 4 man-hours starting from engine shutdown. One more hour should be added to tidy all equipment and fall back to the ship.

	Performance suggests the Tucano has better flight range than our current (AW189) helicopter and can be used for aerial reconnaissance without issue. Only real issue appears to be inaccuracies in the target designation function of the underslung observation pod. Improving processing power may solve the issue and give the ability to communicate exact coordinates to ground teams.

	Combat-wise, no live target was shot in flight. A machine gun run on a billboard points to reasonable range and accuracy (through volume of fire) for heavy-weapon support of ground troops. Current intelligence suggests the Sea Spear missiles used by Rhine Forest’s torpedo escorts may be mounted (4 items) for improved ground strike capability.

	Any other ordnance reported as compatible with the Super Tucano is not available in our current inventory.

	Additional: notes on reconnaissance.

	Spotted the plantation the Cubans are supposed to have south of town. Assumed to be an ex farming commune.

	Cuba looks almost pristine actually. Sure it’s decrepit and a couple towns have burned down, but it’s a nice change of pace from Georgia. There must be a decent share of loot and parts to salvage from nearby towns. All locals appear to have migrated to either the capital-city or the plantation.

	Funny how much this looks like a greener savanna (the biome, not the swamp city).

	No significant monster presence located. Either there are no heavyweights around, or the whole region had a lucky roll of the dice. Otherwise it’s massive blobs of stray cattle, escaped zoo animals, and the roving dogs. (Couldn’t get a bead of them with the guns too. Engine noise sends them running, and they stick to urban areas).

	My co-pilot also wishes to add: Okay we know they were communists and Che Guevara was actually a terrible person. But the wire figure on Plaza de la Revolución? Damn impressive from the air.

	NB: PLEASE REMEMBER TO INFORM LOCALS. IT’S NOT JUST US, WE ALMOST HIT A HIPPOGRIFF ON THE LANDING!!! WE’RE NOT HUMANS ANYMORE, SOME OF US CAN FLY AND BECOME AERIAL ROADKILL!





Progress and civilization starting to come back were one thing, but returnees weren’t the only folks on the planet looking to develop their assets. The demons had come with a cohort of followers, both of them, and where Charybdis’ pirates busied themselves with raising shipwrecks to turn them into living ships, and using those to raid budding colonies for thralls, Scylla’s cohort had a decidedly more land-borne approach.

With Mage manning the teleporter hub from atop Mount Fuji, the rest of the Four Horses had been hard at work setting up bases around the world to replace the now inaccessible one they used to have back on Equus. Operations had to be resettled, monster breeding facilities rebuilt, all of their criminal empire, moved from one planet to another.

In Night’s case, the batpony could care less how the others were doing on another continent. El Tajin took up more than enough of her attention for her to even bother keeping track of what was going on in other bases. Every single step towards developing the place was a struggle when anything from the fauna, to the flora, the weather and the surrounding magic seemed to revolt against them settling down in the ancient Aztec city. 

Unfortunately for them, all that effort was plain and simply futile.

The local fauna had been brought to heel by siccing monsters on them. Not much a little ocelot can do against a pack of chupacabras, and that was nothing compared to what a hydra could do to a pack of wild dogs – few of them as she had available-. This was the Four Horses’ specialty as a gang: why risk your own personnel when you can keep them safe behind a curtain of bloodthirsty monsters you can easily replace?

The flora posed trouble, but asking the other bases for extra Earth Ponies soon allowed her to create a safe perimeter around their base. The jungle was still dangerous, but the enhanced growth could play in their favor by giving easy access to more building materials.

The weather? Same as the flora, except with pegasi this time. Some extra pegasi crews to stabilize the everlasting rain that had been falling down on them for weeks, and then a small weather team to make sure the situation was kept stable. The weather wouldn’t be good, ever, but it wouldn’t threaten to tear down their base anymore.

Which only left the surrounding magic… a more… troublesome issue. El Tajin was an ancient city, and with that had come its links to what Night assumed to be forgotten divinities of some kind. Not the nice kind of divinity, mind. Each and every single pyramid in the ruined city was a link to one such entity the Four Horses had quickly put seals on.

This was the very reason they had chosen the ruins as their base of operations, but that didn’t make it easy. Those gods thrashed against their seals every step of the way, requiring several teams’ worth of mages – both gargoyles and unicorns- to keep them trapped in their own planes of existence.

Last thing Night wanted was for several angry gods to be set loose in the middle of her base.

But the difficulty of keeping a divinity on a tight leash came with its own boons. Much of the breeding devices they needed to produce and tame their signature monsters ran on magic, as did the teleportation spells that kept all their bases connected together with the Hub. Or even the spells they used to deploy monsters and looting teams around the planet.

That magic, they leeched so much of it off the divinities that they could provide both mana stones and magically-charged gems for use by all of their bases across the world and then some. More than enough to put Night in Mage’s good graces, and being in the good graces of the gang leader implied she was in Scylla’s.

Provide, and you shall receive.

Not only had the unicorn given her some of the crystal golems he made whenever he captured a new thrall, but now she’d also received a new boon from Scylla. More power. From the batpony’s forehead now sprouted a single dark crystalline spike that crackled with reddish magic every so often. An artificial horn, as capable of using magic as a unicorn’s.

And the demon promised more if they kept this up. Both for her and her subordinates.

Unsurprisingly so, Night soon found herself trying out her new horn atop one of the watchtowers that overlooked the base and the ruined city, practicing her telekinesis. Below her, the base was still pretty mucha shanty town: wooden boardwalks raised above the muddy jungle floor linking up shacks of a questionable make reinforced with corrugated steel sheets and plastic tarps looted from the surrounding region. They were bandits, not architects, anything better than that, they’d have to capture more thralls to build it for them.

Way above her, a sharply-cut circle formed in the dark gray cloud cover thanks to the weather teams ensuring they wouldn’t be hit by the worst of the weather. Without them, rains and storms would fall down upon them for weeks on end.

“You’ve done a good job over here.” Mage’s voice broke up the silence behind her.

Night didn’t turn around, doing her best to feign calm. The stallion had grown… odd, ever since he’d taken to manning the Hub for prolonged periods. More distant than usual, colder, even towards the other members of the founding quatro. Even his voice sounded flatter than usual, far less emotional.

Maybe being in close proximity to Scylla wasn’t all perks.

He still had the bouts of fierce conviction she’d grown to know him for… but they were getting rarer by the day. You’d hardly catch a hint of emotion breaking up his monotone features.

He’d teleported on base in the morning, though he had yet to tell her what for.

She angled her head. He wasn’t facing her either, instead looking down the watchtower at one of the ancient pyramids in the opposite direction as some of his goons did… something.

“A necessary job according to you.”

“We need the magic.” He nodded. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Enlighten me.” She snarked.

“You want more monsters.” Mage said. “But I can’t allow that. Chupacabras and Hydras are already enough for what you’re doing. I’ll send for more crystal golems if the need ever truly comes up, but your operations over here are already taking up a significant portion of our resources whereas Might and Haze’s facilities have their own projects to attend to and actually need the resources and ponypower.”

“So I won’t get any?”

“Inefficient and unnecessary. That’s a no.” He told her flatly. “This base is to be used for magic production. All resources sent your way will be about making more magic crystals, I might even come myself to install enchantments to better foster the formation of mana stones in the area to buff up production...”

“So I’m leading a glorified power station.”

“You’re still free to send your ponies on looting and raids.Fresh prisoners to make thralls are a precious resource, and looting is what keeps our ponies motivated.”

“Whatever...” She snorted, finally turning around to come look at whatever commotion was going on by the pyramid below them. “Now what’s that about?”

“The reason behind my presence here today. An experiment if you will.” He said.

At the bottom of the pyramid were a group of Mage’s subordinates, mostly unicorns led by one of his lieutenants. Not Snowflake, but Enigma. A sphinx lion, old enough to have grown to be as tall as a minotaur, formerly a slaver feared all over the dunes of Sphigypt by his own species and ponies alike. He was downright excellent at collecting thralls.

They were gathered around a prisoner, a male Diamond Dog, a thin greyhound clad in ill-fitting oil-stained coveralls, muzzled, with chains binding his limbs as a pair of unicorns dragged his thrashing form to the top of the pyramid. Night’s keen batlike ears picked up some whimpering in Spanish, most likely a recent returnee captured near the base. Oddly enough, they didn’t seem to have made a thrall out of him just yet.

And behind the prisoner, Enigma trailed, a humongous shape that made the ground shake. The dark brown-furred sphinx was also carrying something, hard to spot, so small it was compared to his hulking form. It was a gem canister, only more intricate than the power cells they used to store magic. It was covered in runes and demonic script, already glowing with a vaguely red hue, a device no bigger than a pony’s head.

“Care to explain?” Mage finally decided to ask.

“A little pet project of mine. The search for an infinite supply of power.”

“And this would help, how?”

“Human souls, Night. Human souls.” Mage explained. “A peculiarity. You would think returnees would have their souls turn to that of a member of their species… but they don’t. They still retain human souls, and with that they still have the peculiarity that comes with it. You see, back on Equus, magic comes from harnessing power around you. Humans are different.

“They never had a field of magic surrounding them to allow for our kind of magic. Now it’s the case, but for some reason they retain that peculiarity of theirs.” He paused. “Even those born after the Event actually. Might recently found a returnee in Africa. She’d just given birth – as a Zebrican- to a pair of foals. They had never been humans, yet their souls were still human.”

“And what is this ability?”

“Human souls produce magic. Out of nothing. Just by virtue of existing.”

Night eyed the gem canister Enigma was carrying.

“You want to harness that power?”

Mage’s otherwise emotionless features broke up in a dark smile that revealed the crystalline set of fangs that now replaced his teeth.

“It’s not only the returnees, Night. Any offspring returnees give birth to, has a soul that can be harnessed for infinite power. Scylla… Scylla desires such power. Our Lord needs such power to grow back into its former glory. And it’s right there in hoof’s reach. A power source that’s not dependent on finding a convergence point in the ley lines, a power source that’s not reliant on any surrounding field of magic or leeching off gods… Observe.”

Enigma and the prisoner had now reached the top of the pyramid where a stone altar awaited them.

“The process as I designed it is far from perfect yet. We need an initial magic output to separate the soul from its body and seal it, hence why we came here to attempt it. Plus the canister itself is complicated runecraft. Expensive.”

“You still need to optimize it.”

“Absolutely. On the bright side...” His dark smile widened. “This attempt is all but guaranteed to succeed.”

Mage’s subordinates began the rituals. Several seals were painted in red ink all over the prisoner’s body, in addition to a spell array right covering the altar onto which they laid his writhing form. It took half an hour of double-checking all seals and ensuring the symbols in the runecraft were top-notch before Enigma finally launched the spell.

It was easy to spot when the ritual started. All the symbols lit up at once, some white, others red. The prisoner screamed, a blood-curdlingsound that would have made any normal pony whimper in fright and cower.

Mage and Night were no such ponies. They beheld the scene with cold detachment as a white glow encapsulated the prisoner. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before he went limp and the glow detached itself from the body in a tiny ball of light. Below the ball, the D-Dog’s body curled in on itself, fur falling off.Its skin blackened and began peeling off.

The ball almost had enough time to rise up and escape into the sky before reddish demonic script lanced out from the spell array and wrapped around it much like the chains that had bound its material form. The detached soul thrashed and struggledin despair, to no avail: the floating symbols steadily dragged it inside the gem canister which sealed up with the crack of thunder.

“Looks like your little experiment worked.” Night commented.

“I knew it would.” Mage replied. “Now… I shall busy myself improving the process.” He looked at the burned corpse lying on the altar distastefully. “There remains the problem that doing this wastes the opportunity of creating a thrall. I need to correct that. We cannot waste bodies. Keep the soul canister, producing magic is your job after all. This ought to help.”

“Good on you. Have your men feed the body to my hydras. I hate leaving corpses lying around.”

Atop the pyramid, the gem canister’s glow changed from red to white.





As per Aleksei’s promise, Sri’s conversion to Celtic faith only took place when they reached Havana, the quieter schedule compared to Savannah allowing for more downtime and crew activities. Together, the veterans spent the day following the retrofit of El Morro locating and securing a little apartment complex a walking distance away from the cruise terminal, a rectangle-shaped building with a courtyard in the middle fit for the ceremony.

Where the courtyard could host the ceremony… the apartments would hold what ensued once it was over with. But the beer kegs and all the liquor the veterans were busy rolling inside the building were not what Aleksei concerned herself with. A conversion, a proper one, necessitated her to prepare the terrain, to craft some oils, to make sure Sri was aware of everything her decision implied and what she needed to do during the ceremony. The venue alone she needed to decorate with the proper ritual circles, adorn poles with series of Ogham carvings (Celtic runes) containing the proper spells – thankfully provided by her spell tome-, assemble an altar dedicated not only to Epona, but to the whole Celtic pantheon as well.

The divinity didn’t seem to mind. Actually Epona was ecstatic, saying her first cleric was outdoing any her fellow divinities had so far managed to recruit.

So… she was being used as a bragging right by a fertility goddess. Eh, so long that she wasn’t sneaking her those suggestive dreams that went in the opposite direction of the geas she had taken, she was going to take what reprieve she could get.

Eventually then, all her efforts of preparing the venue were rewarded when all the symbols she had spent the better part of the day came aglow with magic and brought a greenish hue to the entire courtyard, complementing the white ribbons and streamers added to the whole mix. The ceremony was ready… including her attempt at a translation ward that should allow everyone to understand each other for the duration of the ceremony and ensuing party.

Took her a whole four hours to pull that one off, and a whole bunch of ritual materials courtesy of Rhine’s hydroponics. Even then, it was still a coin toss whether it would translate people’s languages or make everyone speak anything ranging from Irish Gaelic to Breton including Latin.

By sunset, a crowd of locals, trapped tourists and of course sailors had assembled to see what this was all about, seating themselves on the many benches assembled in rows on either side of the altar with the veterans and some officers occupying the front rows.

	Great, the ceremony was going to be a lot less hush-hush than she initially thought.

Aleksei stood by the altar, now clad in her clerical robes, her crest of feathers styled for the occasion, all freshly preened and cleaned to a fine sheen.

Sri’s looks were different. When the other hippogriff emerged, ready for the ceremony, she was only wearing a simple loincloth wrapped around her equine half for decency, its orange shade matching that of her tail and crest feathers and forming a sharp contrast with her ivory white coat. In addition to that, she had painted some intricate vine patterns and oghams all over her coat in dark green oil paint.

What the getup also revealed, and which her coveralls and body armor usually hid, was just how much of a lithe body the Indonesian had. If her avian half was close to any seabird, it would have been that of a gannet, an elegant and svelte bird with curves just in the right places only further enhanced by a hippogriffs’ naturally slender stature. And she didn’t have magically enhanced looks like Aleksei.

Obviously, she knew. The veteran wouldn’t have walked up to the altarlooking so oddly vulnerable if she didn’t, still not quite comfortable with the femininity brought upon her by the Event. One of the reasons why she was converting in the first place actually.

Aleksei greeted her at the altar, patting her on the back with her wing.She gave her an encouraging smile..

“You’ve made the right choice, friend.” She said. “You don’t have to live your life in shame.”

The conversion wasn’t a long ceremony. It started off with a brief sermon on the virtues and values promoted by Celtic faith, what they based their beliefs on and how any and each follower could rely on all divinities for support so long that they abided by their principles and gave regular prayers and offerings.

And then…

Going by the process she found in her spell tome, it should have been a simple summoning that lit up the ritual circle and connected Sri as a new convert before she gave her a dose of potion that would have sent her on a dreamwalk inside the Otherworld.

Obviously Epona didn’t consider it to be spectacular enough, because as soon as Aleksei activated the ritual circle, the whole courtyard lit up with particles of green magic as a portal to the Otherworld opened up. And out came… not Epona, but her son. Morvarc’h. Except… he looked different. Not the pure towering courser stallion she had met him as, but instead… an Earth Pony stallion, with a blazing horseshoe as his cutie mark layered above his mother’s sigil.

“What’s this all about?” Aleksei whispered at the stallion, doing her best to act as if it was part of the ceremony.

“Mother’s idea.” The demigod casually waved at the crowd with a wide grin, electing to answer her question in Breton, his native tongue.

Not that it was a problem. Her status as cleric of Epona meant she understood it, and the translation ward was there anyway.

His change into an Earth Pony may have made him smaller than an actual stallion, but he was still a demigod, and hence tall enough to look down on Aleksei. She could rival alicorns in height. Otherwise he was still much the same: braided russet mane and tail, red eyes, a black coat of fur short enough to reveal his musculature, and the sparks that sometimes escaped his nostrils when he exhaled.

“But why?” She questioned after presenting him to the crowd. “And aren’t you dead anyway?”

“Please, I’m a demigod.” He rolled his red eyes. “Coming back to life is a thing I already did in the past when magic was rife. By mother’s reckoning, I have enough of a role to play in this world to warrant bringing back among the living once more.” He smiled. “That I changed species is just an aside that will help us garner a bigger following.”

“Nice to see your mother has her priorities straight.” Aleksei drawled, summoning up a spell that would show off ethereal pictures of a few gods to stall for time while she ceremoniously took the bowl that held the potion meant for Sri in her talons.

“She has obligations. So do you… as a matter of fact.” He said, pressing himself closer to her as she approached Sri and presented her the bowl. “My mother welcomes you into our faith, Miss Wibowo.” He told Sri.

“I’m honored.” Sri accepted the proffered bowl with a polite nod, raising it for the assembled crowd to see before she drank it all up in one gulp.

It was only then Aleksei noticed the portal the demigod had come from had yet to close. In fact it was still wide open, with Epona’s plateau in sight on the other side. Before she could voice her inquisitiveness about it however, Morvarc’h spoke up once more.

“Words of your… difficulties regarding your transformation have reached my mother’s ears.” He said with a sympathetic smile. “You are in luck. She would be delighted to help with such matters, and our number of followers is as of yet low enough that she can stand to invite you to her realm. In person that is, not in a dreamwalk.” He waved his hoof towards the portal.

“She can help?”

“Such is my mother’s domain.”

“It would be an honor.” Sri bowed her head low.

“Then come forth and step through the portal.” Morvarc’h beckoned her.

Sri visibly gulped as she walked over to the portal, wings fluffed up in anticipation. Then… after an encouraging nod from Aleksei, she stepped through, the portal closing behind her in a flash of light that illuminated the whole courtyard.

And while they were waiting for her little meeting to be over, Aleksei and Morvarc’h did their best to stall and keep the crowd entertained by reciting tales of the demigod’s adventures in a time long passed, from his escape from the sunken city of Ys, to galloping across the sea to rally Wales from Ushant,  to his mortal hunting accident with the King of Cornwall.

Of course the latter tale was entirely Aleksei’s idea. She had to help the stallion get over himself after all. He threw her a mildly annoyed look. She replied with a sly grin.

Sooner or later though, Sri made her reappearance as the portal opened up once more. She… she didn’t look different, but the way she carried herself had definitely changed. Gone was her seeming shame at her own form, the vulnerability, replaced by a pride, a sensual gait and an almost predatory stance that better matched her role as one of Amandine’s top fighters. She was smiling too, wide enough to look as though she was glowing.

“Praise Epona! The Equine Mother!” Sri loudly proclaimed with the same beaming smile, wings spread wide, almost showing herself off to the crowd.

Something had definitely changed in the hippogriff.

“And now folks for what you’ve been all waiting for: the party!” Aleksei continued.

Of course the Latvian hippogriff had yet to fully realize exactly what kind of party occurred right after a ceremony given by a fertility cleric. Like it or not, it was her domain, and her own innocence as to what effect the spells and wards she had set around the venue could have on people… it didn’t last long.
> Chapter 86: Enchanted Forests and Supply Lines
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spirits ran high at the party once the ceremony was over.  The benches surrounding the altar were pushed aside, leaving the apartment block’s courtyard free for all those who felt like dancing. Chiefly, a group of locals made up entirely of Ornithians who began dancing to the tune of guitars. It was a fast-paced routine, one that quickly shifted from ground to airborne dancing in a veritable whirlwind of colors borne both of the parrot’s naturally colorful plumage and their kitsch fashion sense.

A crowd quickly amassed on the edges of the courtyard. Stranded tourists, locals, sailors, all applauding at the display, drinks held in paws, claw and talons, or cradled between their hooves, laughing. The crowd was an eclectic mix of parrots and hippogriffs from Cuba, the mostly equine folks from America and Canada, and other miscellaneous species that made up the WSU fleet. This was an odd sight to see, a colorful bunch of scales, fur and feathers mingling casually.

All concerns of monsters, roving wild dogs and being on the wrong end of the world in the wrong body were cast aside for the evening. This was not the time to mope around in self-pity, this was the time to enjoy oneself and get to talk freely whilst Aleksei’s translation ward was still active.

Night soon fell over the apartment block, and soon a couple sailors took it upon them to go and fetch a couple generators to get the current running. The lights came on with a loud cheer, and soon a stream of partygoers took it upon themselves to reactivate amenities. Fridges were gathered to keep their drinks chilled, someone fetched a water tanker from Amandine’s holds and plugged it into the plumbing, speakers lined up the courtyard, and most of all...

Alcohol flowed freely. Beer kegs and buckets’ worth of ice cubes had and were still being brought to the venue by a constant stream of arrivals who dropped off their ‘offerings’ at the ‘bar’, which really was just an apartment on the ground floor in which they had rolled more fridges. Groups would drop by there and grab a few bottles before they snuck off towards the upper floors to enjoy some privacy. 

The veterans were one such group, at least once Sri managed to escape the many partygoers who were curious about her conversion to Celtic faith and subsequent visit to the Otherworld. The Indonesian hippogriff now found herself on the balcony of an apartment in the upper floor, looking down at the dancers in the courtyard, beer in hand.

“So how does it feel?” Artyom joined her, the dragon casually propping his arms against the railing, sipping from a beer of his own.

“Better. Much better.” She beamed, tucking a crest feather behind her ear with a talon. Her wing fluttered happily. “It’s… worlds apart from how I felt before.”

“You do behave more...” He hesitated.

“Femininely?” She smiled.

He nodded. Behind the two, Scarface and Bart listened on curiously. The two were seated at a table in the kitchen, their card game momentarily forgotten.

“You know… I got to meet Epona in person. And that… it was like a mother’s embrace, if you can understand? I saw her, and I knew everything was going to be alright, that I didn’t have to be ashamed of what I had become, female.” She sighed wistfully. “So I asked her something.”

“And what would that be?”

“I only asked her to make me more feminine. More comfortable.” She kept on smiling. “And it feels good. Really good.”

Artyom’s look turned into a slight frown. His red eyes swept over her, cautious.

“Sri…" He searched for words. “I don’t mean anything bad, but…”

“I promise I’m still the same Sri you’ve come to know. It’s alright guys.” She turned away from the balcony. “I just wanted to make sure the inside matched the outside. I’m the same person, just like any of the genderswapped folks. I only asked Epona to help me be more comfortable because I was having difficulties with it.”

The other three stared at her in mild disbelief.

“It’s true I swear!” She insisted. “Don’t look at me like I’m just going to ditch the fighting and sailing and become some sort of stay-at-home wife. That ain’t it.”

“I hope. We need you on the team, buddy.” Artyom joked, giving her a playful punch in the shoulder. “Can’t have a fourth of the team just up and drop the job.”

“And I won’t.” She punched him back with a grin. “I’ll just behave more like a gal than a guy for a change, nothing wrong with that. I’m not going to delude myself like Aleksei is.” She explained, jerking her head towards where their dear cleric was.

There she was in a corner of the courtyard below their balcony. The tall and curvaceous hippogriff appeared to be chatting with that demigod that had appeared, Morvarc’h.

“Deluded you say?” Artyom was mildly curious.

“Yep. As deluded as they get.” Sri downed the rest of her beer and went to get another from the crate. “Epona told me. She’s got a quest to find her masculinity again by going to some black forest or some such. Even took a magic oath to make sure she never gives up.” She shook her head slightly. “I know my legends. Those never end well. I can respect being so driven… but at that point it’s just gonna bite her in the ass.”

Saying that she trotted to the living room and dropped on the couch with her wings spread wide, hooves crossed in a gesture that did something she hadnever done prior: show off her body.

“You think she’s bound to fail then?” Scarface spoke up, cards now completely forgotten.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Sri shrugged. “She could actually pull it off for all I know. You can fight fate if you try hard enough, just… it won’t be pleasant, and it comes at a cost. My thoughts? She deserves as much praise for her determination as she does pity, ‘cause it’s honestly easier to fix the mental…” She tapped a talon against the side of her head. “... than it is to change the physical. That and I’m pretty sure Epona doesn’t want her to succeed.”

Artyom was still standing on the balcony, looking at Aleksei with renewed interest. She was still chatting with that demigod Morvarc’h, but now the humongous Earth Pony stallion had put a hoof over her shoulders, a confident smile on his muzzle.

“Looks like Epona ain’t the only one to think she’s better off female.” The blue dragon laughed wryly.





	Aleksei was doing her level-best to ignore the demigod’s antics. It seemed like the opportunity of mingling with society -not as a mute stallion but as an intelligent pony- had made him quite a bit cockier than when she’d first met him in the Otherworld.

Every so often, he would throw some ponies a wink or a grin while he kept his hoof over her shoulders and waved at groups that passed by as they enjoyed the music. She wriggled away from his grasp. Third time now.

“You’re a tactile stallion, aren’t you?” She commented, tone flat.

“Believe me lady Klavins, the more time you spend dead, equine afterlife or not, the more you get to appreciate the warmth of the living.” The large stallion was smiling from ear to ear, still speaking Breton. “There are many delights to be found exploring the Otherworld, as many as you’d find peculiarities… but… I really love my mother’s decision of having me come back as one of those...”

“Ponies?”

“Aye.” He grinned. “In all of my previous lives, I was but an animal. Intelligent, sure, but not allowed to mingle with humans as their equal. This… to be able to partake in such a manner… to go to parties… this is a first. A rare thing for a creature like me.”

“So I take it you never tasted alcohol?” She joked.

Morvarc’h blinked.

“No. No, I reckon I have not.”

“Then let’s correct that shall we?” She offered, prying his hoof off her shoulders -again- and stretching her wings as she motioned for him to follow her to the bar.

In passing, she did her best to pay attention to what was going on around her. She didn’t miss the way the veterans were observing her from their balcony, but… there was more to the party than them. Her ears twitched, catching snippers of discussions from all over the courtyard. People had been paying attention during her little ceremony and sermon, and now she overheard them discuss the pros and cons of Celtic values, the merits in converting...

Exactly what she wanted. That, and Morvarc’h’s appearance through the portal had really driven it home that this was the real deal. More than her spells and wards could have done on their own.

Give deities like the Dagda and the Morrigan enough time to assemble proper scripture to spread the religion further, and they’d be far from short on followers.

Though…

She should have suspected it. She should have foreseen it. But… she was pretty damn certain the wards set around the venue also made the partygoers horny. Blame being a fertility cleric for that.

Some groups had come with kids and were rather tame. Micha and Vadim for instance were just holding each other a bit more tightly than usual as they watched Andy try to imitate the parrot dancers that were still performing. Others however… more than once Aleksei spotted groups on balconies indulging in non family-friendly activities while others were mingling around the venue, openly flirting, looking for partners that may be as curious as they were about the ‘properties’ of their new bodies.

In one case she even saw a Pegasus stallion (stranded tourist, most likely, and genderswapped judging by the body language) be dragged into a bedroom by a group of four mares.

By comparison, Morvarc’h repeatedly laying his hoof over her shoulders was extremely tame.

“I take it you noticed as well?” Said stallion whispered in her ear when they reached the bar.

“Is that even normal?”

“Given it’s you who made the spells and wards?” He rumbled. “Of course it is.”

“Great.” Aleksei drawled. “I just organized an orgy.”

The insides of the bar were a hive of activity with groups coming and going to resupply on beer and hard liquor, some already with a drunken stumble to their step while others, more sobers, brought in yet another pallet laden with kegs. What used to be a mere apartment now found itself with fridges lining the walls and crates of beer stacked up to the ceiling.

She was pretty sure neither her or the vets had brought it here. In fact the engine noises outside the apartment block implied more was being delivered now that the news of a party was spreading through the entire colony.

Deciding not to dwell on it too much, she swiped a pair of ice buckets off a table and loaded them up with a few bottles of rum she felt might be appropriate for Morv’. The stallion was there outside the bar, waiting patiently for her. She waved her claw at him, and he followed suit. They left the bustling courtyard in favor of the interior of the building, going up a stairway to seek out one of the few free apartments that remained.

“You calling this party an orgy proves you’ve never witnessed one. Believe me, clerics of your domain can do much more… heated parties than this one. I’ve seen kids around. It’s fine. What I’m seeing here is just people unwinding. I wonder how many of them were like Sri.”

“Like?”

“Returnees stuck on the wrong end of the gender barrier that weren’t comfortable with their situation.” He elaborated, the stallion giving her a pointed look.

“I’m not uncomfortable. I don’t see the need to bother being feminine since your mother gave me a quest to become male.” Aleksei refuted.

She stopped on the first floor and tried a door. Nope. Apartment already taken and used to repopulate the planet. She slammed the door shut, sheepish. Better luck one floor up.

Waiting by the staircase, Morvarc’h had a mirthful look in his eyes.

“You know it’s not the kind of quest she actually wants you to succeed at?” He pointed out.

“You know I took a geas to ensure that I did?” She fired back, walking past him and up the staircase.

“That I do!” He laughed out loud. “Brilliant too! You should have seen the sour look on her muzzle when you left. She did not expect that!” He stopped and took on a more serious look. “Careful though, geas don’t necessarily turn out the way you expect them to.”

	Aleksei stopped as well, the two of them now standing in the middle of the stairs.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning.” He corrected, and the two resumed their ascension. The next apartment was abandoned, and they swiftly claimed it.“Don’t get me wrong, mother is pretty fair to her followers and rarely bedazzles them, much less her clerics. She’s no Toutatis, she doesn’t have that kind of ruthlessness in her, but...”

“She’s still a divinity. I get it.” Aleksei sighed, closing the apartment’s door behind her before the two made for the living room. She dropped the ice buckets on the coffee table with a clatter. Finally free from her load, she allowed herself a quick look around.

The apartment was simple, as were many habitations in Havana: a single living room with some kitchen space, a bathroom and a bedroom, a small utility closet, and the balcony overlooking the courtyard, music and party noises still streaming in, distant. Months of abandonment made it so that a fine layer of dust covered the furniture, but the rot she would have expected from the kitchen space was absent. The fridge had already been reclaimed for the bar, and what food might have been there had been cleaned out months ago when survivors scoured the city for food.

Otherwise, its looks were customary of old buildings and furniture that was likely older than she was. The paint was cracked, the floorboards bent and the plumbing a bit rusty… but she was here to enjoy her evening, not to spend the year.

Decent enough for her purposes. She quickly retrieved a set of glasses from the kitchen, thanked the functioning plumbing for letting her clean them, and then plopped down on the couch next to Morv’, a great plume of dust rose up and the springs creaked in protest.

“Say, what if we just dropped the gloom and got to enjoy the occasion for what it’s worth? I got to make you try rum, you said you never tried alcohol?” She asked him, reaching to grab a bottle from one of the ice buckets.

“So what is it?”

“Havana Club, seven years. The middle range of the family. Not my favorite, but ideal for a newbie like you.” She smirked. “Call it the local drink. People here produce a lot of sugarcane, and rum is the alcohol you get from fermenting the molasse. It’s good, try it out.”

“I don’t really have hands or claws like you to pick up the glass.”

“Oh come off it. If it’s an attempt to have me give you your drink it ain’t working. Earth ponies have no problem picking stuff up with their hooves.” She rolled her eyes.

“Worth a shot.” His red eyes twinkled in amusement. He reached out with a hoof, silently marvelling at the increased range of movement an Earth Pony had over regular equines. It still was a mystery how his species could pick up items with one flat, fingerless hoof, but the glass remained stuck to it, allowing him to take his first sip of alcohol. He swirled the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds before he swallowed. An appreciative smile dawned on his muzzle. “Not bad, not bad at all. It’s… odd. The warmth I mean, but I like it. I really do.”

“Glad to know that. It’s your first time drinking so I didn’t take too many bottles, should be enough for the two of us.”

Too bad she was wrong on which of the two was going to be having problems with the drink.





All around the apartment block, the party carried on well into the night, a much bigger thing than the veterans or Aleksei ever expected it would be. Folks from all around the city drifted towards the apartment block… but they weren’t the entire population.

Like it or not, security had to be maintained and not everyone could partake in the event. Havanans and sailors alike still had to make sure generators were running properly and that the security perimeters around their facilities were maintained. And there were many sectors in need of security around town.

Angelo was among those unlucky few still on guard duty, and close enough to overhear the music coming from the venue. He didn’t mind though: it was pretty much guaranteed he’d get the chance to catch some R&R of his own at some point.

Cuba hardly had any problems as far as monsters were concerned, and what few dogs that still showed their snouts in town could be quickly driven away with a shot fired over their heads or with a flare. Frankly put, the teams on guard duty were too large given the current threat level, but it also meant he could address more pressing matters while stuck on guard duty.

And by pressing matters, he meant stripping train engines.

Havana had a bit of a problem with its electric grid: not enough connections, too many habitation blocks, and poor makeshift generators made from car engines. Fixing the city grid would have to wait, but they already had plans to make up for the lack of generators. Plans that had come from a nearby rail yard.

Diesel-electric train engines could produce a pretty decent wattage. Nothing compared to a cargo vessel’s output, of course, but one train engine alone was enough to power its fair share of households, and they definitely were more efficient and got more runtime out of their parts than a car engine would if used to drive an alternator.

And thus, a dozen old blue train engines had been carted off the rails and to the cruise terminal to be converted into generators they’d spread around the city and modify for optimal use. Add a couple fuel filters to make them able to run on dirty diesel, modify and simplify the controls since they only needed to run at constant outputs for prolonged periods, add an air compressor to facilitate automation, plan for equipping them each with service tanks the locals could refuel from a centralized fuel depot (probably in the fort if they couldn’t fix any of the shore tanks near the destroyed refinery)… it wasn’t a very complicated process, but heavy engineering like that still ate up time like no one’s business.

Even with his minotaur strength helping things along, mind. Angelo had no trouble lifting parts that would have required a crane before his transformation (in fact he had yet to resort to magic to boost his strength), but there were still a lot of train parts to remove or electrical components to rewire.

“Eh Carlos, can you give me a hand over there with the wiring?” He called over his shoulder. “Can’t make sense of this diagram over here.”

“You tell me boss.” The cockatoo clicked his beak from the opposite side of the engine they were stripping. “It’s soviet engineering. It’s all in Cyrillic on this stuff.”

“Can’t you go fetch a Russian to translate? Or a Ukrainian maybe?” He insisted, twisting his head to try and make sense of the weird letters.

So that’s what it’s like when foreigners come across Greek script…

“Yeah good luck with that.”

“Come again?”

The Filipino poked his head above his side of the engine, his white plumage smudged with oil stains.

“Russians, Ukrainians, they’re all at the party downtown.” He said. “Even the griffons, and from what I heard it’s hard to convince Anton to get away from her eggs, incubator or not.”

“Damn we’re shit out of luck then. Any translator they could have on Fugro?”

“Nope, no Slavs either.” Carlos shook his head before he halted mid-motion with a scowl. “Wai- no. Correction: they got a pair of Serbians.”

“Doesn’t help.”

“I’m aware.” His friend said, hefting himself up before sitting cross-legged atop the half-stripped engine. “Looks like it’s back to watching the checkpoint then? Not much we can do.”

“You could always ask on board Rhine Forest!” Thanasis’ distant voice came as he yelled from across the terminal, the sphinx the third one in the trio, hard at work watching the entrance, sitting on his haunches behind a machine gun nest. “They got Ukrainians!”

Angelo and Carlos jointly looked the opposite way towards the bay where the barge carrier was lying at anchor, unable to dock properly because of her draft. Or more accurately they looked at the tugboat the ship kept moored at their terminal to transfer crew members whenever necessary, and to keep some sensors on the lookout for zeebeasts on the other side of the net they had strung across the fairway to block access to the port.

“Guess it’s worth a shot.” He shook his head before thanking Thanasis. “Carlos, just grab your gun and look busy watching the checkpoint. No point you keep trying if you can’t make sense of the diagrams.”

“Aye aye boss!” The Filipino squawked back, backflipping off the engine in a show of agility as he moved to join Thanasis. “And good luck. You’ll need it.”

“What for now, you cheeky pinoy?” He grumbled.

But Carlos just ignored him, parroting a tune he’d heard over the radio.

Angelo twitched an eyebrow at the display, before he decided to drop it with a shrug of his broad shoulders and went to the tugboat to ask. There he found a bored-looking unicorn stallion on the deck, standing with a pair of binos hanging from his neck as he kept glancing towards the fairway every so often.

More about looking busy than actually standing watch. If a monster swam their way it would be spotted through sonar, not by sight.

“Hi there… Diethelm was it?” Angelo greeted.

“Ja, problem?” The appaloosa stallion replied in a thick German accent.

Not the guy he needed to translate. Then again, Schmitt had one such accent, and she spoke both Russian and Ukrainian. Too bad she was at the party…

“Not really. Can I talk to your pilot? Need to ask a question.”

“Natürlich...” He waved his hoof aft. “Up on the bridge.”

Angelo thanked him with a nod, turning around to face the tugboat’s cockpit, only then seeing… Aw crap. Any pilot he would have dealt with any but her.

	Artemis.

Resignedly, he climbed up the staircase that led to the tug’s cockpit, finding her hunched over a set of maps depicting the stretch of ocean between Cuba and the Florida Keys. Her shoulders visibly tensed the moment he stepped in.

“Good afternoon, Molnàr.” She greeted him in her native tongue. “Something you need?”

“Hello and... yes.” He jerked a thumb back to his end of the terminal. “Sorry to bother but we’re looking for someone who can read Cyrillic. Soviet manuals, see.”

Artemis held up a finger and poked her head out the window, looking off towards the tug’s funnel and an open hatch in its side.

“Oi Mikhail! Nap time’s over, got peeps who need your skills over there. Get your ass to the checkpoint and help ‘em.” She yelled.

It took a second, but the Spyro lookalike that was the dragon scampered out of the funnel blearily, he took a pause to shake off all the soot accumulated over his scales, and then  he ran off towards Carlos and Thanasis.

Angelo blinked at the display.

“He does that often? Sleep in the funnel I mean?”

“Only when I let him nap on duty.” Artemis went back to her charts. “Says he likes the heat, and he’s a dragon so the fumes won’t harm him either way. Ne’er been a problem, and he’s quick enough to rouse. That good for you? He’s Ukrainian, translating shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“Close enough I guess.” Angelo shrugged. “Say, what are you doing over here? Not missing the party?”

“Nah, I need to prep these charts. We’re taking the American and Canadian tourists to Florida soon with a convoy of our trawlers. I’m just getting ahead on my work.” She traced a line on the chart. “Not much to do, it’s pretty much a straight line from Havana to Key West.”

“You’re just gonna drop them there then?”

“Eh, we ain’t overdoing it with the hand-holding. So much we can do for them, they’re all from different places. The Americans aretechnically in the right country even if they wind up on the wrong side; and the canucks can at least pass through a couple colonies along the East Coast to help them. It’s the bloody apocalypse, they’re lucky we’re getting them across to begin with.” Artemis told him.

“I guess you’re right.” He peeked over her shoulder to look at the map. “Still, they got my sympathy. If they got any folks from Vancouver or Seattle then they’re in for a ride.”

“Wasn’t that place ravaged by fires? I heard something along those lines on the radio, like there’s some returnee exodus on the West Coast ‘cause no one was there to stop the fires.”

“Probably. I hardly listen to Jensen’s broadcast, I wouldn’t know.” Angelo admitted. “Best thing we can do beyond dropping them off is to point them towards the colonies we know of.”

There was a moment of awkward silence after he ended his sentence. Neither of the two being exactly sure as to where they should take the conversation from there, yet Angelo felt as though he should hang around for a minute more.

“So… I think Carlos is going to need my...”

“Wait.” Artemis interrupted him.

“Is there a problem?”

She still didn’t turn away from her charts, but he saw her clench and unclench her hand around her pencil a couple times before she finally voiced her thoughts.

“Depends on the way you look at it.” She muttered, finally turning away from her charts to face the other minotaur. “It just came across to me that in the months the fleet has spent together I’ve never really talked to you. Avoided you even.”

Angelo didn’t say anything. He just leaned his back against the nearest wall and crossed his arms.

“Look… I’m sorry. It’s such a shame because I know we’re thousands of kilometers away from Greece and we don’t get to meet many others and I let my opinion of you be dictated by the grapevine.” She let out a bovine snort. “And just because someone said I lucked out on the transformation at some point, I got mad at you without even having a few words. That… that wasn’t very mature of me and I apologize for it.”

“No need to apologize. I know how grapevines can be, got plenty of raunchy suggestions about you myself.”

No surprise that he would. Minotaur cows had the stature to attract those kinds of talks with little trouble. Though… the books were clear. Minos were far from being promiscuous, as couples pair-bonded in a manner that was quite similar to how griffons mated, albeit in a less sudden manner.

“And what did you do about these suggestions, hmm?” She was suddenly looming over him.

Other minotaur trivia: where the bulls have the bulk, cows have the height, resulting in her being a good head taller than Angelo. By bulk-to-height ratio they were about in the same weight class, and raw strength didn’t mean that much for a species that could use magic to boost their strength.

About equal then, though she did have more reach than him.

What it accidentally highlighted however, was that in her attempt to look menacing she practically shoved her buxom breasts in his snout.

“Shoot them down of course.” He didn’t falter and, most of all, looked her in the eye. “What else am I supposed to do?”

	Not look down at least. Gods save him if his gaze strayed that way.

“Wise choice.” She smirked, taking a step back.

Angelo quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

“The hell was that?”

“Just making sure the grapevine was wrong and I’m more than a piece of meat.”

“You do know about...”

“Yes! Yes I know!” She exclaimed. “I was a dude before, I know the effect I got… doesn’t mean that I like it. It’s embarrassing you know? Folks turning their heads when you walk past them.”

“For your information, bulls turn heads too. Not the same sex, but we do as well.” He informed her.

“Yeah I’m aware of that...” He caught her mutter under her breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothing!” She blushed. “Regardless… can’t we just be, you know, cordial to each other?”

“No problem with that.” Angelo smiled and held up a four-fingered hand. “So let’s start this over: Hi, I’m Angelo, I’m from Athens.”

She shook the proffered hand.

“Artemis, formerly Nikolaos, from Thessaloniki. I say let’s be friends, so why don’t we hang out at the beach sometime?”





On the other side of the Atlantic, in Brittany, there wasn’t so much partying as there was working and planning.

In Starswirl’s tower, you’d find the resident mage hard at work trying to figure out the way the world turned in this day and age with all the new magics roiling over one another, from his own projects to those he owed to others such as Morgane. And all of that, he had to do while retaining enough free time to teach his apprentice, and trying to figure out how to make transformation spells stick on returnees.

The latter he got reminded of often enough since his first attempt at swapping Miles’ gender. The mare really wanted to be male again, though try as he might he had yet to design a spell potent enough to prevent her own magic from rejecting the transformation.

And at the rate he was going, that wasn’t the kind of spell he was going to finish in a month’s time, unfortunately. He even had used the other half of his soul that was in Equestria to scour libraries from Canterlot to Stalliongrad, to no avail.

So unless he could somehow conjure up a library that had information on the interactions between two very different magics – which was what most of his research was about, come to think of it-, he was down to his own spellcrafting. Nothing he couldn’t manage, but nothing that was fast by any stretch of imagination either.

Even involving modern thaumic research methodology as encouraged by Princess Sparkle, mind. And he’d had a few words with the Princess herself about his research. She was deeply interested as an intellectual, even maybe a bit jealous when he openly revealed he could be in two places at once with his soul trick and that he got to mess around with those magics, but unfortunately she was no more able to help him than any of the foreign mages he sent letters to on Equus.

“So I really won’t turn back anytime soon?” Miles’ wings sagged after another failed spell.

This time around she had lasted a whole minute as a stallion. Long enough to feel the increased bulk, touch her squarish snout, even feel a stir from her member… before it recessed back into a slit and a pair of teats.

She’d put her UCP poncho back on with her head low to the ground.

“I asked around. There isn’t any data or books I can rely on to speed things up. Transforming you is going to require a lot of time and effort, more so than if you didn’t have a human soul.” Starswirl looked down at several pages’ worth of ritual circles in his notes. “We’ll get there eventually. Previous spells have shown continuous improvements since we started. I just can’t promise it will be done soon.”

“I guess I still have something to hold on to then… thanks.” Miles nodded curtly.

“Come back in two days time, I should have hammered down some improvements by then.”

Enough time for the other projects underway around the village and the castle then. She bid the mage her farewell, and left him to Martin’s lessons, exiting his enchanted plane of existence to go and join Emeric and Rockhoof in their next endeavor.

With all the projects they had underway, the two stallions had begun poring over topographic charts of the region in search of areas where they might locate the resources they needed to finish all their construction projects.

Lumber was one thing, but whilst it was readily obtainable, you couldn’t just make everything out of wood. Stone and metal were among the biggest needs they had, but unfortunately so far, all of their supply came from salvaging overgrown buildings in the abandoned hamlets that could be found around the region. Problem was that the supply was limited and...

Broceliande hadn’t been kind on the infrastructure, and roadways that would have previously been wide enough for trucks laden with construction materials were now reduced to rubble underneath a thick layer of vegetation. Narrow game trails had quickly become the sole way of wading one’s way through the forestry, and it didn’t make transporting anything heavy or in large quantities easy.

Their agreement with Cernunnos that the planned temple could only be completed by next year made a lot more sense because of that. Reclaimed masonry just wouldn’t cut it for the job, and while they did know where to find a quarry to get it, as they did for clay pits or even limestone to make cement and lime wash… it was more of a problem getting the materials to where they needed them than it was collecting them.

More so when you accounted for the fact transporters needed protection from critters.

Ever since Rock had approved of Lionel’s development plans, small groups had been dispatched around the region to start collecting construction materials. Generally one of their guards escorted a pair of deer or unicorns dragging wheelbarrow-sized carts that were small enough to pass through game trails.

They’d leave in the morning, and come back as soon as they had a full load of whatever they had been sent to collect.

Problem was…

“So that’s what we collected in a week’s time.” Rock announced flatly, waving a hoof at several piles of materials lying outside the village’s palisade in a clearing near their charcoal kiln.

“That’s it? That’s all we got?” Miles asked. “What in the blazes are we supposed to build with that?”

“Not much I reckon.” Rockhoof admitted. “It’s not even enough to make the temple’s foundations.”

Just as they were chatting, one of their teams came back from their trip, the two deer that were dragging the carts emptying their load of salvaged cement bags as the accompanying guard spotted Rockhoof and his lieutenants and saluted them.

“So are any of you going to say it?” Emeric drawled.

“Say what?” Rockhoof replied.

“That we’re in need of an upgrade.”

“Gee, thank you for stating the obvious.” Miles snarked. “So what? We’re just gonna start building roadways with the few of us in a forest that’s so quick to grow it’s overcome centuries of development in a few months’ time?”

“There is another way.” Rockhoof raised his eyes to the sky. “Pegasus style, but I’ll need to ask Starswirl.”

“How do you mean?” Miles stared in confusion.

“He means flying carriages.” Meadowbrook’s voice rang out behind them as the mare joined the trio.

By then the baby bump was hard to miss on the pregnant mare, so much so that she walked around with a bit of a waddle in her hind legs.

“Hello dear.” Rock went to greet her with a kiss, the mare practically melting in her stallion’s embrace before he turned to look at his lieutenants. “And yes… flying carriages. It’s a thing they use in Equestria to move cargo over short distances when it’s not ideal for trains or airships. Pegasi invented it, unicorns perfected it. And it’s exactly as the name suggests: a carriage modified to levitate so long as it’s pulled by flyers. Any flyer. That could help us reach those quarries without trouble and overcome the lack of infrastructure.” He explained, pausing to stare back at the mare who was now sitting between his forehooves. “Say dear, I’m surprised you’d be out of your lab at this hour. Is everything alright? Is there any problem with the foal?”

“Oh don’t you get and get fussy right now.” She protested. “I just needed some air. The end of summer is coming, so I want to catch the sun while I still can. At this rate I’m going to spend winter inside all swollen up.” She added, rubbing a hoof over her growing belly.

Miles felt a pang in her chest at the sight, sneaking a glance towards Emeric. She shook her head. Focus on your goals.

“Yeah, Brittany tends to get pretty rainy in Fall. We got a bit of an issue with liquid sunshine around here.” Emeric joked. “But I’m not sure about the flying carriages. I mean, Miles is the only pegasus in the village.”

“And you forgot we have Starswirl living here.” Meadowbrook fired right back with a grin. “There are plenty of spells that can allow somepony to fly through the air. I even know a couple potions… but they need special plants that I don’t have here, unfortunately.”

“There’s a bit of a problem with locals shrugging off spells you know.” Miles pointed out. “Part of my problems actually.”

Meadowbrook gained a sympathetic look on her muzzle.

“Oh sorry sweetie, I forgot about that.” She apologized. “Then I guess our solution to the logistics problem hinges on somepony finding a spell or potion template that’s better adapted to human magic. Or… finding pegasi to pull those carriages when we make them, but judging by the returnees we’ve been seeing that’s not very common in Brittany.”

Not common at all. Miles was still the only creature able to fly in the entire village, and she owed it to being American, not French.

Rockhoof looked off in the distance, the stallion starting to rub his hoof in circles on his wife’s belly as he searched for the right words.

“It’s a stalemate then. Roadways are out of the equation, we can’t use human flying machines, we don’t have the machinery to make airships even if we wanted to, and while we could make flying carriages, we lack the flyers because local magic prevents it. Did I surmise it right, uh?” He listed off.

“Yeah sounds about right.” Emeric nodded.

“Then it’s pretty simple isn’t it? We find how to adapt our knowledge of spells and potions, it should be the simplest alternative of the bunch.” Meadow smiled. “Star is good at what he does, but we shouldn’t forget about the other ponies that can help. I know I can lend a hoof with my potions already, but there are the fay ladies too in the forest. Morgane and Vivian was it? They’re as experienced at what they do as Star is, so maybe we could leverage some help?”

Her offer was met by a series of silent nods from all ponies gathered around her.

Starswirl wouldn’t like it… but they could help as well.

The matter was… what could they trade these ladies for their research?
> Chapter 87: Farming Commune
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aleksei’s eyes fluttered open as a ray of sunlight sneaked its way past the curtains and landed its awakening shot. Right between the eyes, from the other end of the solar system. The gears in the hippogriff’s mind slowly started turning, their pace sluggish, affected by a solid hangover.

A groan escaped her beak. Partying on rum alone… turns out that gets to you faster than beer. Still, despite the aftereffects of her bout of drunkenness, she felt… surprisingly comfy and warm, all snuggled on her side under the covers and…

She felt breathing ruffle her crest feathers.

Oh no. Oh please no. No no no, Epona almighty she did notdo what she was think-

“Good morning darling...” She heard Morvarc’h say in a husky voice. Epona. Fucking. Dammit.

The larger stallion was right behind her, with his forehooves wrapped around her frame and his muzzle pressed in the crook of her neck. Worse for her case, she woke up to herself leaning into his embrace. She was being bloody spooned, and parts of herself that went in the opposite direction of where she wanted her life to go actually liked it.

And her hindquarters were sore, laying over a wet spot in the sheets.

“Hi Morv’…” She squeaked out, rather uncharacteristically, her voice barely audible as she surveyed her surroundings.

Not unsurprisingly, the two of them still were in that small dusty apartment they had commandeered. And there she was sharing a bed with the demigod, in a room where the scent of sex intermingled with Morv’s heavy musk. She inhaled sharply. More primal parts of her relished the smell. All around the room laid discarded bottles of rum, Aleksei’s arousal-stained robes and Morvarc’h’s own leather armor that he’d come dressed in.

“Did we?”

“Oh yes, and you were wonderful at it.” The stallion clutched her tighter. “I knew alcohol had a habit of making humans ease up on their inhibitions, but you… you’re a cute mare when you loosen up.” He chuckled, forehooves straying down her sides and towards her rump, tracing the curve of her flanks. “I must say… mother’s influence has really made you a mare to behold. You don’t see figures like that very often.”

Aleksei’s breath caught in her throat.

“And you know of my intentions of not staying a mare any longer than I can help it.” She scowled, flipping around to face him.

The Earth Pony just smiled wider and planted a kiss at the base of her beak, his red eyes full of mirth and his russet mane in disarray from their night together. She was mad, at him of course, but also towards herself for thinking she could outdrink a demigod. And that inner self, that budding little set of instincts and feeling in the back of her mind… that one she blamed for pushing her drunk self to fuck her sworn divinity’s son… foal… colt… whichever term fit the bill.

Inner self that she blamed for not leaping out of the bed right then and there… and yet she couldn’t drive herself to do it. Even as she felt her inner regions already moisten in reaction to the stallion’s hardening and…

Oh goodness did she really take it all in the night prior? Morv’ really was a demigod all over~

“It’s such a shame...” The stallion breathed huskily. “You’re such a fine mare, and I only wanted to thank you for guiding me through society at the party. After all...” He leaned deeper into their embrace, the size difference between the two such that he could nearly encompass the smaller hippogriff fully, and she was bloody tall by her species’ standards thanks to Epona. “… a wild, powerful stallion such as myself could use your guidance.”

Inner Aleksei (as she had dubbed it) practically squealed out like a little girl at his words, yet she did her best to repress the influence and get back in control despite her growing arousal. She gritted her beak and tore her eyes away from his, even though the more feminine parts of her mind were screaming at her and begging her to drag her talons all over his lithe yet muscular courser’s frame.

	Yeah, good luck with that, lady. The alcohol is gone and I’m back in control. She thought to herself stubbornly.

“I think that’s quite enough now.” She spoke out, putting her talons between her and the stallion.

And ignoring that thing they brushed against. She did not want to dwell on that. Shedid not take that enormous thing inside her the night prior. It hadn’t made her squeal her lungs out. Don’t feed the inner Aleksei, she’s had enough for a good while. Better repress those parts of her mind for a month or two, lest she get into even more conflict with her geas and her drive to turn back into a male than she needed to. 

“Aww… pity.” Morv shook his head ruefully. “And here I was all riled up.”

“Then you’ll have to learn what all civilized males do when they’re told no.” Aleksei said, standing up from the bed and stretching herself much like a cat would. “Rub one out if you want.”

“Oh I never heard about that one.” He rolled onto his belly and eyed her up while she got rid of the kinks from the previous night, fidgeting this way and that to rub his hard on against the mattress. “Can I get lessons?”

And he could see his contribution ooze out of her aft end below her tail. She felt it too, at about the same time all memories from the night prior filtered in. Much to her relief actually. She had cast a contraception spell. Her being a hippogriff, alcohol alone might have brought her to the calorie intake threshold needed to trigger a heat cycle.

Epona would surely have loved her first cleric in this age to give her grandchildren. Aleksei? Not so much.

“Nice try, but I’m not showing you.” She smoothed down her chest feathers with her talons. “Damn I need a shower.” She groaned while collecting her clothes before she made a beeline for the bathroom.

Good foresight had it that they restored running water in the building for the occasion. A quick fix for the convenience of those like her who had stayed well after the party, which she soon enjoyed as her hooves and talons clicked against the bathroom’s tiled floor and she let her form be cooled down by droplets that drove off the tropical Cuban heat.

And calmed down her arousal. Nothing like a cold shower to quiet down inner Aleksei. She needed it, particularly given that Morv’ had decided to masturbate to the sight of her taking a shower and that for all she wanted to, she couldn’t drive herself to tell him to bugger off.

Again: blame inner Aleksei.

So she focused on the next best thing and turned her back to him as she lathered soap over her wings, despite the sounds the stallion was making as he…

“You call that masturbating?” She chortled, accidentally looking behind her in a lapse of attention.

“Eh! I only recently became a pony, last I checked horses don’t have that kind of range of motion!” He protested. “And what am I even doing wrong?”

The hippogriff quickly turned away before inner Aleksei could peek at the thing dangling between his hind legs for too long.

“Less about...” She muttered distastefully, vaguely gesturing with her talons. “… shaft, more about the head.”

Fucker was bigger than she ever was as a male…

“Why, thank you for the advice.” He smiled broadly, dropping down on his belly and forgetting about his masturbation. “You know, it’s actually kind of sad.”

Aleksei sneaked a glance. The smile was still present, though faint, more serious.

“What is?”

“Last night I got a look at you. The true you, without all the blocks you’re putting upon yourself and you stubbornly stick to for a reason I can’t understand. You were happy weren’t you? We even danced.”

She knew. She hadn’t drunk past the point where she’d have forgotten everything. Then again, right now she wished she had.

For a few minutes, the large demigod stallion stayed silent, Aleksei not even looking in his direction. She got through most of her shower before he finally broke the silence.

“I just don’t understand, is all.” Morv’ continued. “You’re one of the most clever mares I’ve ever laid eyes on in all my existence, you could be happy – don’t lie, I saw how you were at the party-, yet for some reason you’ve decided it was better to force this quest of yours upon yourself? I have no idea why in all the Gods of the Otherworld you’re doing this, and if you really minded you would have freaked out this morning. You’d have bucked me out of this bathroom the moment I stepped in...”

“I was born male Morv’!” She exclaimed, a bit more forcefully than she intended to. “I was born with a dick, and I’ll make sure I go back that way. That’s the way it’s meant to be.” She said, voice trembling as she turned off the shower and grabbed a towel which she wrapped around her hindquarters.

“Or at least that’s the way you think.” He whispered, behind her, all of a sudden fully clothed in the leather armor he’d come wearing.

She hadn’t even noticed. She startled, rounding up on her hooves and eliciting a cocky grin from the stallion.

“I took a geas anyway. I am going through with my decision, and it can’t be changed now.” Aleksei insisted, looking up at his tall form. “That’s the way it works. Can we talk about something else? Like… what are you going to do now?”

“If you want, sure.” He nodded his head, giving her enough space to put on her robes before the two of them went back into the adjacent bedroom. “I’m not staying in Cuba of course. Mother has it that my presence is required in Brittany.”

“Why? The colony in Broceliande?” They might have some use for a pony like him, sure, but the WSU wasn’t privy to most of the stuff that went on inside the enchanted forest.

“You heard of them?”

“Over the radio.”

“Interesting… but no. They fall under Cernunnos’ purview. Judging by what Mother’s implied over the last few days, the Gods need me to rebuild the city of Ys.” Morv told her.

“The sunken city?”

“Yes. In another lifetime I used to serve its King before it was swallowed by the waves. Helped his escape too, so I’d wager with a bit of luck I could find the castle’s ruins and restore the wards that kept it afloat.” He explained, rearranging his mane in its usual spiky self that he kept in line with a leather band around his head. “They failed when magic started having its hiccups around Europe, if you hadn’t guessed.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure.”

“You’re one to talk, with all your sailing around the world and your quest.” Morv’ rumbled. “Not going to be easy though. My magic is limited, so I’ll have to find a mage when I get there.”

She then watched him ignite one hoof with magic, its color a dull red that neatly matched his russet mane and eye color. With it he fired off a bolt that expanded into a swirling portal, the landscape beyond that clearly belonging to Epona’s plateau in the Otherworld.

“Then I guess it’s goodbye and good luck, Morv’, I hope this works out for you.”

“It will. I’m sure it will.” He turned his back to the portal. “I like you. You’re a complicated creature, but I sense there is more to my mother accepting you into her fold than meets the eye. Here...” He extended a hoof.

Aleksei looked down. Dangling from his proffered hoof was a bronze charm in the shape of a galloping stallion, its metal shimmering with Morvarc’h’s reddish magic.

“If you ever need me, use this charm and I’ll come to your aid.” He answered her questioning look after she took it in her talons. “Then...”

She was still inspecting the charm when the stallion planted a kiss on her beak.The statuesque hippogriff instantly went rigid.

“Fare well. I’ll miss you, Alie.” He said before disappearing into his portal.

In an instant, it was closed, leaving a blank-faced hippogriff in the middle of the bedroom as the magic glow of the portal was replaced by the warm rays of the rising sun.

Internally, inner Aleksei was giggling like a schoolgirl that just lost her virginity… which she technically had.

She tied the bronze charm around the base of her wing, hidden beneath her plumage. On the nightstand, her phone vibrated. A message from Angelo. There was still work to do in Havana.





Few hours later, in the Otherworld, Epona found herself looking down in her scrying pond, watching both her adventuring son and a certain world-exploring hippogriff cleric.

She smiled.

Morvarc’h had stopped long enough on his way through for her to ask how it had gone… and much as she expected, her son was enamored with Aleksei. Hopelessly so, from the way he’d started ranting about her virtues.

Just as planned.

Behind her, more of her herd were steadily starting to turn into all four pony tribes, instead of the regular horses they used to be. A better way to spread her influence, and none of them seemed to mind the change. Epona herself would stick to her original horse form though.  

This was a good time to be a horse goddess. And judging by what her scrying pond was showing… all pieces were duly falling into place.

After all, if this hadn’t worked out, Aleksei wouldn’t have accepted Morvarc’h’s charm.



 

The biggest part of the construction work in Havana had been all about the old Spanish fort and making it into a stronghold for the locals, and with that done, work quickly spread out to lesser tasks around the many barricaded city blocks the locals stuck to. Work that, by and large, only required the assistance of engineering folks: improving the electric grid with retrofitted train engines, make sure every connection was running properly and that fuel tanks were available wherever necessary, secure a fuel depot with enough tanker trucks to supply all generators as per necessary, jury-rig something for all blocks to ensure they had running water as well...

It was no small amount of tasks, but nothing explicitly urgent. They weren’t racing against the clock or anything like that, though infrastructure improvements did take priority over giving Havana an industrial output. Roberto’s ideas of reopening canneries and distilleries would have to wait.

And while the engineering teams got busy with water and electricity, the deck folks’ activities took on a rural tinge for the foreseeable future in that they went out of town and into the countryside to help secure the logistics side of things, as well as the food supply, among other things.

Logistics was a straightforward affair, if lengthy. All the disjointed city blocks made for a decentralized form of a colony, and they had to be linked together to keep in touch somehow. With vehicles. Problem was… Cuba was noteworthy for its lackluster motor pool. What few vehicles remained in the country because no one had been behind the wheel at the time of the Event were positively ancient machines scattered all across the countryside.

It thus fell to several recce teams (one per ship actually) to scour the entire region for the few good vehicles that were to be found and to somehow get them back to Havana -somehow- where they could be patched up inside Amandine’s repair bay.

They even used the Super Tucano for aerial reconnaissance.

Havana needed these trucks, in pretty much the same manner that Belfast did back when they helped the city: with a tiny population and a decaying infrastructure, fuel and water had to be delivered via tanker trucks (same deal for evacuating sewage too) to each city block the locals had taken residence in.

Add to that a few regular cars and trucks to the mix, and you’d have a general idea of the motor pool the sailors were in search of to bring back to Amandine for repairs before they handed them off to the locals. If a few of those vintage cars Cuba was so famous for disappeared in the process, nobody spoke up. Not even if their trunks just so happened to be filled with cigars and rum.

Quiros didn’t voice any protest to that little tidbit. The tradeoff of a few old cars and luxuries was well worth it in his opinion.

As for the plantation itself…

A convoy composed of several lorries (again: thank Amandine’s ability to transport a motor pool) reached the place the afternoon following the party. It wasn’t that far out of town, a mere quarter of an hour drive away from the cruise terminal, towards the middle of the island, up in the small hillocks that constituted the landscape south of the capital.

Cuba did have some hillier areas, of course, but Havana had been founded in one of the flatter parts of the island, around where the Guaniguanico mountain range sloped down on its eastern portions. The result around the plantation was a series of smooth inclines and shallow dips in the terrain, rolling plains covered in pastures that looked like some sort of Caribbean savanna. Nature was only just starting to reclaim it: a few interspersed copses of trees here and there broke up the sight lines, whenever the terrain wasn’t occupied by abandoned sugarcane or tobacco fields, or the odd abandoned, decrepit farmsteads, their frail wooden structures now well past the point of repair, covered under vines and shrubs and weeds.

The plantation wasn’t one of those isolated farmsteads, unlike Greet had assumed when she first reached the place. It was a fully-fledged farming cooperative, with several colorfully-painted, solid stone buildings (albeit in drab soviet architecture) erected along the banks of a reservoir.

“Amai, this ain’t really what I expected… it’s actually better.” Greet commented, talons on her hips after she’d hopped off the truck and gotten a good look of the place.

In contrast with the shanty town or rundown shacks she had expected from rural Cuba, this was actually a proper cooperative. Whether it was genuine or just intended for the Cuban government to show off prior to the Event (they were bloody close to the capital after all), Greet didn’t care. Either way, the locals -the same bunch of parrots and hippogriffs as seen in Havana, sans the odd species tourists turned into- had seen fit to reclaim and modify the cooperative to suit their own purposes. Given current standards, they’d done a pretty good job of it too.

Chief example would have been the main building. A large, blockish U-shaped building in the middle of the cooperative. It would have looked drab and decrepit in its original state, but Ornithians counted among the local species, and their taste for the flashy had seen that they repainted the whole building with bright murals, gave each set of shutters its own garish color, and hung streamers and decorations all over the place. As the main building, its role was to provide accommodation and amenities, as seen by the small group of hippogriffs sharing lunch in the courtyard.

It still made for a sharp contrast with the largely unmodified structures around it, those actually dedicated to farming: barns, silos and a few hangars and workshops stood around it, made up of drab concrete and rusty sheet metal. The sharp orange hues were a near match for the dirt paths that snaked their way through the complex, dry roads with the air distorted above them, thank the tropical sun for that. A few tractors had been left out in the open next to the hangars, with a bored-looking hippogriff kid (or foal, whichever term one preferred to use) currently washing them.

But more so than just farming, the cooperative was also geared to make something out of the reservoir it was built next to. A small pumping station and sewage treatment plant ensured all water needs were covered and that they didn’t pollute the water, while a small dock pointed to the floating nets, off on the lake’s surface.

The Havanans didn’t need to go out at sea to fish. Tilapias and silver carps, raised on feed that they grew, those were enough to sate their needs. Fish farming.

“That’s… honestly I never thought I’d see a farm like that this side of the Atlantic.” Nastya almost gaped as the griffon joined Greet’s side. 

Most of the cooperative was surrounded by a simple wall to which only some barbed wire had been added. A couple SKS-toting guards eyed all accesses vigilantly, some that went to the fields, and the big one through which Greet and Nastya’s convoy had just come through, at the main gates. A wrought iron arch rose above them, its old metal garnished with a dozen or so multicolored ribbons that billowed in the breeze. They didn’t hide the lettering:

	Comunidad Rio Hondo.

“You’ve seen stuff like that?”

“Not in such a state no.” Nastya shook her head. “The Soviets tried to promote the concept long before I was born. In Ukraine the only ones you’ll find have been ruins for half a century, unlike that one. It’s… almost pristine. I’m amazed.”

“Communism did keep going past the fall of the USSR around here after all.” Greet noted, observing a burly hippogriff wearing blue coveralls approach them near the head of the convoy. “Havana’s architecture just makes it harder to notice.”

“Touché. And a commune ain’t that bad of a place to live in a world like this. Not like there is an economy anyway.”  The griffon said, fluttering her wings in an attempt to fan herself and fend off the blistering heat. “Don’t get me wrong: I still hate communism for what it did… but it’s the right place to start over.”

Greet eyed her friend and companion with interest.

“You slavs still mind the…?”

“Live and let live.” Nastya cut her off, making a sweeping motion with her talons. “Let them do whatever they want. So long that I don’t see us turning commie, this will be fine.”

“Your call.” Greet shrugged as the apparent leader of the plantation -a hippogriff- reached them. “You mind fetching the interpreter?”

“Is not necessary.” The hippogriff in the blue coveralls interrupted before Nastya even had time to turn around, his voice thick with a Cuban accent.

“You speak English?” Greet’s head whipped back towards him, her surprise genuine.

“Not very good.” He waggled his talons in a so-so gesture. “Learn at school. Then stop. Tourists no came here often.” He motioned towards the commune. “You visit? I show you what needed to make farm better.”

“Lead on.” Greet smiled politely.

In all fairness, output was already pretty good at the commune. Soil around the area was dark and loamy, a good base to grow crops on, made even better by the advanced irrigation equipment all fields were fitted with.

But it could be improved upon. Fertile as Cuba was, the commune didn’t have the luxury of high magic in the air, nor the proximity of a convergence point to boost plant growth. They didn’t have growth-enhancing species like centaurs or Earth Ponies to tend to the fields either.

So it was all down to magic-free methods that the local leader – he presented himself as Gustavo- may or may not need assistance with. Yet another pile of tasks they needed to take care of. As if there weren’t enough of them with Havana alone…

Most of what Gustavo wanted was pretty straightforward. Get farm equipment, tractors, machinery from nearby farms and repair it if necessary, collect seeds around the region to diversify their production, gather stray cattle that might have survived being left on its own...

That at least shouldn’t pose much trouble. Time-consuming, sure, but not too troublesome in and of itself.

What was… that wouldn’t get Greet in good favors with the engineering department because it turned out their help was needed. Again. To patch up the pumping station and improve it so that the water supply wasn’t a moment’s notice away from giving out on them – and likewise with the sewage treatment-, to move a set of generators to the plantation to buff up their makeshift wind turbines…

She fully expected to hear complaints when she called over the radio to announce it.

“Gee, he gave you a list or what?” Roberto remarked snidely over the radio, the Italian’s accent making it harder to understand through all the static.

Across from her, Nastya made a face. Greet rolled her eyes. Of course he would complain. What else do you expect, girl?

“Nope… but the visit was pretty telling. All the stuff that needed fetching, I dispatched my teams to, so itshouldn’t take us too long.” She explained, finding herself sitting in the commune’s eating area with a radio set in front of her, as well as multiple sheets of notes. She flipped to the next one. “The generators and pumping should be… doable in relatively short order, though that’s queued up after all the stuff the engineering teams are busy with in town. Give it a week or more. You won’t be happy about the last thing though. Throws a spanner in your ideas with the canneries and distilleries… at least I think it does.”

“How so?” Roberto’s voice took on a careful edge.

Greet looked up as a group of laborers passed in front of her table, each hippogriff or Ornithian laden with crates of freshly harvested vegetables from the greenhouses closest to the commune.

“Manpower shortage… in a fashion.” She began. “The farming is fine, mostly… but the problems arise with the fish they raise in the reservoir. Way I understand it, they’re already a bit short on staff for that section of the commune, and there’s a bit of a problem with making enough feed for the fish. I’m no farmer so I don’t understand shit about crop rotation and the effect farming can have on soil… but they need fertilizer. Fertilizer that ought to be made in town.”

“What is it you’re getting at?”

“In short? More folks needed in the countryside to man the fish farm. We can’t exactly move it to the harbor since it’s freshwater fish and the locals can’t fish for shit. Add to that you need to figure out a way to start some fertilizer production so they can-”

She didn’t get the occasion to finish her sentence before the other end of the line erupted in a long string of expletives in Italian.

“Well, sounds like you’ve got a better idea of what this all implies than I do. Good luck with that buddy. I’m sure Quiros will be thrilled to know he needs to send more of his folks to the countryside.” She eventually managed to snarkduring a momentary lapse in Roberto’s barrage of curses.

Then she switched frequency. Let the cat figure out how to solve that. It was his part of the job after all. Hers right then was to ensure as many tasks were knocked off the board as quickly as possible.

“He OK?” Gustavo inquired behind her.

“It’s fine.” She swiveled in her seat, switching to a cross-legged position. “He ain’t happy, but the way I know him, he’ll see it done. Just...”

“Give him a cigar box?”

“Anything to settle his nerves. I pity him really. Stabilizing this colony is running him ragged.” She told offhandedly before tapping a talon over a map that was laid on the table next to her notes. “Now, mind grabbing a pencil and pointing us where we can find that farming equipment? I want to get it done before nightfall.”

Not that she minded being out in the boonies, but she had a date with that nurse from Rhine Forest, Marta, and she wanted enough time to turn up in her good suit, the one she got made by that seamstress pony.

Hedgefogs in bed? The electric magic could be the right kind of stimulating, and that nurse was a devil at using it.





On the other side of affairs, Rhine’s barge fleet was equally as busy, albeit in a different manner. There were plenty of tourists that needed to get back to the continent, and while the Mexicans were willing to wait before the fleet moved on to its next port of call, and that the Europeans would have to wait for the return trip either way, such was not the case for the Americans and Canadians.

Someone had to get them across the sea to Florida, and that someone turned out to be Artemis. The minotaur wound up leading a convoy of Rhine Forest’s fleet of trawlers as three of the boats lumbered out of the harbor, under the watchful protection of one of the torpedo escorts, assigned to the ‘expedition’ to ensure no monster threatened their safety.

Crewed by Ted’s team actually. If there ever was one person Artemis was willing to rely on for safety, it was her twin brother. Weird as their relationship had gotten ever since she’d been changed, the situation had stabilized between them when they got the occasion to talk it over like adults.

Disregarding the fact her sphinx brother liked to be petted. That was still a bit strange.

As for the passage across to Key West… it was as simple as they got. A straight line on a north-easterly course across the stretch of ocean that separated Cuba from the continent, and nothing to get in the way, not even a sandbank. Both trawlers and torpedo escorts operated with such a short draft that water depth was hardly a concern.

No zeebeasts either, proving that the attack they had experienced off the coast of Georgia was a rarity, not the norm. Thankfully.

If anything, the biggest hurdle they faced was seasickness among the tourists, few of those ponies being acquainted to the roll a trawler experienced in high seas.

“I’m sooo sorry about this Miss, I promise me and my friend will clean this all up.” One of the aforementioned tourists apologized for his companion in his squeaky voice.

The two of them had come up to the trawler’s bridge to apologize for the inconvenience.

And that was where it got… unique, in a fashion. Their passengers were a colorful bunch hailing from all over North America, and surprisingly enough, there was a species in the bunch of deer, reindeer and assorted ponies that she was meeting for the first time.

A breezie. A tiny breed of pony no bigger than a large butterfly and with the wings and antennas to match, a bluish pastel-colored fairy equine whose wings shimmered like dewdrops under the midday sun. He was the one who apologized for his companion. Another cajun as he described themselves, his best friend.

Symbiotic friendship really. The way he explained it, the two were long time friends who popped back into existence together. The breezie (Landry) had even made a habit of ‘nesting’ inside his friend’s mane (Caleb, an Earth Pony with a flashy yellow coat and two-toned orange mane) whenever things got too tense for a small creature like him. Both were headed for Baton Rouge, and what Caleb had for brawn, Landry made up for with wit and being overall tech-savvy.

Plus there was the whole fact almost nobody understood the kind of dialect Caleb was speaking. Except for his breezie friend.

“It’s nothing. Just make sure someone washes… that.” Artemis wrinkled her snout at the stain left on deck visible through the wheelhouse’s windows.

Caleb smiled sheepishly.

“Happens to the best of us.” She waved it off.“I just don’t want you to leave it out like that. Stains the paint job, see? For the seasickness we got some pills in the pantry. Big white box with a red cross. Just grab some ginger root or Dramamine. Your pick. Can’t miss it.”

Caleb nodded his head and made his way down the hatch and deeper inside the vessel. Landry, though, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he had remained in his spot, sitting on his haunches perched on top of the ECDIS monitor.

“Does it ever feel weird?” She raised an eyebrow.

Blame her perspective as a minotaur, but she had a hard time fathoming being so… tiny.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Landry squeaked out. “Everything’s so terrifying and even what I used to consider mundane might as well be called a hell ride without a paddle. You… you look as tall as a skyscraper.”

“I know we minos are tall, but that’s the first time I’ve heard it that way.” She half-laughed before electing to sit down. Even then, she had to practically lean over her console to be level with him. “Better?”

“Slightly.” He smiled weakly. She let out a bovine snort which sent his antennas jiggling. “Thanks. I’ll say, I’m lucky we breezies are more resilient than we let on.”

“Are you, now?”

“Pretty sure I’m squash resistant. I’ll take it. Would be dead three times over if I weren’t.” He shook his head ruefully, his antennas jiggled some more, which Artemis couldn’t help but stare at.

What were those even for? Magic?

“Good to hear I guess? I’m sorry to say the books we had only ever mentioned your species as being...”

“Frail?” He completed. “They’re about right still. I may withstand being walked on, but that doesn’t mean some things won’t try to make a snack out of me. Believe me… I need Caleb, just as much as he needs me.” He sighed, wrapping his wings around his form like a shiny translucent blanket. “Everything’s become such a challenge these days. I can’t even use a friggin’ tablet normally.”

“Caleb… what’s the deal with him?” She asked, her tone a bit cautious.

“It’s complicated.” Landry slowly uttered after a few seconds of pause. “Things have changed. I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s my best friend and we’re like brothers, but… he’s never been all right in the head. Nothing too bad, he’s just always had a hard time figuring things out and learning. The kind that needs help and supervision. At least up until now.”

“The change healed him.” Artemis stated.

“How did you guess?”

“I’ve seen it fix stuff like old wounds and age. Mental illnesses… that doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibilities.”

“You’d be right.” Landry confirmed. “Still… Caleb has just been fixed. He’s still like a kid in the head. Never properly matured or learned how to live by himself. He needs me…” He deplored. “It’s all my fault. I promised his parents I’d take care of him on the trip. Give them a bit of respite, you understand? Now… I’m all he has left. He needs me.”

“Just as you need him.” Artemis pointed out.

“True…” He acknowledged. “I… I realize all I have left that could be considered valuable to anyone is my wits. Caleb needs someone to teach him how to live, but there’s more than that. I… Anybody needs to be of some use if they want some sense of self-worth. My use is my knowledge. Sorry for the sudden change of topic, but I need to know what comes next. Do you have any info on where we’re headed? Like… interesting spots?”

“I do have some info on that.” Artemis bobbed her head in affirmation. “So you know how we’re dropping you off in Key West?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, there’s the thing: the place we’re dropping you at is a Coast Guard Station. There’s a Naval Air Station nearby too if you head east across the Keys, so that should set you up for gear. We’ve included copies of some of our techniques in the supplies we’re giving you, like how to refit a car for use by quadrupeds and ponies.Hopefully it should help. Just remember to check the oil you put in the tank, employ additives and filters to clean it up or you’ll foul your engines. Oil can spoil, and a fuel recycler takes a lot of resources to craft, but we’re not so long after it went to shit that everything is past its due date. Look around long enough, and you should find enough serviceable gas to fill up your tank.”

“Ok… and then?”

“Remember there are more dangers on the continent than just wild dogs and stray zoo animals. The Keys are isolated and should be a safe starting spot, safer if you’re willing to snatch a boat from a marina to cut across the sea to Louisiana, but beyond that, Florida seems to be completely deserted in the south. You want a colony, your first chances are Jacksonville. Maybe. One survivor Amandine dropped off a couple weeks earlier was headed there, a seamstress. Next up along the coast are a navy base near Brunswick if they haven’t left, another one in Savannah along the Interstate, a big truck stop, and then the next colony we’re aware of is all the way north in Canada. Quebec to be precise.”

“Nothing else?”

“Unless you’re willing to head to Montana, nothing we know of. Although… careful if you pass through Georgia. Monsters have been spotted there. Cragadiles in the bayou.”

“Oh I don’t like that name...”

“You shouldn’t.” She frowned. “Think gator on steroids with a knack for polluted areas. And they’re armored. They’ve been spotted mingling with regular gators.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed. It’s more complicated than Havana.”

“Actually, the ‘shit’ was about something else. I just realized… if that magic that’s brought back ancient gods to life is a thing… then it’s probably true for voodoo as well.” Landry rubbed a hoof over his forehead. “Fuuuck, the bayou’s gonna be such a mess if I’m right.”

“Complain all you want...” She smiled. “… but I’m from Greece. You can’t beat a mess like that.”

Landry blinked.

“Uh… yeah, now that you mention it… I can’t help but picture a pervy Zeus licking his lips thinking what ‘bout all the new stuff he can get his dick into.” He chortled. “Was that all about the info?”

“You’ll find more in the supplies we’re giving you. That was the broad picture.” Artemis shrugged, still leaning over the console with her arms crossed under her chin.

There still was a good hour of staying on the same course with the autopilot before they hit the Keys anyway. A lapse in attention wouldn’t sink her. There were other ships in the convoy.

“Thanks then.” Landry nodded. “By the way, last question: were you a dude before?”

Artemis’ eyebrows rose so high they nearly touched her horns.

“How did you guess?”

“The way you’ve been sitting, you’ve been accidentally propping your tits on the console without even realizing. Now I don’t mind looking down at breasts that are the size of a house for a pony like me, but I’m assuming that’s accidental, no? You popped like two buttons on your coveralls.”

“Landry...” She warned.

“No really. They’re fucking huge.” He spread out his forehooves. “Never in my life did I think I could see boobs that big, it’s amazing. They’re like… ten times my size each? Jeez, it’s almost like I could forever disappear if I slipped in the crac-”

His rant was interrupted by a bovine snort so strong it sent him tumbling backwards, the breezie finding Artemis suddenly looming over him with a menacing look. And a hand that was quickly redoing her buttons.

“I suggest you go help your friend find his medicine in the pantry, before I try to figure out how far I can throw a breezie with boosted strength.”

There was a buzz of insectoid wings, and the breezie was gone from the bridge. As was her good mood.

Fucking creep.





“You look happy.”

Lorelei’s eyes left the teacup she kept hovering in front of her muzzle through telekinesis to stare at Dilip, the dog sipping from a similarly steaming cup on the other side of his desk.

“I should be.” The German fillybeamed. “Finally solved my manpower shortage. Took me long enough.”

Dilip’s office had gained some ornaments while they were in Cuba. A varnished liquor cabinet now occupied one side of the room, its tinted windows showing off an impressive display of various alcohols, thimbles and tumblers carefully arrayed around a fancy crystal carafe.

A keepsake for when they left the island, much as the Indian liked to collect.A little detail Lorelei had subtly noticed over time. The teaset he was using? Obtained in Belfast from an abandoned salon. In Copenhagen he had found a set of landscape paintings depicting the city that now hung behind his desk; and Savannah had provided a pair of leather couches that had replaced the old ones on either side of the coffee table in the ‘meeting room’ part of the large office.

Not that she didn’t take trophies herself. Captain Green had offered her a pick of Kings Bay’s museum. That little secret heirloom now resided inside a cabinet in her own office on Rhine Forest.

“For which I apologize. Taking Anton from your crew wasn’t a conscious decision, but you know how mated griffons can be.” Dilip said. “Proof of that being she’s laid eggs. So who is the new hire?”

Lorelei smirked, her baby blue eyes twinkled with pride.

“Are” She corrected. “I managed to recruit three new souls for my engineering department among the tourists.”

“Impressive.” Dilip quipped. “Details? How did that come about?”

“I used the party in my favor.” She explained before her features took on a distasteful expression. “With the ‘fertility’ stuff I didn’t stick around after the ceremony, this body has yet to reach puberty after all. It got too… heated for me past that point.”

An amused smile creased Dilip’s muzzle. That pretty much confirmed what he’d heard on the grapevine.

Idly, the sea dog wondered if she herself was aware of how close she was drawing to her puberty. He was pretty damn certain she’d recently hit a growth spurt, the filly wasn’t as short as when he had first met her off the coast of Germany.

Now that would be amusing to witness. An elderly german put in the body of a tiny pink filly and forced to go through puberty -and pony heat- to blossom into a mare. Oughta be put on tape.

“So what did you do?”

“I had my men go around the party and spread the news we were looking for hires. Subtle, but that got the word out pretty quick because the next day I was already meeting candidates. Two Poles and a German I found for my engineering department. And it gets better...” She beamed. “One is an electrician, and another a welder.”

Dilip’s teacup halted mid-sip, his eyes widened.

“Someone’s been lucky. You throw out your ad and you get two specialists. In one day. You sure you didn’t sacrifice anything to a god of some kind?”

“Lady Luck does seem to favor me more than she did when she picked my transformation.” The small pink filly smiled. “I’ll take what I get. You know the funny thing with these two?”

“Do tell.”

“Okay so here it is...” She shuffled in her seat. “The third guy I hired, he’s a batpony. No big deal, nothing special. My first electrician is one. But the other two? The Poles? Both hedgefogs. So my Chief Officer, he asks and fills in their data. And you know what? They gave the same family name, but one is apparently genderswapped.”

“Siblings then?” Dilip laid back in his seat. “I don’t see what’s weird with that.”

“Not siblings.” Lorelei leaned forward. “Husband and wife. They got together after the Event.”

There was a short pause.

“Times are changing Dilip.”
> Chapter 88: Inner Demons
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As she often did ever since taking up her role as Epona’s cleric, Aleksei projected herself into her divinity’s realm on the evening that followed the party… and her involuntary adventure with Epona’s own demigod son. The novelty of the process had worn off somewhat by then: she would recite her usual prayers before bed, get up into a meditating stance, summon her powers… and there she was on the horse goddess’ plateau, in the usual translucent, ethereal form. Nothing new on that front.

What was was the surprising number of ponies roaming about. There were still regular horses in the herd of course, but it seemed like Epona was of the opinion turning some of her children into representatives of all four pony tribes (and with Aleksei, she had the hippogriffs covered) would be a boon to her influence.

Hence the technicolor bunch currently practicing with their new bodies on one edge of the plateau.

She didn’t see Morv’ among them. Whether that was a good or a bad thing… she didn’t know just yet. Most were lesser demigods. Still of Epona’s lineage, but with less clout and experience than the stallion. How many legendary horses Epona had created or directly sired… nobody would ever truly now.

For a few moments, Aleksei paused to look around and collect herself. The Otherworld was a plane completely different from Earth. Mortal minds needed time to take it in and never could process it completely.

After a few seconds spent looking at the border of the realm wondering whether she might one day explore the depths of the Otherworld, she made her way over to the Equine Goddess who was as always, standing by her scrying pond looking at the world of the living. She still was in her form of a humongous mare, and her latest foal cantered away from between her hind legs when Aleksei approached.

“Greetings milady.” She bowed her head deeply, speaking Latvian. Since language hardly mattered here, she might as well pick one she was most comfortable with. Not like she spoke her native tongue much these days...

“Rise, Lady Klavins.” The divinity replied in her usual method of mentally broadcasting ideas rather than words. Somehow she still managed a motherly tone despite not saying anything. Slowly, the large mare turned away from her pond to face Aleksei. “For a cleric that has only held the position for a limited time, you’re achieving some rather inspiring results. Never would I have expected to garner followers from across the Atlantic, yet two colonies already have begun showing interest in Celtic faith. Savannah, and now Havana. You would be making some divinities jealous if you hadn’t included other Celtic gods in your sermons.”

“I… to be frank I didn’t intend for the party to get this big. It was supposed to be a private affair but things… snowballed I should say. I’ll most likely sanctify the altar I made for the ceremony so the faithful have a place to congregate. If that’s your desire of course, milady.”

“Do follow up on that idea. It’s important that a means of keeping in touch with the Cubans be retained, and while my fellow divinities have yet to find a suitable representative this side of the Atlantic, I don’t doubt the situation is soon to change if followers show up at the altar. Other clerics may follow in your steps.” She paused to look up towards that psychedelic mess that was the ‘sky’ in the Otherworld. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if that altar eventually became a magic convergence point of its own. Cuba does seem deprived of such energies.”

“That can happen?” Aleksei quirked her head quizzically.

Epona let out a small laugh, prompting Aleksei’s ears to fold against the sides of her head in embarrassment.  

“Why, child, of course it can.” She bent down to nuzzle the comparatively tiny cleric at her hooves. “That’s how convergence points form in the first place. They’re born of human faith. Have enough faithful congregate in one place with the same beliefs, and overtime a point will form. That’s why they’re all near holy sites and mythical places.”

“Oh… I’m sorry milady. I tend to forget about certain details.” She smiled sheepishly.

“Such as some effects your wards and rituals can have on all creatures’ sexuality, hmm?” Epona laughed again. “For a newly-made cleric, you truly created an event worth what my best priestesses might have come up with in their own time. By accident might I had. No?”

	Light green though the feathers covering her muzzle may be, Aleksei was pretty sure the embarrassed blush was visible at this point.

“I’m just glad no children got to see the…ahem, effects.” She coughed in her talons.

The few she had spotted from the altar during the ceremony had been swiftly carted off early in the evening when their wards caught on to what was going on.

“Oh, believe me, children are definitely part of the consequences. I’d know.”

Aleksei’s gaze jerked away from the ground and back towards Epona. She was pretty sure her contraception spell…

“Relax Lady Klavins. You are *yet* to be with child. As are your colleagues. I’m guessing sailors have learned safe sex over the years...” She mused with a slight scowl.  “Not so much for the locals. But that’s what we want, no?”

Surprises abound for the Cubans then. Not that it should pose a problem… she hoped. It wasn’t like population density would be a problem for the next thousand years anyway.

“Jokes aside.” Epona raised her head and invited her cleric to lay down by the scrying pond. “You are doing an excellent job that’s been earning me praise from fellow divinities and followers alike. That, I believe, deserves a reward.”

“A reward milady? Of what kind?”

“Magic of course. I’ve deemed you deserving of more power to ease the practice of your arsenal of spells and rituals. You should find yourself able to pull them off more frequently and reliably than you used to by the time you wake.”

“Does that come with… body modifications?” Aleksei carefully inquired before she realized who it was she was asking and quickly raised her talons defensively, wincing. “Not that I mind the voluptuous form you gifted upon me, milady, but I believe I’m quite comfortable with the way they are as of now!”

She was already turning heads wherever she went, no need to make it worse on her. The desire to be male again was still there, despite… ‘Inner Aleksei’s’ influence on her. The grass rustled, and Epona laid down on her belly beside Aleksei.

Good. The outburst hadn’t offended her. In fact she looked downright amused. Like a mother amused by a child’s antics.

Yeah, not too much of a surprise at seeing a fertility goddess act motherly.

“Rest assured, the only reason I would have to modify your body is if you actively wished it to be.” And because her son wouldn’t pardon her if she tampered with the object of his desires. One had to be subtle when matchmaking~. “That said, I’m delighted to hear you’re satisfied with your body modifications. My domain is fertility. My representatives cannot afford to be plain.”

“I still carry a geas milady. I have no intention of dropping my quest of getting my masculinity back...”

Aleksei didn’t notice, but Epona’s muzzle soured at the mention of the geas. That, that was the one and only thing she’d let slip when recruiting Aleksei and an issue that might very well throw some of her plans into disarray.

Although… Epona eyed the talking hippogriff. She had begun ranting on her quest and how she would never give up until she had her dick back. Maybe... just maybe... she could twist the geas to her advantage. Make sure Aleksei be torn between her quest’s goal and what she actually desired. Keep her going long enough to back her into a corner thanks to the geas. And then… swoop in and ‘rescue’ her from her own magical oath. At a cost.

Yes. Yes that would be perfect. Morvarc’h would forever hate her if he ever learned of that gambit, but she could work it in his favor as well. Just ensure Aleksei became infatuated with him, and then the stallion would be too lovestruck to ever pry into her affairs.

Excellent.

“...after all, I was born male and it’s the way I should be. I fear I might run the risk of never being myself again if I stray from that path.” She shuddered at the thought of inner Aleksei taking over. “Of having another version of me, a mockery of myself… take over.”

	Epona blinked and twisted her head to look at the cleric. Aleksei was now staring into the scrying pond, almost forlornly so, one of her talon drawing circles in the grass.

“I fear that version of me. It’s… a mockery of all the things I stand for and have learned. Of all the skills I have accrued and all the experiences I’ve lived that have led to me being… me. It’s just a base creature driven by raw instincts and lust that has no refinement to speak of, no intelligence or wit to make it an actual person...”

	Now… Epona knew she wasn’t completely innocent when influencing her cleric’s mind, but it was far from what she intended to happen when she sneaked those ‘mature’ dreams to Aleksei. What was she even getting at?

“I’ve thought over it. It’s an inner demon, my Inner Aleksei as I call it. I feel it when it tries to influence me… I can’t even stop it. At least not fully.”

A form of split personality then? Epona assumed. Impressive so soon, possibly caused by the increased magic from becoming a cleric… but also incredibly dangerous. If she didn’t do something, Aleksei’s assumption might actually be right… though not for the reason she assumed. For all she knew, that bottled-up representation of what parts of herself Aleksei rejected might turn into an actual inner persona.

Believe something hard enough and it might actually turn true. The wonders of human magic.  

Epona bit back a sigh. Aleksei was much too valuable to allow to turn into some skanky lust-driven mare . She wanted her to accept her femininity, but that was several thousand steps too far.

“How long has this concern plagued your mind?”

“I… I’m not sure. I’ve only really noticed it after the party, but it’s been a few weeks I think?” Aleksei’s voice trembled.

In one smooth motion, Epona wrapped a hoof over the hippogriff and drew her in her embrace, softly nuzzling the white crest feathers on top of her head. Ethereal form or not, Aleskei felt herself warm up in the motherly embrace.

“Lady Klavins, I hear your concerns, and valid as they are, I think you won’t like my answer.” Epona murmured. “You do run the risk of having that inner being take over… but not for the reasons you think. I must remind you that your role as a cleric makes you a mage, and from that role and the potency of your magic, some risks are further heightened.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The matter is not that you have an inner being, the matter is you *think* you do. You’re still the same being you always were, but your refusal to accept things are different now to assume it’s all the fault of an inner being trying to take over… might very well lead to its existence. Such is the way human magic can flow, particularly so in sensitive matters as those of the mind often are.”

For a few minutes, Aleksei was silent, processing what she had just been told.

“So… you’re saying there’s no ‘Inner Aleksei’ to speak of. It’s just me… but...”

“She could become a real thing. She *will* if you keep thinking that way.”Epona warned.

“And to avoid that...” Aleksei clicked her beak and gulped. “I would have to… to accept my femininity. Accept that she’s a part of me, if I don’t want to become the part I reject and only that.”

“Exactly.”

“But my geas!” Aleksei exclaimed in realization. “That means I have to accept my situation as a female to not become some kind of vapid bimbo due to a self-created inner self, but I still have to keep up my quest of becoming male at the same time, and when I turn back I’ll have to switch over from feminine, to masculine?” She paused. “To do it all over again?”

“You tread a treacherous path, Lady Klavins.”Epona told her. “Butif you embrace her as part of yourself and not some malevolent inner demon, you’ll find that ‘Inner Aleksei’ as you called her will disappear in short order.”

She could also not embrace Inner Aleksei and run the risk of keeping that part of herself separate… but that would hinge on finishing her quest and becoming male fast enough that it didn’t have time to take over her mind. Aleksei winced. Those weren’t good odds.

“Thank you for your advice milady.” She finally uttered.

Already, she could feel the little twinge in the back of her mind signalling her dreamwalk was coming to an end.

“It’s advice gladly given, child.”Epona released her cleric from her embrace and stood up. “Please consider it. You seem to fear embracing your status as female will remove everything you are. It’s not. Look at your shipmate Sri. It will only make you happier.”

Aleksei opened her beak to give a reply, but the words died in her throat. Sri didn’t have a geas. She wouldn’t have to accept one change only to do a complete 180 later down the line.

As the hippogriff was feeling her spiritual self fade away from the Otherworld, Epona lowered her large head down to her level, an almost mischievous look on her muzzle.

“He likes you a lot you know.”

She didn’t tell her who. She didn’t need to. Aleksei awoke back in her cabin with a blush.

Epona was already back at her scrying pond, observing the reaction.

So what?

She wanted grandchildren.





	It took time, but slowly, things moved forward in Havana.

Nothing was really done in a hurry. Lacking any real urgency, it became one of the rare times after the literal apocalypse where -except for critical tasks such as guard duty and keeping generators running- work ran on a nine-to-five.

For the next few weeks that the WSU spent in Havana, work crews composed of both deck and engineering sailors would leave the ship to go out and help the Cubans fix up their colony. Some would venture out on ‘expeditions’ into wider Cuba to retrieve vehicles and machinery, some would round up stray cattle in the countryside, some would even go and build houses at the plantation to house more workers and overall help fix up the infrastructure. Relatively routine work that paired itself with more common tasks like maintenance on all ships across the fleet and even the time Rhine Forest’s officers spent teaching their cadets how to maneuver by having them steer some of the auxiliary crafts around the harbor.

Two weeks after the party however, the real task finally arose after much research and planning was done, and the manpower was sufficient, much to Roberto’s enjoyment. That is, giving Havana an actual industrial output, scaled to how many inhabitants they had, to make sure the colony would have exports in the whole network Dilip was so intent on creating.

Scale was important. With the population shrank down to point-zero-one-percent of what it used to be,any pre-Event factory had to scaled down to a sensible level so that they didn’t waste manpower... which as a resource was far more important than anything else nowadays. It was a question of finding what to produce and in what amounts to best fit the current network of colonies the WSU was aware of.

The end result?An industrial complex, of sorts.A few minutes away from the cruise terminal the ships were berthed at, it used to just be a few clustered warehouses, with rusty steel beams painted sky blue to go with white sheet metal for walls. That was what it looked like from an outer viewpoint.

In terms of development? It was a relatively empty fencedcomplex with a large floor area ripe for being converted to fit their needs. It was a bit unsightly, granted, and in dire need of repairs and modernization…

But fit their needs it did.

The fertilizer shortage the plantation workers were complaining about was soon solved by the construction of a small-scale laboratory from which they should be able to synthesize basic compounds in decent-sized batches. Not a simple setup by any stretch of imagination, and they were limited by the amount of locals who had the proper level of education to man it to begin with (unless they wanted them to burn down the place one week after opening); but provided they kept themselves to simple compounds it shouldn’t pose too much of a danger.

Still, starting the industrial complex by building the laboratory (and adjoining infrastructure for the whole complex) took them a whole week before they were even able to move on and start building a cannery and a distillery for exports.

They weren’t any more of an actual industry-worthy setup than the lab was. Nobody from neither the Cubans, nor the tourists or sailors had the expertise to pull off that kind of thing. In fact even with all the engineers spread out across the personnel pool available, it took a whole two weeks to salvage and relocate the equipment needed to achieve what they wanted with the cannery alone.

And there was a lot of room for improvement in the system, flexible as they made it in how it should be able to easily switch the kind of food being canned. Turns out, the food industry has its standards, and even a process as ancient as canning fruits comes with a surprising amount of intricacies that each require their own input in the production chain.

The most obvious instance that they only realized too late was when they were forced to retrofit a whole new warehouse in order to process salvaged sheet metal and make the cans that they genuinely had forgotten they needed to make.

You need more than just food to make canned food. Who knew?

And the use of salvaged sheet metal itself sprung the issue that they’d have to reactivate a metal recycling plant at some point. Metal rusts, and if sheets of metal could be relatively plentiful at first, Dilip would sleep a lot better if he knew their needs in steel and aluminum were covered.

Just need to find a colony with the infrastructure and enough skilled workers to manage that. Easy.

With problems like that, the oil refinery they suspected to find in Mexico risked to become far more of a technical issue than Dilip had ever dared think off way back when the HPI first sent him the intel about it. If simply canning locally-produced food could branch out in that many more logistical needs along with the myriad of sanitary precautions needed to ensure the canned goods did last as long they were supposed to…

The WSU was in for a treat in the long run.

Nevertheless, laborious or not, the industrial development was seen to its end and Havana was given its  ability to produce large amounts of food to supply nearly any colony a ship could reach. It was no less than three weeks after their arrival that Quiros declared there were no more things they strictly needed the sailors’ help for. Three weeks of reasonably calm work that allowed the whole fleet to catch some rest (in shifts of course), train for a spell and even weave some connections with some of the Cubans after the medical teams working the field hospital decided to include some English lessons.

In that span of time, many discoveries were made, some a bit more anecdotal than others.

Groups of griffons on hunting trips would for instance frequently come back with news that escaped zoo animals like zebras and wildebeests had found an appropriate home in the savanna-like countryside that surrounded Havana. They had managed to escape their pens, something not achieved by the more dangerous predators as Aleksei’s recce team quickly discovered the dried-up remains of a whole lion pride in their sun-drenched enclosure.

On the other hand/claw/hoof/whichever appendage fits, rhinos had been introduced to the Cuban ecosystem. For better or for worse, you’d have to ask an ecologist.

They also found out that monsters were indeed roaming the island. Though… not exactly the same kind of monster as a timberwolf or a hydra. The monsters Aleksei’s recon team found were something their bestiary labeled as ‘Fly-der’. As in: flying spider. While not as explicitly harmful as bigger monsters, the tarantula-sized insects still caused a not insignificant impact to any arachnophobic that spotted the hairy green and red bugs whiz past them.

Which apparently included Radiant.

“You should have seen this.” Aleksei took a sip of her rum. “One minute I’m talking to Scarface, just… looking at the map chatting about which town to explore next, and then… bam! Out of the woods comes Radiant with the girliest scream I’ve ever heard a stallion make. Funniest shit of the day I tell ya.” She chuckled lightly.

	This was one of the occasions they got to relax and rest for a day. Not quite like the party that had occurred after the ceremony and where she made close acquaintance with Morvarc’h, they were gathered on a beach a little ways east of El Morro, outside of Havana but still close enough to the sea fort for the sake of security.

And so here was Aleksei on her off day, having a drink in a field tent with palm trees bobbing with the breeze just on the edge of her sight, and Angelo by her side as they had found themselves a spot around an ice-filled cooler, the field tent sheltering them from the harsh afternoon sun.

“Uh… never pictured him as afraid of bugs.” Angelo blinked, his ‘glass’ of rum closer in size to a German beer mug. “These bugs, they’re dangerous?”

“Depends how you look at it.” Aleksei shrugged. “Way I read it in the bestiary, so long you got the right antivenom potion in store – which we do, I made damn sure we captured a couple bugs for venom extracts-, Fly-ders aren’t that big of a threat. They don’t cluster, they rarely if ever spin webs, and with their size they’re actually rather loud when they fly. It’s… sort of a low buzzing sound, like a bumblebee the size of a brick, if you catch my drift?”

“Sort of. So how do they get you?”

“They hang off ceilings, branches, above you. And they drop on anything that passes below. Rather predictable if you ask me, but you’re in for a surprise if you’re not paying attention. ‘s not like they’re hard to notice anyway. The red eyes shimmer in the dark.” Aleksei explained. “We found like a dozen of them all told when we explored the outskirts of San Cristobal. I figure the Four Horses spawned a couple in Cuba and figured since it was an island, they’d settle and stuff.”

“That going to be a problem?”

“Not really. It’s milder than having timberwolves infesting a forest. I tell you: Cuba has it pretty nice in terms of monsters. I mean...” She waved her talons over herself. “… I’m pretty sure the wards I could create with a ritual at the ‘temple’ -by which she was referring to the party-venue-turned-holy-site- would be enough to keep those bugs out of Havana. Maybe even the plantation if I get around to building them an altar.”

Angelo frowned slightly at the mention of her magical faculties. The big bulky minotaur tore his eyes away from his rum for a moment to look at the other sailors out on the beach. There was one group of Filipino parrots playing beach-volley a few ways away, some sphinxes sunning themselves like the big cats they were, and even… a few couples, just enjoying their time together. He even spotted Vadim and Micha busy teaching Andy how to fish, the three of them clustered around a fishing pole, perched on a short cliff closer to the spanish fort where the rocky promontory it was perched on began.

“Say Aleksei… I don’t mean to make it sound like it’s bad but...” He hesitated. “Your little party… I’m pretty sure it’s had an effect on everyone.” He paused, looking down into his drink. “Myself included, come to think of it.”

“I… kind of agree? That wasn’t intended you know. I didn’t expect the wards I make to have such an intrinsic effect because of my divine allegiances.”

“Fancy words for saying: ‘sorry I made everyone horny’.” Angelo joked after downing his rum and grabbing a new bottle to refill it. “I’d blame you, but I’m one to believe the rumors about you and that demigod pony that showed up, so you were affected as well. Still… you can’t lie, it's had effects long term.”

“No pregnancies in the fleet. Trust me, I would know.”

“I don’t mean that. It’s about… couples forming, people not minding the change swapped their gender anymore. Before that it was still pretty limited, still too soon… but now?” He waved a hand towards a pair of Abyssinians reading a book on a towel.

Aleksei squinted. The black cat with the white spots and the crooked ear? That was Roberto alright, their Intel Officer wearing nothing but swimming trunks. The surprise was the other cat snuggled up between the Italian’s legs. Lekan actually. The Savannah cat was comfortably clad in the same one-piece swimsuit she had gotten with Sandra back in Copenhagen, holding a book in her paws as both she and Roberto read on, tails intertwined.

“Alright… consider me surprised.” She raised her eyebrows.

“They’re not the only ones. Nala and Thanasis...” He pointed towards a pair of sphinxes that included their Chief Stewardess and one of the engineering sailors, lying together in the shade under a palm tree, one head over the other’s. “… actually a thing now. Not just ‘sex friends’. Hell, I’m also pretty confident in those rumors that say Sri has taken the leap too, most likely in the heat of the party, though with the way the betting pool is running, nobody’s sure whether she went for Bart or Artyom.”

Definitely not Scarface though. Of the three male veterans, the Bulgarian gargoyle was the one known for ‘sampling the local dating pool’.

“Damn… I mean, it’s a good thing I guess, but still… damn.” Aleksei sipped her rum. “Didn’t think the effects ran that deeply. Must have been more powerful than I expected.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You just gave a slight nudge and tipped the balance over.” Angelo quipped, flicking an empty bottle with a digit and sending it over the edge of the table where it fell in the sand with a thud. “I looked around. There are some pretty recent returnees among the locals. Tourists or not. The most recent genderbent folks are still at odds with their situation, as anyone would be. In the fleet… sure, most are now settled down and ready to form couples, but I don’t think you’ll ever see any of them act like prissy ladies or some such. Still sailors.” He shook his head. “I mean, you’ve seen Danny in action? Off-duty I’ve seen her wear sundresses now, colorful ones at that – Ornithians be Ornithians-, but she’s still a fucking welder. And prone to swear at that. I can’t understand a word of Tagalog, but she’s got a foul mouth lemme tell ya.”

He paused, looking off towards the fort where a Unimog had just arrived to deposit a fresh batch of off-duty sailors. Aleksei saw his eyes linger on Artemis for a few moments as the minotaur hopped off the truck before he turned his attention back to her.

“You get my point I hope? I’m sure you do. It’s a complicated matter, but I wouldn’t have anyone get some existential worries about it. Personalities don’t change that much, and even if they did, species would be as big a factor in the equation as gender.”

Like that made the changes any easier to cope with. Still… maybe he was right and she would have had as many issues if she rejected being a hippogriff instead of being a mare.

Didn’t make what Epona had told her she needed to do any easier.

That being said, her mind lingered on a little detail. The way Angelo was sneaking glances out the tent towards where the truck had deposited… her eyes widened. Her beak parted in a grin.

“No way.” She giggled. “You and Artemis?”

Judging by the way the minotaur’s tail went still, she had hit her mark.

“It’s not serious just yet. We’re uh… figuring out whether or not it’s worth it.”

“Which is miles ahead of where the situation’s been stuck for the past months.” Aleksei smiled. “Congrats buddy.”

“Hold it for now. There’s a reason we’re careful.” Angelo explained. “We minos are not unlike griffons when it comes to mating. The pair bonding is for life, though not as ‘strong’, if that’s an apt way to describe it. Under circumstances like that… I know we’ve seen Micha and Vadim be pretty happy, and I’d lie if the smile on Anton’s beak when she looks at her eggs doesn’t warm my heart-.”

“Tanya by the way now. She got a name change.” Aleksei interrupted.

“Good for her.” Angelo nodded. “Doesn’t change my point: I know they’re happy with their mates and all… but when it’s for life, you want it to happen in your terms and with someone you’re ready to spend the rest of your life with, right? Though to be fair… we’re from the same country, we speak the same language, we’re the same species and job-wise, we’re pretty similar.” He listed off.

“Pretty good odds then?”

The big gray minotaur had a smile on his muzzle when he stood up, readjusting the corks he kept on the tip of his horns so as not to skewer the field tent above him.

“Yeah… those are some good odds.” He rolled his shoulders. “Now if you don’t mind, I promised I’d pump some iron with her on the beach. Got someone to match me in strength for once, so I’m not missing the chance.”





	This was the first time Miles actually was venturing into Morgane’s sector of the woods… and frankly now she understood why Merlin was so adamant that their patrols avoid the area whenever possible. The cursed grove surrounding the fay’s grotto was a bit too gloomy for her tastes, and the damp chill it caused in any visitor passing through made shivers run up and down her wings as she huddled them against her frame.

It was mid-September for Cernunnos’ sake! Why in the blazes did it feel like a cold rainy November? Brittany had its rain issues *liquid sunshine*, but that was just magic messing with them. Usually she’d consider that the salvaged chainmail and gambeson she wore underneath her camouflaged UCP poncho were too warm… but now the only comfort it provided was the clinking of the mail reminding her she was protected.

“Couldn’t we just have… you know… teleported?” Miles asked Rockhoof as the huge stallion was cleaving his way through the intertwined branches with his signature shovel.

Disadvantage one of traveling with non-flyers: you can’t stick to above the canopy and just cut across.

“We could. Indeed.” Rock grunted. “But you’re my top lieutenant-no offense to Emeric, but he’s more the type to stay at the castle than to patrol the woods- and I need one of you to actually witness why you shouldn’t send guards to this part of the woods. Plus, consider it training. Broceliande is our new home, it’s important we learn how to navigate it.” He paused, biting back a swear word. “But I’ll give you that… last time I passed through with Starswirl, the game trails had the merit of being a bit wider.”

Which really was a pain in the flank when you’re a stallion the size of Rockhoof. He had a budding ache in his neck from bending beneath branches so often.

“We might have to assign guards to maintaining trails. At least until we got the situation figured out for the flying carriages. That should sort out the infrastructure problems then.”

“Point.” Rockhoof grunted. “But that would require us to figure out a way to make spells stick to you ponies… humans… former humans, you get the meaning.”

“Yeah I do.” She nodded, though her concerns about the topic was more about her own marehood issues than making non-pegasi ponies fly. “What’s our dear court mage doing anyway? Is he going to turn up just as we reach Morgane’s porch?”

“Actually no.” Rock ducked under a low lying branch. “He said he was going ahead of us to lay down the groundwork. Make sure she’s inclined to look into the matter.”

Miles came to a sudden halt.

“Hold on a second. Why wouldn’t she want to figure this out? Way I see it, she’s at an advantage if she can ensure her spells stick too.”

“I dunno… but the way I see it, mages like to mess around. She looked powerful last I met her, so maybe she might think she can pull it off on her own?” He guessed, sheathing his shovel now that the trail was once again getting wider. “’cuz if she does, then she can bewitch any returnee she wants without us knowing how to pull it off. And believe me, with Star and Meadow’s skill level, we would eventually figure it out, but the faster we can make our magic worthwhile, the better off we are in the long run. That temple Cernunnos wants come next year is still a deadline, and we’ll never get the materials if we don’t have the infrastructure.”

“And failing to meet promises made to a god is a pretty bad way to start off a colony.” Miles intoned.

“That we agree on.” He nodded.

Past that, making it through the cursed grove proved a bit easier, with the trail getting increasingly wider the closer they got to Morgane’s enchanted grotto. It was almost as if the fay had woven a spell on the vegetation that surrounded the Vale of No Return to make sure it prevented unwary intruders from straying inside.

Determined visitors though? It just took them however long they needed to break through the twisting branches the gnarly trees had grown to impede passage, and then they were free to carry on at a healthy trot that brought them inside of Morgane’s enchanted plane within the hour.

The only change Rock really noticed in the place was how the fay lady had made use of the increased magic by carving various enchanted runes and scripts at seemingly random spots outside and inside the cave, spots that were gathering an inordinate amount of mana crystals and magic particles swirling around them.

Obviously the sight of the inner cave and Morgane’s little tower on its island in the middle of an underground lake was enough to leave Miles gaping. She shook it off remarkably quickly however, albeit only after snapping a couple pictures using one of those smartphones returnees seemed so fond of. Rockhoof never understood the appeal. He already had it hard enough trying to figure out how those wireless radios worked, he had no time for useless gizmos.

“Sorry about that.” Miles apologized, trotting a little to catch up with the larger pony as he made his way to the tower. “It’s just nobody’s going to believe me unless I show the pictures. It’s just so...” She hesitated. “Eerie.”

“The magic is powerful around here indeed.” Rockhoof acknowledged just as they reached her tower. “And it seems she’s optimized the place to produce more mana crystals… I wonder if Star’s research into the matter helped.”

“You’re more astute than your physique lets on then.” The door abruptly opened to Morgane’s comment, speaking Latin that the two ponies understood – a spell probably-, the fay lady standing in the door frame with Merlin in his human form seated inside by the table. “You’re late.”

“Which would prove the defenses you set up around your domain are quite effective don’t you think? Takes time to wade through all those branches. I’ll have to sharpen my shovel when I get back to Trecesson.” Rockhoof cracked his neck, the muscles still sore from swinging the shovel. “Though I’ll admit I’m surprised there were no critters to halt our passage.”

“My doing.” Morgane motioned for them to take a seat at the table with Merlin who greeted them with a sharp nod. “No sense wasting my familiars on fighting visitors I actually expect. I’m already short on them.” 

Then she paused, her eyes lingering on Miles’ form as the pegasus mare flew over to Merlin’s side and sat down on her haunches, mail armor clicking softly as she readjusted the strap that kept her lever-action on her back.

“And you would be? A guard?” The fay’s purple eyes flickered in curiosity

“I am Lieutenant Everett. Miles Everett.” She presented herself.

“She’s basically my second in command, Lady Morgane. One of the reasons we’re seeking to… make spells last.”

“Ah… very well then. Merlin and I were talking about you, Lieutenant. You’re in an interesting predicament, aren’t you? Foreign body, foreign tongue, foreign land...” Morgane joined them at the table and summoned a pitcher of wine before serving them all a glass.

Except for Merlin of course. So long that he remained outside of his plane, the mage would be in ghost form.

“I’m a realistic person. I’m aware of how slim my chances are that I ever see America again… under the present circumstances.” Miles slowly uttered, accepting a glass of wine from Morgane which she held between her primaries. “Nevertheless I could use some improvements, if you’re willing to help me.”

“And I am. No need to bring up the subject. I will assist you in this research, Merlin here already hammered the details with me.” She smiled.

“May I ask what that would entail then? No offense, but as Lord of Trecesson, I feel entitled to knowing the deals my court mage takes in my name.” Rockhoof spoke up, throwing Starswirl a look.

The wizard’s only reaction was an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Nothing much to concern you.” Morgane said. “Merlin here will assist me in my research and promise to help me get ahead on my own projects, and I’ll need some potions and potion materials courtesy of your dear wife. My congratulations on the child by the way.”

“Thanks. I’ll pass the word to her.” Rock said before leaning forward across the table. “And what’s more?”

The fay then turned her head towards Miles, one finger drawing circles on her wine glass.

“Of course I’ll need your Lieutenant to pay me a couple visits. I promise nothing bad will happen, but I need to run a couple experiments and transformations before I figure out which way to go about it. And...” She raised her other hand, the one that was old and wrinkled, waving at their surroundings. “You’ve seen the Vale of No Return. This place isn’t the most fertile in the forest, and I’m no farmer. You want to adapt your magic, I want supplies. Cave mushrooms can keep one’s belly full, but they don’t sate an appetite. I want weekly supply deliveries. Fresh produce of course, and liquor, if such can be found.”

“Liquor?” Rockhoof smirked in amusement.

“Unlike Vivian, I live alone. One needs a way to keep the solitude at bay, don’t you think? My wine cellar can only hold so many bottles before I run out. And mushroom wine? Not the best.” Morgane smirked back.

Rock’s smirk faded.

“Hold on… are you implying Lady Vivian isn’t alone? Last I was aware of, she lives on her own in her castle. Star, did you forget to tell me something?”

“No friend, I learned it as well this morning. Seems like Lady Morgane has a better net of information than I do.” The ghost wizard sighed. “A surprising turn of events I must say, though unfortunately it means she probably won’t help our research.”

“Can you guys please stop being so cryptic?” Miles interrupted. “What happened?”

“It happened that Trecesson is no longer the sole colony in Broceliande, that’s what happened.” Morgane finally broke the news. “I think it’s something you ponies should be aware of. I keep a regular correspondence with Lady Vivianthrough my familiars, and even then she only decided to tell me yesterday. You see, Merlin isn’t the only one to have decided to steer returnees his way.”

Turns out, the Lady of the Lake had caught on to the idea and decided she was better off with a colony of her own. For the past few weeks, she had managed to locate returnees and encourage them to head her way to start repairing the castle next to her lake. Comper castle. The one Miles had spotted as a ruin last time she accompanied Rock and Merlin there.

Now though?

Details were limited – they’d have to take a look for themselves-, but Vivian had apparently provided wards and supports to assemble herself a set of followers that were busily renovating the castle according to her teachings. That didn’t make Broceliande crowded, Comper was actually rather far from Trecesson…

But they weren’t alone anymore.

“Looks like we will have to pay them a visit then.” Rockhoof slowly nodded. “Could be interesting. Maybe we’ll need to draw up some borders.”
> Chapter 89: Goodbye Cuba
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was done. All of those things the fleet had wanted to do whilst in Cuba had been completed. The small colony was running smoothly and would soon start producing its exports. Its defenses were strong. It had a radio relay and the telecommunication facilities it needed. Salvaged gear filled up the holds. Tanks were full. Supplies were at a peak...

Soon they would leave Havana.

Dilip set down his teacup with a clatter before the Diamond Dog moved over to his office’s porthole. Down below, trucks could be seen packing up the field hospital they had been using to assist the locals, the heavy modular containers being carefully stowed in Amandine’s holds under Vadim and Artyom’s scrutiny. At about the same time, a host of vintage cars were rolled down to the lower decks. Some of his subordinates’ keepsakes from visiting the island.

A neat detail. That idea of giving each crewmember the room to stow loot… Schmitt had completed it. Thanks to the dragoness Chief Engineer, the lowest car deck now offered each of his sailors their own storeroom. Big enough to stow cars, mind. As Dilip looked on, Angelo brought his own trophy car. The big gray minotaur that was the Second Engineer had found himself one of the few cars whose measurements didn’t clash with his bulky frame. A big old Cadillac with shining chromes and tall tailfins, its body painted pastel yellow.

Dilip couldn’t recognize the model, nor did he care. It was just one of many vintages his ship would keep safely tucked deep inside her bowels.

Behind him he heard snippets of Alejandro’s conversation with Quiros. The two exchanged some words in Spanish, probably about how they would return on the way back to Europe to pick up the remaining tourists.

 	For a taxi driver, the burly parrot was surprisingly astute. Havana might actually turn out pretty nice under his rule.

There was a click, and the door shut, marking Quiros’ hasty exit.

“Everything in order?” Dilip inquired.

“Should be.” Alejandro nodded. “I told him to contact us if he discovers any logistical need in the future. Just so we know what to be on the lookout for. And to send us reports on their fuel consumption. We really need to know how regularly they’ll need their fuel shipments if we want to set up trade routes.”

“Excellent foresight. Is Roberto-”

“He’s the one who asked me. Quiros doesn’t speak English, so I’m acting as an intermediary between the two. We’ve set up several parameters to keep an eye on for colonial development, and we also need to look into chemicals. For the fertilizer they need. Apparently, natural gas can be used to make it, so I was hoping we could obtain some from that fuel refinery we’re going for in Mexico. Better than flaring it as an unnecessary byproduct, no?”

“Hmmph, if we get access to that kind of production then it won’t be long before the lab in Havana will need an extension. I can’t fathom other colonies not wanting access to fertilizer. The potential output when paired with growth-boosting species is nothing to scoff at.” Dilip mused. “Nevertheless, it’s good to know we’re leaving with everything in order.”

“We may have some surprises from them too.” Alejandro idly noted. “All that divinity stuff that’s happened at the party and the… conversion of some locals that ensued courtesy of our one cleric...”

“Your point?”

“There was a civilization living in Cuba before Columbus turned up. The Taino. All gone now, but Quiros seemed mildly interested in discovering if their divinities had reappeared like the Celtic gods.”

“Aye…” Dilip looked up from the papers he was sorting through. “I guess we’ll know if he actually finds something. The Taino…”

The hyacinth macaw that was his Chief Officer quickly raised his claws.

“Nothing I know about them personally I’m afraid, Captain. For all I know they’re as much into blood gods as their continental neighbors were. And let’s not forget the Celtic stuff we’re acquainted to… I’ll be fair with Aleksei and admit Epona is rather benevolent, but they did have some pretty ruthless stuff in their pantheon. Ever looked up Toutatis?”

“Can’t say I have.” The D-Dog shook his head negatively. “Got some personal concerns of my own when it comes to religion. That altar I keep in my cabin… I’m still on the fence whether Hindu divinities are a thing like the ancient pantheons we heard of or if they’re as inert as all the Abrahamic sites we’ve come across.” He said. “Either way, we got a departure to manage before we think about that.”

It wasn’t long before Dilip moved off to the bridge to take command and get them out of port. All charts had already been prepared, and Schmitt had spent the better part of the morning firing up the cathedral engine that propelled Amandine. The ship’s entire hull was rumbling in anticipation.

The time had come to set sail once more.

An eclectic ballet then took place within minutes of him reaching the bridge. As the VHF crackled to life with all kinds of radio chatter, Rhine’s tugs could be seen parting the anti-monster net that blocked the fairway whilst locals amassed along the piers to help untie the vessels. In the middle of the cove, where Rhine Forest remained at anchor, the barge carrier’s gantry crane rumbled to life and began disgorging the escort boats Captain Lorelei felt were necessary for the passage.

Each of the merchant vessels slowly lumbered away from their weeks-long moorings and then proceeded to form a single file consisting of the entire fleet. Leading the way, one of Rhine’s torpedo escorts stood as a guard dog protecting the heavily-laden cargoes behind, each shining in the rising sun from their fresh coats of paint. Plumes of smokes erupted from funnels wide and narrow alike as engines long dormant were readied for the wide ocean. Then, with a parting cannonade fired from the Spanish fort’s guns, the long line of vessels steamed onward, leaving Cuba behind at long last.

The parade-worthy display didn’t last long however. As soon as the Cuban capital was nothing but a pinprick on the horizon, they split up. Fugro was bound for different waters than the other two vessels. They would head east, a three day voyage that would lead them towards the Lesser Antilles and their next port of call in Dominica…

And that was before considering the affairs that awaited in Brazil. This would take more time still, time spent without the protection the rest of the fleet and Rhine’s auxiliaries could offer.

Fugro wouldn’t be defenseless however. Contingencies had been made to ensure the ship wouldn’t be defenseless, both by making sure she’d be able to detect the storms caused by Charybdis’ pirates and thus avoid them, and by providing the ship with her own torpedoes, the same Mk46 that Rhine’s torpedo escorts used, keyed in to the ship’s extensive sonar gear and fired through the moonpool.

A little contingency Rhine’s trawlers had recovered from a naval station whilst they were dropping off tourists in Florida.

Along with enough machine guns to warm John Moses Browning’s heart. Those were always useful.

Meanwhile, the other two ships, Rhine Forest and Amandine, needed to sail for Mexico. A shorter trip than Dominica, a mere two days away from Havana at a decent pace that would lead them past the Yucatan peninsula and into the oil-rich gulf of Mexico. Their destination, Coatzacoalcos, was at the very south of the Bay of Campeche, in the state of Vera Cruz.

It also used to house no less than four petrochemical complexes with an adjoining tanker terminal and more shore tanks than most people saw in a lifetime.

Hence: the likeliest place if they wanted to add a refinery to their trade routes, and therefore replace the serviceable yet filter-soiling recycled fuel they had been using so far.

Up on the bridge, in his chair, Dilip smiled. All their plans of reviving industries and giving civilization the CPR it needed not to slide back towards a primitive state… it was all coming together.



 

Meanwhile, down in the engine control room, work was finally more than the mind-numbing task of keeping one generator running. With the ship underway, the humongous piece of machinery that was the main engine had come to life, its thrumming bulk easily visible through the control room’s observation windows.

And with it active, the atmosphere was affected, as usual. Even with the A/C running full-blast, temperature had gone up to a blistering heat paired up with the constant noise of sixteen large-bore cylinders turning at 600rpm.

The one person in the whole room that didn’t seem to mind it overly much was Schmitt. Unsurprisingly so, since the dragoness would have felt comfortable sitting on an open fire. Indeed her concerns were more about ensuring the cathedral engine was running in the green, particularly given it had stayed still for so long.

“Coolant loop status, please.” The orange-dragoness-in-orange-coveralls barked, hunched over a console that displayed the bow thruster’s status.

“Pressure is doing alright with one pump on the seawater circuit, with the booster before the main engine active. Recirculation is… fine. It’s got us running a bit hotter than necessary, but the automation is getting us there smoothly. No thermal shock to the system. The sea is just a bit warmer than expected, is all.” Angelo spoke up, fingers dancing over his keyboard as he peered at the data all the sensors were feeding. “Oil and freshwater loops are in the green across the board, buffers good… the engine is stable so long they don’t start screwing around with the engine telegraph up on the bridge.”

“Very well. Let’s hope it stays that way for the whole passage.” Schmitt nodded curtly, checking out a bunch of paperwork she had in her lap. “That was good work with the departure folks. Shift to underway readiness status and start a watch cycle. Nothing much beyond that… I want someone to run an inspection on the oil filters when we cycle them next. Clean up if necessary. And… Anton?”

“It’s Tanya now ma’am.” The griffon straightened up.

“My bad then. Hard to keep track of. Try a name tag maybe?” She apologized before grabbing a sheet of paper from her notes. “Here. Could you verify the inventory on spare parts for the bow thruster?”

The griffon took the list in her talons, eyes flicking over the items written down in there before she looked back towards the Chief Engineer with a hint of concern.

“Is there something wrong ma’am?” She inquired, and by the looks of it, the worries were shared by the rest of the department present in the room.

“Not anything urgent.” Schmitt reassured. “It’s only about weighing the pros and cons of working with machined parts. If you remember that’s what we’ve got fitted on the bow thruster right now. Thing is, we need to figure out whether it’s better to make the parts ourselves, have them commissioned from Belfast like we did when we repaired it after the collision, or if we’re better off buying spares from the HPI.”

“I could try and extrapolate the wear I see on these parts. Figure out how much runtime we get with HPI spares versus the machined stuff.” Angelo offered. “I’m no economics pro, but I can run you a basic comparison. Should tell us how long we’ll last on a full supply of parts too.”

The Chief Engineer stood up, stretching her leathery wings after several hours spent pouring over a console. She looked over her assembled subordinates.

“You do that. And for the watch cycle…” She looked at the clock. “I’m taking the eight-to-twelve. I want a roster in my cabin within the hour. One Engineer and one rating on duty per watch, two ratings ready to be called if necessary.” She paused, before turning to face Scarface. “As for you, you stick to the vehicle repair bay, but be ready to come over and help if we call, okay?”

“Crystal clear ma’am.” The scarred gargoyle nodded firmly.

After that, most folks filtered out of the room, no longer needed and eager to catch some rest before they had to take up their watch or attend to their daily maintenance duties. There was always plenty of stuff that needed fixing on a ship of Amandine’s size, more so given her tech level and the extensive automation.

This left Aleksei and Radiant the only ones present in engine control. She flicked a couple switches on her console, bringing up a view of the values she needed to keep an eye on to ensure everything was running in the green.

Then she hopped off her seat.

“Want a coffee, Radiant?” She offered.

“Uh? Yeah! Sure, thank you.” He jerked away from his notes.

She threw him a look as she went for the large thermos they kept in a corner of the room for watchstanders’ use. The cleric-engineer poured herself her usual: large mug with a generous helping of milk. And another black coffee for the pegasus.

“Studying?”

“Sort of.” The Pegasus waved a wing in a so-so gesture. “Angelo says I’m getting close to a proper level of training so I won’t have to be a cadet anymore… you know, converted from Equestrian to Human tech and all the fluff, but he wants me to prove it before he goes to Schmitt saying I’m ready.”

Aleksei went back to her seat and passed him his mug.

“To prove it?”

“Yeah. So he’s been making me draw up plans and schematics of nearly every system you could think of around the ship, writing down startup procedures, emergency checklists...” He sighed. “I get the reasoning, but he’s even got me listing off common focus points during maintenance and ‘mechanical quirks’.”

“Well...” Aleksei drawled. “The compressor can be a bit capricious if you don’t stroke it the right way.”

“And you guys didn’t think it was a good idea to correct the flaw?” Radiant deadpanned.

“It’s not really a flaw. It works just fine, alright? Only matter is the automation is a bit wonky and counterintuitive because of a wiring mistake nobody cares enough to fix but resulted in an accidental logic gate. You want to crack that box open and go in with a soldering iron?”

There was a brief pause.

“I’ll pass.” He finally said after he took a sip of his coffee. “Bound to replace the whole system sooner or later anyway when it breaks down. We got spares.”

“Doesn’t mean the installation will be pleasant though.” Aleksei warned. “It’s fine if it happens in port when everything is quiet… it’s definitely not if the compressor needs to be replaced when we’re underway.”

Rightly so. Most of the automation on ships ran on compressed air rather than electricity (a matter of reducing fire hazards), and large as Amandine’s air banks were, finding yourself without a compressor meant it was in limited supply, bound to run out eventually.

Moreso given that pneumatic tools were frequently used on board. Including to install new gear.

Hence: better hope the compressor breakdown occurs in port, otherwise it would turn into a race against the clock. It may not be as dangerous for a surface ship to run out of compressed air as it was to a submarine, but they still needed a lot of it on the daily.

“So has it ever happened to you?” Radiant asked.

“Only once.” She replied, casually stretching out her wings and cracking the joints. “Not on Amandine thankfully. Old ship. Took us the whole day to squeeze in the compressor, and a whole lot of swearing and fiddling with adapters to plug it into the system properly. Shouldn’t be that hard on this ship. The engine compartment has utility hatches to get parts inside, and we got sphinxes and Angelo’s muscles to help things along.”

From then on, the two of them quickly devolved into menial engineering talks and chatting about the quirks Amandine had. However modern she was, no machinery of that size was exempt of little issues operators needed to keep an eye out for.

And when the machinery runs more than 19MW of power through a diesel-electric plant, you really want to know how to stroke it the right way. Aleksei knew Angelo was joking when he referred to ‘machine-spirits’, but at times it really felt that way.

She was just getting to telling Radiant about the desalination plant when there was a flash of light in front of her. A little ‘pop’ rang out around the room, and then a sealed scroll dropped on the console right in front of Aleksei.

“What the...” She blinked owlishly, picking up the scroll in her talons, finding the seal holding it rolled up to share the same symbol as…

Morv’s Cutie Mark. A blazing horseshoe. She felt the heat rise up to her beak and her ears fold against the sides of her head.

“Uh, I had heard of such spells but I never thought I’d see it happen one day. Much less on Earth.” Radiant quipped.

“Care to explain?”

“What, you don’t know?” It was his turn to be surprised. “Aren’t you a cleric? Like… you’d know about magic, no?”

“Not that kind. I do fertility stuff. Rituals. Wards. Even a bit of evil cleansing on the side.” She hefted up the scroll. “That though? Not in my spellbook.”

“Ain’t that the mark of that stallion that swept you off your hooves at the party?” He remarked in a careful undertone.

“Could you not?” She warned. “And I was drunk either way.”

“Sure you were...” Radiant rolled his eyes.

Sheesh. For a stallion who was in a relationship with their radio operator, he was still hung up on her rejecting him?

“The spell?”

“It’s somewhat rare, but not unheard of for communication between mages, though I’ve heard of dragons being the ones to come up with the ability. Basically it’s a way to send a letter directly to someone you’re acquainted with if you know their magical imprint.” He explained. “Some say it was Starswirl the Bearded who copied the spell matrix off a dragon sage, all I know is Princess Sparkle used it a lot to communicate with her former mentor – that’s what popularized the spell in Equestria-, and since then it’s spread to impatient mages in need of instant correspondence. At least that’s the story in Equestria. No idea how they do it with human magic.”

She eyed the scroll again.

“Just a letter then?”

“Sent in what’s probably the fanciest manner I can think of, but yeah… just a letter.” Radiant nodded.

Aleksei’s mind flashed back to the words Epona had said about her son, and the way the two of them had parted back in Havana. She could feel the weight of the charm Morv’ had gifted her, hanging off her wing. The scroll carried his scent, and judging by the feel of magic in the air, his magic wasn’t too dissimilar from his mother’s. At least that’s the way it felt.

Before she could even realize she’d done it, she’d cracked open the seal with her talons.

She threw Radiant a look.

“Do you mind if...”

The gray pegasus shrugged and went back to his notes.

Morv’s letter was… succinct actually. Judging by the way it was written (in Breton, Morv’s preferred language), the stallion still was fairly unfamiliar with writing. The handwriting was haphazard, looking as though the stallion had needed a couple tries before he actually sent the letter.

Not unsurprising given that it shouldn’t have been more than a few weeks since he had been resurrected as a demigod Earth Pony rather than a horse. Given that, it was a testament to his wits that he got ‘civilized’ so quickly to begin with.

She read it, finding mentions of how he missed her, how he had gone to Brittany to try and restore the sunken city of Ys, how he wished she would drop her geas et cetera…

To be fair, the prospect of restoring an ancient floating city to its former glory was pretty damn interesting, and his tales of the ancient magics recently reanimated in Brittany garnered her interest as any good story would, but…

Aleksei couldn’t get her mind off the way he was referring to her in his letter.

Alyx.

 	That was certainly new.





“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU Radio for your daily broadcast. If you’re wondering how the world’s doing in this age, stick around then ‘cuz it’s the right frequency.” Sandra recited in a cheerful tone. “Sorry to say folks, I know she’s popular, but Lekan won’t be with us today. She’s assigned to another ship, and there isn’t much I can do about it while we’re underway.”

Sandra paused.

“Come to think of it… way I know you Lek’, I bet you’re listening. Try and keep your voice healthy, you’ve got a bunch of fans wanting to hear that sweet tone next time we’re ashore.” She laughed.

Must be the combination of the exotic Liberian accent and the tone of voice she sometimes took. Ornithians may be good at mimicking voices and sounds to replicate popular singers (Greet for instance had become pretty good at imitating Phil Collins), but Lekan’s voice was her own.

An asset good enough to have Roberto fall for her too. The exotic Savannah cat looks, the nice voice… Amandine’s Intel Officer could be a cold, practical-minded cat when he wanted, but Lekan had him purring in her lap at a flick of her tail. She didn’t even seem to mind the genderswap anymore.

“Jokes aside… the news is coming in as usual. This week you’ll have a podcast on salvaging electronic components for your colony courtesy of Carlos on Wednesday… and for today I got something else.

First off: colonial news. We already had hints of the stuff, but I’m surprised to say they contacted us on their own this time. By this I mean a colony in Quebec. Saguenay to be precise. It’s… interesting. Not a big colony by any stretch of imagination, but interesting in its own right.

You see folks, there is always this problem with industrial pollution. While nuclear reactors have been dealt with so they won’t go into meltdown and destroy any hope of development, such is not the case with other industries. I can cite Gothenburg for chemical pollution to such an extent that the city is unlivable and probably will remain that way for a while, then there were cases of more localized damage such as Havana where the oil complex caught fire and rendered an entire sector of the city uninhabitable…

Saguenay is one such case, and bauxite pollution seems to be their problem. Most of the city center and Chicoutimi have been turned into some sort of wasteland from all the bauxite dust they got floating in the air and coating everything. Anytime they want to salvage stuff from town they need respirators and ventilated vehicles, otherwise they’ve been pushed back into the foothills making log cabins.”

Sandra paused to gulp down a bit of water and to check on her notes.

“Oh and if you were wondering… Quebec gets a mix of deer, reindeer and ponies apparently. Seems like ponies are really widespread in North America. Either way, these folks seem to stick to the woods around Saguenay and not the town itself. The logger’s life they called it or something. For folks living next to a huge cloud of red dust, they sounded pretty happy when I interviewed them.”

And chances were some of the tourists they dropped off in Florida might reach them eventually, if they didn’t stop for one reason or another during their journey. 

Which hopefully didn’t mean ‘dead due to monster/bandit’. At least the pirates she knew wouldn’t cause them trouble. With those storms following them around, they were pretty easy to track down if you had access to satellite pictures.

Three of them, plus the big one in Tierra Del Fuego. The one that had attacked Sao Paulo had crossed over to West Africa, and the other two were another problem entirely because they kept to the Pacific.

Still… pirates and colonies were not the only topic she wanted to broach today. Two lights blinked on her computer’s screen, one red telling the batpony she was recording, and one blue telling she was on the line with one of her contacts.

“Now for something I’m sure won’t make me popular with younger audiences… school and education. Sorry kids.” Sandra started, using one membraned wing to flip through her notes. “And to help me with that topic, I’ve got one teacher here on the line for you. Can we get a presentation please?”

“Hello people...” A masculine voice rang out a bit hesitantly, its heavy French accent tinted with the slight crackle that always came with satellite telephony. “Happy to be on air here with you. My name is Pauline – and if you’re wondering: the answer is yes, like a third of the population-, I live in the colony of Trecesson in France and I’m the local schoolteacher. Before we all vanished, I used to teach CM 1 and 2 classes in Rennes-”

“Mister Pauline, sorry to interrupt but we’re talking about an audience from all around the world. Can you clarify what those classes were? CM 1 and 2 I mean?” Sandra politely halted him.

“Oh pardon.” There was a noise Sandra was reliably certain was Pauline putting a hoof on his muzzle in embarrassment. “In France we have those names for specific years in school. CM – cours moyen- corresponds to the last years of primary schooling.”

“Primary school teacher then. I take it you’re mostly doing the same now?”

“In a fashion.” Pauline confirmed. “You see, it’s difficult to assemble a proper class. There aren’t many people to begin with, plus... I’m sure many of you are aware of the youthening effect the transformation can have when you come back. Though it’s admittedly less drastic than gender and species, it does pose a problem. For one you have adults being put in the body of children in the most extreme form, but for most it’s just a few years shaved off.”

“I can see why that would be a problem with kids.”

“Yes! I’ll admit in many cases the kids can tell you how old they are, but when they can’t... It’s already hard to guess how old they are physically because we haven’t been those species for more than a year, but then you have to guess the youthening factor to tell how old the kid actually is. And we’ve had some clever ones try and pretend they were actually adults.” He sighed.

“Ask them about taxes just to be sure?” Sandra joked.

“That’s the gist of it.” Pauline laughed briefly. “But as you can see, it’s already complicated enough. How kids develop has an effect on what you should be trying to teach them at a certain age, and if I’m honest it’s very likely kids of different species will not develop at the same speed or even in the same manner… yet lacking knowledge of how, I’m constrained to stick to human processes. You understand?”

“Sounds like it’s more of a matter for primary schooling. Teens are more...” She searched for words. “Flexible I’d say?”

“Probably not as much as you think they are.” Pauline warned. “Still, I’m a primary school teacher. That’s what I know more about. I’ve been trying my best with the small group of foals and fawns I’m teaching to examine how their mental development may be affected, but you won’t see results regarding that topic for a good while. The sample size is just too small.” He deplored.

“I believe you also had a proposal?”

“Oui c’est vrai.” Pauline replied in french. “I know most colonies don’t have teachers yet since there are so few of us, and most people don’t know what to teach to a kid at which stage. I do. I can’t give you specific curriculums since I only have them in french and kids should first focus on their own language, but what I can give you is the broad strokes. Call it a guide to homeschooling, but to anyone that’s willing to send me an e-mail, I’ll eagerly tell you how to check a kid’s developmental level and we’ll start from there OK? It’s crucial the next generation gets their education, otherwise all those efforts of rebuilding will peter out once we grow old.”

“Thank you mister Pauline. Peeps… you heard him. I have his address written down in my contacts… so it’s the usual contact method. You want in, I’ll get you in touch. And of course if there’s anyone out here with experience in the field of education, I’m sure Pauline wouldn’t mind the assistance, hmm?”

“Yes of course. Pediatricians and preschool teachers would help a lot. I know stuff, but I won’t claim to know it all. Merci et bonne journée.” He said before cutting the connection.

“Well, there you have it folks. It’s far from perfect I know, but at least it ought to point you in the right direction. Up next we’re getting into classics with Ring of fire from Johnny Cash.” Sandra concluded her podcast, flipping a switch with the tip of her hoof to follow up with the next track on the playlist.





The end of September and the arrival of autumn had come with the usual changes in Narvik. Slowly but surely the region was transiting away from the midnight sun that had been so prevalent back when Gunnar first reappeared and received a visit from those WSU guys. The days were getting shorter, and, with the ensuing lack of sunlight, chillier. Already the snow covering the mountaintops was starting its downhill trek towards the shoreline, however far it still was from reaching the harbor.

He had even caught Sven complaining about how cold it was flying near the summit with the wind chill at night.

Gunnar didn’t mind. As a reindeer he may be able to fly, but he never really flew up to such heights, unlike his ski station-dwelling friend. He hardly cared about the cold, what with the impressively warm coat of fur his species was graced with and that he was starting to grow into at the turn of the season.

In fact he was actually feeling better than he had back in July.

With a grunt he squashed the butt of his cigarette against the asphalt of the quays and took hold of the little supply cart he kept on his boat to transport supplies ashore. It was night, not a time he would ever have expected to come to town for trade but… things had changed.

He was referring to the dwarves, obviously.

Peculiar little creatures they were. Not only were they completely different from what Tolkien had popularized, they had this… uniqueness about them that never stopped surprising you.

Exhibit A: names. While they did have names just like those few dwarves Gunnar remembered from the Edda, they weren’t very inclined to share them with strangers. In fact, they were about as pruddish with name sharing as they were with hiding their bodies from sight underneath those intricate suits of armor they always wore.

Actual names like the ones written in the Edda? Those they shared with Kings, Gods, and intimate relationships. And Gunnar was fucking no dwarf.

On the other hoof, it wasn’t rude to refer to one by the symbols they decorated their armors with. Actually they were proud of it, since one’s armor was self-made and a display of craftsmanship among them.

Rule of thumb when trading with them: drop a compliment about their armor. That won’t get you a price cut, but they’ll be less likely to try and fleece you.

And don’t comment on their natural features. Don’t ever mention them. The average dwarf is more angsty about their natural appearance under the armor than most emo teens could ever hope to be.

The funny thing? Those little details were only the beginning of an underworld-dwelling race with a lifestyle so drastically different from surface beings you couldn’t begin explaining the topic in one afternoon, and every time Gunnar went back to the night market for a sale, he learned something new. 

Around him, several masts and hulls shared the marina despite the late hour. The dwarven market only took place once a week when the little craftsmen made their way down the mountainside at night, and few of the locals would miss the opportunity. Much less Gunnar. He knew he had stuff the little beings actually desired.

With a smirk, the Norwegian reindeer pulled his supply-laden cart into the converted warehouse they used as a trading hall. Dim, red light greeted his eyes as his ears reflexively folded against the back of his head from the noise inside the building. The red light was there as the middle ground between the darkness the dwarves preferred and what locals needed. Trading could only really take place there in the hall, mostly due to language differences and the fact Agmund needed to set up translation wards to make commerce possible in the first place. Dwarves didn’t speak modern Norwegian.

Many of the short armor-clad figures were there. Some were haggling behind their stalls, others were inspecting what wares the folks from above the surface were trying to sell them, eager to discover some new material the underworld couldn’t provide, or modern technology they could pick apart and try to figure out.

Gunnar didn’t bother with that.

He had his deals already. Over the few weeks since the encounter in the mine with Sven and Agmund, the farmer had carefully ensured the dwarves developed a taste for surface food, a drastic improvement over the bland produce they made and what little they imported from Svartalfheim.

Although… food was only the biggest part of his trading as far as bulk went. In terms of value...

That merit went to those little mana stones he collected off the convergence point near his farm. The little glowing blue crystals, as it turned out, were a very precious resource to dwarves. Those little gleaming sigils and runes you sometimes spotted on their tools and suits of armor?

Enchantments.

Their kind didn’t seem to have the fancy divinity-granted powers a cleric would have, nor the generally useful telekinesis and flight of reindeer, but what they lacked in obvious magical talent, they made up for (like most things) with their craft by imbuing their creation with raw magic.

And to achieve that, they either needed to make or modify whatever object they made in a place of high magic, or to include the magic-made-material that were mana stones in the crafting process. At least that was how Gunnar understood it in the broad lines.

	Pushing past the small crowds gathered haggling over goods around stalls, he went for the dwarf he had a contract with in a corner of the market hall, a broad member of his kind with an anvil emblazoned over his breastplate and a raven-shaped face mask hiding the part of his face his thick mossy beard couldn’t. Their deal? A simple affair: produce from the farm delivered on a weekly basis in exchange for small sets of rune stones designed to keep his fields warm and fertile during winter. Sometimes he even asked for coins. The dwarf miners had a mint, and it had actually grown to become the go-to money around Narvik. A better alternative to common bartering… though some grumbled because it made them dependent on dwarven economy.

More than the cart filled with produce, he also carried a little pouch with nail-sized mana stones collected over the past week. Far more valuable than vegetables – and the few animals he’d sold the dwarves-, they were what he used to trade with them for enchanted tools.

Or just to send off some parts to have them enchanted. Such as the sets of rototiller blades he got back from the smith, each now rendered both impervious to rust, and with a surface that wouldn’t let dirt stick to it. Simple, but with little stuff like that applied to all his tools (he’d have to spare a bit more stones to have his actual tractor-pulled plow enchanted), the rune stones to protect his fields from the bitter touch of winter and help keep the soil fertile, Gunnar was looking at some neat ways to keep up his production and cut down maintenance costs.

That night, the reindeer left the market hall with a satisfied smirk. Magic, dwarves, those were actually rather good for business. He might actually wind up as the one farmer that kept putting out produce throughout the year without even resorting to greenhouses. Or even fertilizer.





	Morgane watched the two ponies leave from her tower’s window, their visit done after a little experiment that made her attention linger over that pegasus mare that was trotting after Lord Rockhoof. Miles was it?

She was one example of why Merlin wanted to make spells stick in the first place. It was… actually hard to believe. The fay lady clutched her staff in thought. She had used a couple spells to swap gender in the past, if only to mess with unfaithful knights in need of a lesson.

Here there was a difference though. The knights? Most cases she set a time limit to her spells and the transformation would last exactly however long she wanted it to. One week as a peasant girl was all knights needed to get off their high horses in most cases.

Miles though? She had briefly turned her into a stallion, much to the pegasus’ satisfaction… until she shrank back into a feminine form not five minutes after Morgane had cast her spell. Progress still: that was a whole minute longer than Merlin’s latest attempt.

“Your thoughts?” Merlin’s ghost asked behind her in Latin.

She looked down into the palm of her hand, the wrinkled one marked with dark ogham script which she used for darker magics, so as not to mess with the many enchantments that kept her a youthful fay maiden.

“It’s garnered my curiosity, that much I can tell you. The spells do work exactly as they’re supposed to, but it seems like the problem is how both their magics cooperate to reject the intrusive witchery.” She finally said after a minute. She stroked her chin pensively with her good hand. “I am genuinely amazed it works out that way on its own.”

“As I am, although it doesn’t help our cause any.” Starswirl shook his head. “Magic and its mysteries you know? For all that the other half of my soul could research on Equus, there is nothing I could obtain that would yield some insight into the matter so unique it is.”

Morgane threw him a look. She knew him enough to believe there was something he wasn’t saying there. Maybe the wizard had more of a… hoof in humans being turned into ponies than he really let on.

Not that Merlin ever was someone you could easily extract answers from.

“Convenient excuse if I’ve ever heard any.” She said acidly.

“Oh come off it Morgane, we both know how much you’d gain from having hexes stick. You always had a knack for messing with people.” The ghost laughed lightly. “If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have had to fix up so many of Arthur’s knights once you were through with them.”

“That wouldn’t have been necessary if they actually practiced the humility they preached and left me alone.”

Merlin paused for a brief second before he tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. That… wasn’t completely untrue, though they certainly weren’t the worst bunch to roam the lands in their time, far from it. Meatheads or not, they meant well, even if their status meant they sometimes hadn’t fully grasped the concept of ‘no’.

	For a few minutes, the two of them remained in silence as Morgane kept staring out the window, her attention now focused on the underground lake that surrounded her dwelling. Absently, she was drumming her nails on the windowsill, each little tap on her wrinkled hand punctuated by the rise of thin inky vapors.

“I was meaning to ask...” Merlin finally broke the silence.

“No you can’t have your tibia back.” She snapped before the ghost could finish his sentence.

“Rude. One would believe anyone would be entitled to the possession of their own bones.”

“Not when I’m studying it.”

“And why, pray tell, dost thy need to study mine tibia so fervently?”

Without saying a word, she raised her hand – the youthful one- and flicked her fingers. There was the click of a lock being opened behind them, and out of a little chest flew Merlin’s wayward bone. From the outside, it looked fairly normal for a bone that had spent more than a millennium buried underneath a menhir, albeit most likely fragile.

“I find this little kernel of your history to be really fascinating, Merlin. It tells you a whole lot about a person, what they’re willing to inflict to themselves for the sake of power.”

“I don’t get what you’re talking about...” Merlin chuckled awkwardly, one ethereal hand reaching to stroke his beard.

Morgane snapped her fingers, and with a crack his tibia shattered in a dozen pieces, fully revealing its insides in all their rune-engraved, mana stone-filled glory. The bone may be old and brittle, but the enchantments were still potent, and the mana stones aglow with magic.

Merlin’s hand halted its stroking motion. He cringed.

“There’s a reason I took your bone and not your staff.” She finally turned away from the window and looked him in the eye. “Always too curious to stop your research, no? Was it worth it?”

“Well… it was rather painful to engrave it...”

“Figures.” She pointed a hand back towards the table. “Take a seat. Explanations are overdue and you’ll be here a while longer yet.”
> Chapter 90: So you scoop out the marrow and take a chisel...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The passage to Mexico had been rather uneventful, save maybe for some wind gusts halfway through when they passed the Yucatan Peninsula. The wind increased wave height a notch, though it posed little trouble, save maybe for Rhine’s torpedo escorts who experienced some amount of discomfort due to their smaller size. Barring that, the biggest issue they faced was when the Chief Cook forgot to fasten the trash cans to the railing and a particularly strong gust of wind blew them overboard.

As small problems often do, it blew out of proportions, rather unnecessarily so. Folks don’t always get along, and it showed when Rahul (the Chief Cook) and Artyom held a shouting contest in the cafeteria regarding which of the two was actually responsible for the incident, since it was the bosun who had asked Rahul to move the trash cans (a matter of putting a fresh coat of paint over the accommodation since rust was starting to show) and the black labrador Diamond-Dog had felt it was implied that the Russian would put them back and reattach them. It didn’t go much further than shouting before the problem caught Dilip’s ears and he intervened.

Few on board spoke Marathi, but judging by the tone of the scolding when the Captain met his fellow Indian, and by the sour look the cook sported afterwards, Dilip had decided to side against his compatriot rather than against Artyom. Rahul had then dragged his paws back to the galley, a new set of cleaning duties now garnishing the cook’s already cluttered schedule for the next week.

After that… the mood for the rest of the passage to Mexico was noticeably tenser, the cheery mood with which they had left Havana all but gone.

Dilip had seen worse, and he knew it would only get better from there on. It took a whole lot more than the cook and the bosun throwing a hissy fit for a crew to truly become dysfunctional, and Amandine’s sailors were too professional to let that happen. Sailors were people too, and people made mistakes and didn’t always get along. Rahul and Artyom didn’t have to get along, they just needed to work together.

Beyond the concerns of crew relations and discipline, the fleet carried on with the passage through the Gulf of Mexico and past the many abandoned and derelict platforms that dotted its waters. By this point it had become clear that only the fixed platforms remained, floating platforms - apparently- fell under the vehicle clause and had been whisked away much like any occupied vehicle would. Of the structure, only the turrets that would normally connect them to the oil wells and subsea templates remained. Not connected to anything, the turrets floated in place like humongous buoys outfitted with christmas trees and pressure relief valves. Some had already sunk below the surf, the only hint of their presence being the odd bubbles of natural gas that floated up to the surface.

The fixed platforms that remained tended to be closer to the shore, or built wherever the seabed rose enough to allow this type of structure. None seemed to have caused an oil slick, instead becoming orange rust-covered nesting grounds for scores of seabirds, and for that they had to thank the engineering behind their construction.

Left unattended, most had fallen back to inbuilt emergency devices in the form of pressure release valves and other devices imbedded along the well to vent nearly all of the leftover pressure in their respective wells, meaning ludicrous quantities of natural gas had been flared for days after their former operators vanished… it rendered all of those oil pockets basically unusable without severe effort, but it also meant they hadn’t leaked crude oil into the seawater. An ill for a good, in a fashion. Only a serious group of survivors would be able to pump anything out of them, and that would require injecting some serious amounts of stuff to have a chance of seeing oil come out of the wellhead.

“Shouldn’t we be a bit more concerned about that by the way? I mean… reason why we’re going to Mexico in the first place is for the refinery.” Alejandro asked Roberto over lunch whilst awkwardly sipping from a bowl of soup.

It being awkward because beaks weren’t really suited for liquid food. You got used to it – you only really needed to tilt your head at the right angle to make it work-, but the gesture could hardly be called elegant and he’d rather go for a spoon… if they weren’t all in the wash. By comparison, the cat sitting across from the Chief Officer looked like he had the table manners of a noble, if a bit annoyed by the heavy scent of spices that permeated the cafeteria and galley at any hour of the day.

Part of the sacrifices you had to make to accommodate a mixed crowd of carnivores and herbivores, though it looked like the latter was slowly growing accustomed to the initially nauseating smell of meat, so really: it was a bit of a gamble whether or not all those spices really were necessary.

Would that stop Nguyen and Rahul from putting an ungodly amount of spices in the food? ‘course not.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Roberto replied after a few seconds. “Sure it’s a lot of wells beyond use, but there are still plenty of turrets ready to be exploited, undersea templates that should be fine for a couple years more provided they were up to standards, and some wells don’t even have surface units anymore. The pipeline just goes straight to shore facilities. And then...” The feline shrugged as he ripped the top off a milk carton with an extended claw. “… we tend to ignore those in our line of work, but inshore wells are still a thing. That’s not as much production as offshore wells, but then again we don’t need a thousandth of the oil production the industry could muster before the Event. Population divided by ten thousand implies needs are divided as wall. And that’s with all colonies and the whole fleet accounted for, without even resorting to recycling fuel. We don’t need many wells to sustain ourselves to begin with.”

He paused, throwing a look over his shoulder at a table off in the corner of the room. It was currently occupied by a small group of Diamond Dogs, Abyssinians and the odd parrot quietly chatting in Spanish. The absence of Amandine’s trademark orange coveralls made them stand out starkly from the other occupants of the cafeteria.

Mexicans. Tourists from Cuba in need of a repatriation.

“Plus it’s not like we don’t have any reasons to visit Mexico either.” Roberto jerked his thumb towards the wayward tourists. “These guys need to be dropped off, and the intel we got from the HPI says there are some locals. Any colony is worth contacting, no? Moreso if they can man a refinery.”

Alejandro put down his soup bowl and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“I’d be… cautious still. With what we encountered in Savannah, there’s a very real risk criminal elements might have made an attempt to seize control, and what Mexico can put out is a whole league beyond mere escaped convicts.”

“Cartels?” Roberto’s ear twitched.

Alej’ nodded slowly.

“I talked about it with the Captain. And some of our tourists there.” The hyacinth macaw jerked his head towards the Mexicans. His crest of feathers bobbed slightly at the motion. “According to them, it’s not the region with the highest cartel presence in the country… but there’s a risk the strategic value of all these refineries got their attention.”

“And what are we supposed to do about it then?” A rough, feminine voice with a vaguely germanic accent made itself known behind them.

A second later, an orange dragoness whose scale color was a near-perfect match for that of her oil-stained coveralls sat down at their table. Her blue eyes were pointedly looking towards Alejandro as she dug into her plate, skewering a piece of meat with the tip of a bronze-colored claw and showing it inside her maw.

Schmitt. Their Chief Engineer.

“Hey, how goes the machinery?”

“Ready for arrival this evening. My question?” She insisted.

“There isn’t much we can do until we actually know what’s happening there.” Alej’ told. “Best we can do is keep a hand on our guns and an eye out for trouble, but anything more than that might cause trouble with the locals if those concerns are unfounded. Damn sure all the combat vehicles will have their guns loaded though.”

On that last sentence, the Chief Officer stood up from his seat and gave both Schmitt and Roberto a curt nod.

“Now, if you two don’t mind I’m supposed to supervise our entry into port and it’s only a couple hours away. I want to review those charts, and the tidal calculations aren’t complete yet. Last thing we want is to ground ourselves in the fairway, no?”

“If you could avoid that, that would be great yes.”



	

Visibility upon arrival in Mexico was… rather poor. While the weather had been rather fair to the fleet up until them with a rather dry stay in Havana and little trouble as far as wind went given what could be expected of the Carribean islands… Coatzacoalcos was in full-blown monsoon when they hit the shore. Torrential rains greeted their arrival, fat droplets of water that relentlessly pelted against the bridge’s windows and almost blocked the view entirely, even with the wipers running frantically across the glass. Up above them, the lights of the early evening were but a dim penumbra because of the thick gray cloud cover above them. The skies rumbled. Off in the distance, the penumbra lit up as a bolt of lightning impacted against an abandoned antenna on a hilltop.

Up on the bridge, Alejandro glared at the radar screen in mild annoyance, talons fiddling with the rain clutter knob in an attempt to rid the display of the myriad of little yellow spots caused by the rain. It worked… but they wouldn’t be detecting anything long range that day.

Eh, at least he could spot the buoys on radar, and a quick check with the GPS showed they hadn’t drifted out of position. Not too far at least.

Plus for all the rain there was, the winds had dropped to an intensity mild enough that he didn’t have to call off the entry into port. Those were always a concern. You could maneuver with high winds, albeit with difficulty, but getting the ship tied up alongside while the side of the hull acted much like a sail might very well result in snapped mooring lines and injured personnel.

Not today though. Decreasing her speed down from her normal seagoing pace, Amandine took the lead of the little two-ship-convoy and headed for the breakwaters that marked the entrance into the fairway at the mouth of the river. Two cables across. Not a wide fit, but Alejandro had sailed enough with Amandine not to stress over such stuff. Large a lady as she was, their ship was actually remarkably maneuverable, even without her bow thruster.

Gotta thank having two propellers with pitch control for that.

With a smile on his beak, Alejandro looked up from his displays to give the next helm order. Port ten. He waited a couple seconds. Decrease to port 5. Now to just stay lined up with the leading lights…

Hold on, what?

The parrot did a double take, eyes flicking back and forth between his ECDIS and the bridge windows. Most of the buoys weren’t lit, implying nobody had come to repair them when they stopped lighting up at night… though they were still visible against the muddy waters around the fairway.

The leading lights, on the other claw, were shining brightly through the curtains of rainwater falling down upon them.

Leading lights were an easy concept to grasp, and a common sight in a mariner’s life many ports used to guide ships. Two different lights mounted on masts set at different heights. Line up with them, and then you’re on the right track. Easy.

That they were active to begin with was a surprise that Alejandro most certainly wasn’t going to turn down.

As far as ports went, Coatzacoalcos was actually pretty straightforward to get into. It was built at the mouth of the river the city shared its name with, and two narrow breakwaters extended out like prongs, surrounding the estuary. As a side effect, it provided a decently safe bay within the breakwaters for lesser ships like trawlers and sailboats to moor and anchor while larger vessels travelled further upriver. The waters were muddy, carrying clumps of dirt and fallen leaves dragged into the river by the heavy rainfall. Around the bay, the city extended, fairly large, yet unimpressive with blockish architecture, cracked paint and very few buildings rising above the three story mark, most of them showing signs of damage and overgrowth.

At a guess, Alejandro would wager the reason why the city was more than a little town was owed to the oil industry providing a large influx of cash in the last fifty years. It just didn’t have the hallmark of a former colonial trading post.

From then on, navigation split two ways: west followed the natural course of the river upstream where there were still a couple quays deep enough to accommodate seagoing vessels until a low-hanging bridge blocked off any further traffic, and east.

East was an artificial channel that veered off the main course of the river and dug less than a mile inland before it opened up to a vaguely square-shaped cove. The PEMEX – Mexico’s federally-owned oil conglomerate- terminal, a vast petrochemical complex comprising multiple refineries and chemical plants, responsible for most of the town’s wealth and strategic importance thanks to its ability to process all kinds of oil products from fuels to fertilizers and plastics.

At least according to what intel Roberto had managed to put together.

And there came further details on what had surprised Alejandro. More so than just the leading lights installed within the perimeter of the petrochemical complex, the entire installation was aglow: orange sodium lights, blinking aircraft warning lights at the top of the installations, the pale white of neons… it was as though someone had set up shop there, flipped the breakers, and turned off everything to ward off the night.

A myriad of chicksans, pipeline connections and elaborate gantries lined the shores of the cove with piers and berths in various states of disrepair that would normally allow tankers and chemical freighters to dock and connect themselves to the complex network of pipelines, valves and storage units that made up the petrochemical complex… and it was only one among several spread out across the region.

Still, as with any structure after the Event, signs of disrepair showed. Though not completely rust-covered, much of the installations were starting to veer towards the orange side of the spectrum in places, and the not-quite-jungle vegetation that sprouted around the area was already making attempts at reclaiming the structures, vines creeping up the fences on the eastern edge of the complex, unkempt hedges and decorative vegetation around the office side, the list went on.

On the far eastern side of the cove, next to piles of rubble that at some point must have been a construction site that never saw completion, was the wreck of one little coastal freighter. Judging by the algae-covered chains welded to its sides and the sizable holes rust had managed to sear in its sunken flanks, it was already there well before the Event occurred, likely a ship that had been impounded for one reason or another.

Not only were the lights on -a good sign already-, but signs of occupation could be found elsewhere. Fences had been reinforced with layers upon layers of barbed wire, plates of corrugated steel and whatever else the locals could find to ensure nothing slipped inside the maze that was the refinery. Easily piercing through the veil of rain, searchlights were set up at regular intervals, scanning both the cove and the outer perimeters for intruders. A few lingered on Amandine for a few minutes before they resumed their usual pattern.

Paired with the thin plume of flame of gas being vented and white smoke columns… all that light, rust and overgrowth added up to give the whole complex a surreal outlook. Whoever was occupying the refinery may be doing their best, but industrial complexes didn’t have the luxury of coming back with full complements as vehicles and ships did, and large refineries required equally large pools of manpower to function at peak efficiency and – more importantly- to be maintained properly.

Merchant vessels the size of Amandine and Rhine Forest always were hard to miss, so it was no surprise when they saw flickers of movement along the refinery’s gangways after the searchlights noticed them. As they kept sailing for the center of the cove, more hints of activity came up: silhouettes in high-vis coveralls, flashlights being turned on, the news of their arrival was traveling up the chain of command. A fair distance away from the shoreline, lights turned on inside a fairly large office building, a sign more of the locals were being alerted of their presence.

No sign of aggression however, which eased up some of the tension Alejandro was feeling. He caught himself repeatedly flicking a ball point pen in his pocket before he sneaked a look towards Dilip. The Captain was sitting in his chair, calmly looking out the window, surveying the situation.

“Our course of action, Captain?” He inquired.

The D-Dog drummed his digits against his armrest, quietly stroking the side of his muzzle with the other paw. He eyed Rhine Forest, over on their starboard side where the barge carrier had taken position, holding.

“Did Lorelei say anything over the radio?”

“Nay. Nothing else beyond the fact she’s deferring to us on this. She doesn’t have any Spanish-speakers on hand… hoof… mierda, you get what I mean.”

“Very well...” He frowned slightly. “Try hailing the locals over the VHF. They ought to have some walkie-talkie on hand even if they don’t have proper radios. It is a port terminal. We’ll go the diplomatic route and avoid mooring just yet. Ask them for permission, see if they’re willing to let us in.”

It didn’t take more than a few repeated calls across a couple channels before they finally got an answer. They had surprised the local returnees during dinnertime, but they were willing to receive them. Not immediately though. The guy on the other end of the line – one Samuel- told Alej’ it was way too late to ‘recall folks to the plant’ and have them tie up alongside, so the two ships would have to spend the night anchored in the cove before they met them next morning.

“Excellent.” Dilip stood up slowly. “Consider yourself free to go Chief, I’ll handle the anchoring from now on.”

“Captain?” The parrot tilted his head to the side.

“I don’t know if they have more English-speakers than Havana had, but we’ll need you well-rested to handle diplomacy.” His superior told him. “Catch some rest and try to have a chat with Roberto about how to…” He searched for words, snapping his digits a few times. “How to best present our organization I guess? This installation is of prime strategic value, we must get them into an agreement with us.”

“What if they’re...”

“Bad guys?”

Alej’ nodded slowly. Dilip turned his head towards the refinery with a light frown. Multiple silhouettes could be seen through the rain, observing them but staying at a respectable distance. Some… were armed.

Then again so was basically everyone in the fleet.

“The Switzerland clause is still part of our MO so...” He trailed off. “No messing with their decisions. Only reason we’d have to intervene is if they turn out to be as bad as those bandits in Savannah. Otherwise… it’s not our right to intervene in how they decide to govern themselves. That said, I’ll make sure we have the veterans geared up for when we meet them if we need to bail out.”

Lots of ways this could go terribly wrong.



	

In the span of time Rhine and Amandine had taken to journey towards Mexico, Fugro had headed in the opposite direction, headed for Dominica. A shorter journey, yet one that took about as much time for the other vessel. She wasn’t quite as fast as the other two vessels, though she could still achieve a respectable 14 knots. Not a record-breaking speed, but not bad for an offshore support vessel.

Vessels of that type never were meant to get anywhere fast, and that was hardly a problem to Captain Skinner.

Nor was reaching Dominica much of a problem. Their passage from Cuba to the diminutive island in the Lesser Antilles took them east along Cuba’s northern shores and its signature cayos, little islets that dotted the shoreline like miniature, idyllic archipelagos forming sheltered creeks and coves in stark contrast with the steeper shoreline found around Havana. Past that, they sailed along Hispaniola’s northern shores, passing the second-biggest island of the Greater Antilles before they slipped south in a gap between the islands just short of Puerto Rico.

And then… that was one last stretch east-south-east towards Dominica.

Simple, but there was a bit of charm that came with sailing around islands in the Caribbean sea.

Their destination was reached in short order, first appearing as a big yellow blotch on their radar screens before the island’s steep verdant slopes appeared over the horizon. In contrast with the almost perfectly flat relief of islands found in the Bahamas – glorified sandbanks really-, and the balanced relief found among the larger islands of the Greater Antilles, the Lesser Antilles had a volcanic nature that was pretty hard to miss at a glance. Most islands were diminutive in size, yet with a jungle-covered landscape that quickly rose up from the shoreline and towards mountainous summits. The typical volcano shape, one that didn’t lend itself to the construction of many buildings, or to agriculture. There were only a select few areas on such islands that could be turned to producing food, no more than a few plantations.

It was no surprise then that its pre-Event economy would have been… weak, to put it mildly. Dependent on a tourism industry that usually preferred other islands, with limited local industry that was highly vulnerable to foreign concurrence, it was no surprise the island had never truly blossomed.

And it wouldn’t be blossoming for a good while after the Event either. Steep inclines and abundant rainfall had a nasty habit of creating landslides, and being left with a nearly-nil population for an extended amount of time meant that not enough folks had been there to stave off ground erosion.

Add to that a strong hurricane season and magically-induced storms from when those demon-pirates had passed through the area… and the ensuing damage was extensive. Upon arrival in Roseau, the island’s capital, they found it almost completely reduced to rubble. Its position at the end of a valley meant debris from higher up in the island had been funneled into town just as the foundations of nearly all buildings in the town’s upper reaches slipped right from underneath them, carrying humongous amounts of mud and rubble all the way up to the shore where a scant few buildings were still standing, next to a ravaged pier Skinner had initially hoped they’d moor at.

Good luck doing that now.

“Holy shit...” Quinn muttered under his breath, the short black dragon occupying the role of Chief Officer was gaping at the sight, his sentiment echoed by most of the crew present on the bridge when they arrived.

There had been some nasty cases of abandonment and overgrowth in their previous ports of call, they had seen some burned down towns in Northern Ireland, and they had heard of the flooding in Savannah and wider Georgia too… but devastation on that scale? That was something else.

And yet recent intel reports from the HPI pointed to activity on the island. There were returnees that had survived… that.

“Quinn...” Skinner finally said after spending a couple minutes observing the damage from the bridge’s windows before the sun finally set with not a single light illuminating Roseau’s ruins. “It’s too late to dispatch a lifeboat ashore today, so get down to the sick bay and ask the doc if she’s got any experience with the kind of sicknesses disasters like that usually come with. Think uh… cholera and the like. I’d wager a fair sum of money the locals aren’t doing too good.”

“But where are they? I’m not seeing a single light here!” Quinn erupted, waving an arm towards the ruins. The dragon’s nostrils were letting out thin plumes of smoke.

“That’s the second part. They must have gone somewhere, so scrounge up a chart of the island and try to identify places that might have withstood the damage or that could offer shelter. We’ll… explore around and try to find some clues. Tomorrow.”



	

Merlin stared across the table at Morgane. The fay had reassembled his missing tibia and was now casually sipping from a glass of wine as she stared back at him expectantly. The tibia laid between them on the table, the enchanted bone thrummed with power. Every now and then, a small spark of stray magic would pop out with a fizzle.

“So… why would you do that?” She set down her wine and asked. “Why engrave your bones?”

“Sounds obvious to me.” The ghost replied defensively. “You ought to be clever enough to put the pieces together.”

Morgane leaned forward, the purple embers that stood in for her eyes pierced through his translucent form.

“I’m also clever enough to recognize the potential danger in assumptions, and I’m giving you a chance not to further tarnish what little esteem I have left for you.”

“How kind of you.” He scoffed.

“Quit acting like you even have a semblance of moral superiority. You’re in Arthur’s court no longer, you’re dead, and most of all: you need me. Unless you want to tell your friend Rockhoof his transportation issues will never be solved and that Miss Miles will forever remain a mare, then you better start giving out answers right about now. So… this enchanted bone, was it yet another of your grabs at power?”

“That’s rich coming from a former court maiden who used magic to turn herself into a fay.”

“Merlin...” Morgane’s sharp nails dug into the table and drew shallow gouges in the wood.

“Fine!” He finally relented. “Have your answers if you want. Judge me. Those enchantments on my tibia… you probably noticed but I used to have some over my entire skeleton to various extents. Skull included. It’s… the best means I had at the time to extend my magical prowess when I plateau-ed.”

“Lust for power then.” She sniffed. “How predictable…”

He ignored the jab. No matter what kind of argument he conjured up, he knew the dark fay would just fall back to her usual accusations. But really, at the time he started engraving his bones and inserting mana stones in his bone marrow, he needed a quick power boost. Both as Merlin and as Starswirl, and when his little pet project of turning himself into an alicorn panned out...

Alicorns were the same type of species as fay in that only female specimens existed. And if you’re not willing to take that kind of step forward, it gets really limiting for a mage. Hitting peak performance? You could turn into a lich or a demon… with the obvious consequences that typically ensue. Sprites and elementals usually had severe limitations, and most other non-human species likewise were limited by intrinsic ties to certain divinities.

Yet here he was way back. Already a powerful mage with access to the arcane might of two renowned casters at the same time and the advantages that came with being two persons at once… yet Arthur’s adventures kept raising the stakes and he was constantly racing for more power, more spells, more mana.

Talk about being stuck.

The reasoning that followed seemed simple then. Magic circles, spell matrices, mana stones and artificial foci. All core concepts of being a mage and the source of most casters’ powers. So what if he always had direct access to them? As in… that even stark naked, he could never be separated from them? After all, as Starswirl, he never was separated from his horn. So what if he did something similar as Merlin?

Therein laid the difference. He had only ever done it with his Merlin half. Starswirl the unicorn didn’t need it, much less when he discovered the boost carried over between his bodies. If he didn’t need to go through the excruciating pain that was engraving his own bones and ingesting enough potions to knock out an ox just to make sure he didn’t reject the changes, then he certainly wouldn’t be putting himself through the ordeal twice over.

Still… the pain was worth the boons. He had started off small, and from then on proceeded to expand on it for years until Camlann happened. Foci to be able to cast without a staff (though it still helped), mana stones and gems to enhance his energy stores, wards for protection against attacks mental, physical and arcane, premade spells for quick casts like teleportation, shields and telekinesis, enhanced strength and vigor...

You named it, he had a bone engraved for it. Years of work.

It only stopped when he went into exile, after the battle of Camlann, after the battle of Arfderydd… when Morgane managed to trap him and entomb his human half under a menhir. Incidentally, that happened at the exact same time his pony half became stuck thanks to the Stygian incident.

The flow of power and information between both halves, what used to be a wide rushing river, became but a trickle. Starswirl forgot about Merlin. Merlin withered under his tomb and became a ghost, slumbering as human magic withered away and his life became legend.

Before the Event brought it all back to life and reunited both halves.

“When?” Morgane asked.

“I started doing it shortly after Arthur received Excalibur.” He said. “As for the… ghostly contingency...” He waved a hand over his own ethereal form. “It was there from the start. I made sure my bones would not become a phylactery by accident – too prone to corruption-so my soul is anchored thanks to my… inter-worldly nature if you will. I’m forever tied to the boundary between Earth and Equus until such a time that all the substance of both my souls will be consumed.”

“So you don’t actually need your skeleton anymore?”

He shook his head.

“How do I put it? The inter-world divide is a strange concept that I’m only now starting to unravel. I can tap into it for power, and I’ve even found a way to create immaterial versions of those same engravings I did on my skeleton… thanks to you telling me how to create a plane of existence actually. The wards, the enhancements, I have them now, and unlike the skeleton, they’re not prone to corruption. Still…” He tentatively rested his gaze on the tibia on the table. “I do still hold my own skeleton dearly.”

“I’m not giving it back.” Morgane retorted sharply.

“Why do you even need a tibia for?!” Merlin exclaimed loudly, standing up from his seat.

Morgane smirked lightly before casually picking up the bone and running a single nail over its length, purple sparks of magic erupting from the contact point as the air hissed.

“Why, it’s a powerful item that you no longer need, and my material-bound self thinks it might make for a pretty decent wand. A foil to my own staff if you will.” She told him offhandedly. “Maybe I’ll pass it on to a student in the future? I mean, you have one yourself, so maybe I ought to find a returnee myself? A young lady with some potential, hmm? Or a doe rather… I ought to ‘modernize’ my speech patterns, so to speak.”

“There is a very good reason as to why I’m training Martin.”

“I’m aware. The forest has ears, you know?” She smiled, flicking her fingers and sending Merlin’s tibia back where she usually kept it. “Better hope that fawn of yours doesn’t get your habit of putting his nose -pardon me: his snout- where he shouldn’t. That said, knowing you have an apprentice has rekindled the interest in my poor old withered soul.”

“If you’re back to making accusations then I guess you’ve had your fill of explanations?” Merlin ground out slowly, not sitting back down.

“As far as what can be casually discussed around a table?” She paused to finish her wine, one little red drop trickling down the corner of her mouth as she smiled predatorily. “Yes. But you’re not in the clear just yet. Those bone engravings, I’ll need you to write it all down in detail for me. Just telling me the gist of it isn’t enough, understand?”

With a flick of her fingers, she summoned a roll of parchment from an alcove behind her.

“I guess it won’t hurt...” Merlin relented.

“Unlike you I’d rather collect that information and hold on to it rather than use it on myself in an excruciatingly painful ritual. There’s the difference between you and me.” She gloated.

“Don’t play it off as though you don’t have a track record yourself Morgane. If anything you’re as guilty as I am when it comes to the darker arcane arts, unlike Vivian.” He countered, using his telekinesis to grab a quill off Morgane’s shelves. “Your taste in decoration doesn’t help either, regardless of whether you’re using it to drive off hecklers or not. I mean… goat skulls? Really?”

Morgane just propped an elbow on the table and held her chin in the palm of her hand.

“So now you’re actually responding to the verbal jousting? Why I thought I had accidentally stolen your spine for a while.”

“Nay, I ensured it was properly relocated this time, before Vivian decides to mimic you and blackmail me for my jawbone or something.” He snarked as he began jotting down the process behind bone enchanting. “I’d hate to be at the mercy of those followers she’s gathered around herself… which reminds me I’ll need to check them out.”

“You probably should.” Morgane said more seriously. “Those familiars I send to her domain for our usual correspondence told me they were a bit… zealot-ish so to speak. And if crows can pick up on it, it’s something you should be aware of.”

“All the more reason to be careful then. Vivian has a vengeful streak you don’t share and enough reasons to dislike me such that might hinder Trecesson. Do you know if...”

“Cernunnos?”

“Is she in on his deal?”

“Probably. Otherwise I suspect the Horned God wouldn’t have let her set up a colony in the first place.”

Merlin paused in his writing.

“That might help with diplomacy then. I can’t fathom him allowing petty wars within Broceliande’s borders, though I’ll have to look into the details an-”

He halted mid-sentence, a thrill of alarm going down his spine. Across from him, Morgane went still for a fraction of a second before her staff flew into her hand and purple magic erupted around the room. Something had entered Broceliande, something potent enough to trigger their wards. As his fay… acquaintance was doing, he summoned up his staff and began casting scanning spells in quick succession to figure out what it was that was coming and where exactly it was going.

Vague images started flicking back to the forefront of his mind. Shapes, a vague sense of direction, it was large… He scowled. Still too far from him to reliably scan.

With a curt goodbye, he teleported back to Trecesson. He’d need his gear in his tower to figure it out.

On Morgane’s table, the parchment lay unfinished with only the beginnings of the bone enchantment ritual on them.



	

	Being anchored in the middle of the cove and waiting for the next day didn’t mean activity on Amandine had wound down to a standstill, far from it. Deep within the holds, sailors could still be found hurrying from one end of the ship to the other.

The rumor mill was running in overdrive with various kinds of speculations as to what awaited them went they went ashore the next day, and most of the upper ranks were grasping at straws trying to figure out how to go about first contact in the most diplomatic way possible without exposing themselves to anything should the locals turn out to be of the unfriendly kind.

On the main deck, the rumble of an engine signalled Micha had gone ahead with her idea of moving some of their combat vehicles next to the side ramps. Anything went wrong, and they’d be dropped halfway open to allow the Piranhas and the CV90 to fire freely.

At the same time, throngs of sailors started bringing ammunition to the armory where they started filling up spare mags, both of the deadly kind with live rounds, and the… lesser-lethal kind by bringing the FN303 riot guns out of storage. Because in a world where the amount of sentient beings has been reduced by a factor of ten thousand, the last thing you want is to further cull what’s left of the population.

“Or commit the usual mistake and pull out the less lethal stuff when you meant to kill your target. Right Scarface?” Thanasis joked.

“Why, fuck you too.” The gargoyle rolled his eyes as the whole recce team was gathered around a workbench inside the armory, preparing their gear after Bart brought it out of storage for them. “It only happened the one time, and that was months ago. You wanna comment about the fact you can’t hit the broadside of a barn?”

Across from him, the sphinx with the tan fur and reddish mane recoiled as if struck.

“Not fair! Not all of us are veterans.” He protested.

“True, but with the range time you’ve clocked every time the opportunity presented itself, one would think you’d actually improve, no?” Scarface casually commented with a light smirk as he finished reassembling his SCAR, racking it a few times to ensure it was properly oiled.

A few meters away from the two, Aleksei settled on ignoring the weak jabs the two were throwing at each other. Bizarrely enough, it would be down to the recce team to escort Alejandro and the Captain ashore and ensure their safety. Probably because she had some magic that could help with first contact, and Dilip wanted to keep the three veterans that weren’t on her team in reserve as marksmen. She completed the last checks on her gear and Radiant’s. The pegasus now officially counted as part of the recce team, and enough time on board had seen that he now had gear that properly fitted his form.

The matter with him was that unlike most of the crew that had either hands or telekinesis to handle the fine stuff – barring Sandra, but the radio operator batpony was a non-combatant-, he didn’t have that luxury and had required… adequate measures to ensure he’d be able to fight alongside her team.

As a result? Bart had devised a sort of battle-saddle under Radiant’s advice which he had based off of the same K9 armor ponies generally stuck to (whereas larger species like griffons and hippogriffs could use human armor, if adequately modified). The pegasus had a pair of holsters on either side of his barrel under each wing. One for the same hybrid FNC-Ak 5 the whole crew used, another for the less-lethal FN303, both designed so he’d be able to fire them prone, standing or flying.

It had its issues though. The extended triggers he could activate with his hooves still required him to toggle the safety with his primaries, and he couldn’t reload while in the air, but he would be able to fight.

“So how does it fit?” She asked him, sitting down on her haunches after helping the pegasus adjust a few straps.

“Snugly I guess? It’s heavy.” Radiant grumbled, rolling his wings in their sockets and tugging at the armored collar with one hoof.

“It should be. You’re carrying a full combat load. You think you can fly, or should I tell Bart to come and remove some kevlar plates?”

He hesitated for a second.

“I should be able to… but I’ll probably remove the back plate anyway. It’s superfluous.”

“Okay… now...” She tapped a talon against the side of her beak. “Let’s test those mechanisms. Triggers?”

The gray-coated pegasus flipped a small latch on his chest, and a pair of shiny levers appeared on either side of his barrel, just in reach of his forehooves. Aleksei had him dry-fire either, practice his reloads, inspect the targeting system…

Which technically were just a pair of lasers mounted to the barrel of either gun, but that was his primary aiming system. The other was a small scope mounted on a spring alongside the saddle, though… parallax was a bitch on the accuracy and it was less than ideal to use the system when on the move. That made it even worse, because if he stopped and came to a halt he might as well unhitch his gun from the saddle and fire it the regular way. He may not be able to pull the trigger with his hooves, but his primaries could do the job in a pinch.

“Still… for Bart’s first attempt at crafting a battle saddle it’s not half-bad.” Radiant commented, impressed. “I swear the Royal Guard’s armorers would appreciate the design at least. I think. They’re mostly unicorns.”

“That you can tell him in person.” She jabbed a talon towards the area of the armory where the unicorn was inspecting some guns. “You going to be okay with that thing then?”

“Well… I was never much of a fighter, but you can rely on me. Promise. Normally I’d say I’d be your eye in the sky but...”

“I know. The whole recce team can fly.” She smiled, giving him a pat on the back. “Just stick with us and everything will be fine.”

“Let’s hope it will.” He sighed. “Now what?”

Aleksei surveyed the team. Scarface and Thanasis were still bickering, but their gear was ready, as was hers and Radiant’s.

“Captain wants us in high readiness. You can take off the armor, but don’t let it out of your sight. You’re free to roam around the ship and catch some rest, just keep your walkie-talkie on. I want the team assembled by the boat davit within five minutes when we’re called up, okay?”

“Anything else?”

“You’re armed.” She said. “That means no alcohol, no prancing about the main deck so we don’t scare the locals, and if I find you without your guns in the same room I’ll dunk your head in the sewage tank, copy?”

“Crystal ma’am.” Radiant straightened up.

Her beak parted in a small smile. She stood up.

“Good. Sorry if that seemed rude, but I’d rather set it straight from the beginning. Pray, play, do whatever you want so long that you’re on time when the call comes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On that note, she was off to her own cabin. She had her own affairs to tend to, the usual cleric stuff, some prayers, maybe a protection ritual or two to aid her team and make sure everything went smoothly…

And then there was her correspondence with Morv’. The magical exchange of letters was almost daily now, and last she heard of the demigod stallion, he sounded like he was about to find the ruins of that sunken city he was after. He said he was looking around… Douarnenez was it?

He could certainly conjure up some interesting tales and topics in those letters, and Aleksei was glad Epona taught her how to send them back.

Too bad the goddess endlessly teased her about her infatuated son.
> Chapter 91: Into the Jungle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Dominica, Skinner hadn’t waited long after sunrise to dispatch his crew and begin the search for survivors. Not an hour after the sun peeked above the horizon, one of Fugro’s lifeboats was already nearing the shoreline. A pair of sailors hopped off in ankle-deep water and dragged the small craft the rest of the way over the pebbles that covered the beach just before the seawall.

Lacking any quay to moor alongside of, sending lifeboats ashore was the best they could manage. Such was the extent of the damage in Roseau.

Skinner surveyed their surroundings. From up-close, the carnage was even worse. Torrential rains must have caused mudflows at one point or another, and now mixed with the mud and dirt were debris and pieces of vegetation dragged there from much further inland. On the beach, you could hardly walk more than a few steps in one direction without stumbling on one piece of detritus the waves were pushing back ashore. A few ways away, swarms of flies clustered around a dead dog, its rotting paws trapped in chicken wire.

The seafront looked bad… or its ruins rather. At one point, colorful shops and businesses meant to accommodate the tourists that streamed in from the cruise terminal, now it was a coin toss whether they were completely destroyed, or just had their lower floors filled with mud and debris. One storefront, likely a car rental at some point, was now garnished with the backside of a sedan protruding out of the facade, with the rest of its products irrevocably destroyed: a pile of wrecked cars on the seawall, some of which had fallen on the cruise terminal and cut off the pier from the shore.

Fugro would have to stay anchored then.

“Captain, orders?” An ice blue reindeer asked behind him.

Mia. His Second Officer, a Norwegian. She… didn’t look like she was enjoying the tropical heat. Not much of a surprise there with the fur.

“Just keep to the plan.” Skinner turned around to face her, reaching for his cargo pocket from which he pulled out a chart of the island.

More of a satellite picture with highlights added on top, but it wasn’t like the roads were usable anymore. And GPS would still work fine for a couple years more.

Idly, he wondered if the HPI might send up more satellites to compensate for those that fell out of orbit. They were a space program offshoot, weren’t they?

“I’ll be taking my team into the mountains to try and find survivors. You and your guys, you’re on salvage duty.” He paused, tapping a digit against several red dots that had been drawn on the map. “Locate the ruins of the port authority and get us any intel you can on the area. Charts, manifests of what passed through the area, and if we’re lucky whether or not there were shore tanks we can get recyclable fuel from. Then… there should be… havebeen a hospital about three kilometers north-east of here. Medical supplies are always good, so you get us anything you find that’s still usable, OK?”

“Is there even a chance there’s anything left there?” She questioned.

“We won’t know until we check.” Another feminine – if a bit raspy- voice belonging to one pink teenage (read: human-sized) dragon with a red cross armband joined in.

Lilian. Their shipboard doctor.

“Look, we have no idea how many survivors we’ll find or how many may need medical assistance...” Lilian continued. “… but we’ll have other ports scheduled up after Dominica, and our medical stores were only ever designed for the crew. Can’t afford to run out, can we?”

“I’ll check then.” Mia nodded firmly.

“Good. Remember to keep an eye out for monsters, the guns aren’t just for show.” Skinner reminded, folding up his map. “Stay safe.”

Sorting through all that rubble and salvaging what she could ought to take Mia the whole day. By Skinner’s reckoning, that was about how long it would take him and his team to make the trek uphill and… find survivors. Hopefully. Dominica wasn’t exactly raising his hopes very high, and initial HPI scans evaluated the population at below 30. Before the floods.

With him he took Lilian and a pair of sailors as escorts, all of them armed and equipped to deal with what they may encounter… though Lilian insisted that as a medic she should only carry a pistol for self-defense and all.

Skinner was half-tempted to remind the dragoness she was a walking flamethrower.

Dominica wasn’t a big island. It wasn’t more than a few kilometers from the shore to the middle of the island… but that didn’t make it a cakewalk by any stretch of imagination. Getting out of Roseau’s ruins was a challenge in its own right, with not a single road left intact, fallen buildings, mud and debris blocking the way every other block, and the swarms of mosquitoes and other insects that had made a home of the puddles of stagnant water left behind by the floods. It was slow, it was annoying, and Fugro’s Captain caught himself swearing under his breath more than a few times when he stumbled on unearthed power lines or whatnot.

He wasn’t surprised the locals had made for the hills given the state of the island’s capital. Some had been there, he could see the signs, but they were long gone. The destroyed football stadium was filled with the remains of a makeshift supply depot and shanty town, some buildings bore loot markers in spray paint, and there were some odd… effigies built in certain spots or atop what few telephone poles remained.

Not a single survivor though, not even a body.

Dogs though? Plenty of them, and aggressive. Rabid half-starved mutts that tried to take a bite out of them before Skinner showed them how dangerous a hedgefog’s lightning attacks could be. His G36 helped, too. Feral packs were only ever dangerous to unarmed groups, they were cowardly. Kill a few and the rest will scamper away.

Following their map, Skinner led the little team through the mud and along the banks of the little river that snaked its way through town, following its rushing brown waters uphill and into a narrow valley past the outskirts of Roseau.

Skinner’s assumption was that, seeking refuge, survivors would have fled the damaged lowlands and taken residence way up in the mountains around the water reservoirs, just short of the caldera of Dominica’s volcanic peaks.

Reaching them however…

Beyond Roseau, dense jungle occupied the island’s steep slopes as they edges upwards towards the summits. Swarms of insects buzzed around them as a sailor took the lead and started hacking away at the vines that hung in the way while they did their best to follow the general path of what used to be a road, now just a few pieces of asphalt and concrete hidden beneath vines and shrubbery along the banks of the river.

There were ruined buildings too, but the damage was lesser, moreso if the buildings were far enough from the river’s rushing waters. Most of that damage wasn’t so much the mudflows’ fault, as it was that of sheer overgrowth and humidity. The air was thick, a damp, heavy blanket that fell on your shoulders and made it harder to breathe.

“Sheesh, this island really got hit rough didn’t it?” Lilian commented as they passed by a pickup truck that had fallen in the river when the banks collapsed. Only its bed remained visible now, with a few plastic drums desperately hanging by a cargo strap in the current.

“No surprise here.” Skinner paused, one ear flicking as he caught the sound of a twig cracking over the rushing waters of the river. “Hurricane, magic storm, nobody to fix it… The local geography doesn’t help either.”

“Captain?” One of his sailors – a female Abyssinian-spoke up. “I don’t mean to sound paranoid but… those effigies...” She gestured towards the opposite bank of the river where one of those odd totem-esque carvings was hung from the roofless rafters of a ruined house.

“I see these Praveen.”

“Shouldn’t we be worried?” She insisted, worriedly running her paws over her rifle. “I… I get a bad feeling from these.” Praveen added, tail lashing behind her.

“We should and I am.” Skinner slowly said.

He wasn’t one to ignore such worries. While he could somewhat get behind the surge of popularity Celtic faith had experienced across the fleet since Cuba, not all ancient divinities were as benevolent. That and Abyssinians were empaths or prescients.

Disregarding one’s worries would be ill-advised.

“Doesn’t change our goal however.” The Captain said. “We still need to find survivors. Come on… but keep an eye out. I got a feeling we’re not alone here.”

Onward they pushed into the jungle, following the course of the river as the flanks of the valley closed in around them the further uphill they went. Ruins became increasingly rarer, as the center of the island was only sparsely populated prior to the Event.

The effigies began appearing more frequently then, wood carvings held together with twine depicting three different creatures, along with odd symbols none in the team of four could decipher, covering any ruin they passed along the way.

“You think it’s something demonic?” Lilian asked the Captain as they passed by a ruined toolshed, its thin metallic walls covered in the white symbols.

How did they even make it? It wasn’t paint for sure, nor rubber. Ground rocks and sap maybe? She couldn’t tell.

“Doesn’t feel like it is. I’ve looked at pictures of demonic summoning circles. The symbols don’t match.” Skinner grunted, batting at a swarm of mosquitoes with his hand, tail lashing behind him in a similar motion.

Eh, at least with all the quills and fur he had as an hedgefog it wasn’t as bad as if he had human skin. Electric bursts worked well enough to zap mosquitoes.

They continued their uphill journey, passing by several narrow valleys and gorges that connected to the bigger one they were following, each with little waterfalls and ponds that at one point might have attracted tourists.

Not any longer. Several had become inaccessible, blocked off by rubble and debris. Loose soil tinted the water, turning it brown. It clarified a thing: the only potable water you’d find there, was up in the hills.

Shortly before noon, they finally reached the first notable landmark since they’d left Roseau behind. Not quite near the top of the island, still a fair walk below the altitude where you’d find the reservoirs.

A small hydroelectric dam. Not a big one, it wouldn’t have accounted for more than a fraction of the island’s electricity production prior to the Event, but it was nevertheless a reliable power source survivors would likely have tapped into.

Except they didn’t.

When Skinner pushed past a large fern and finally came into sight of the large gray concrete structure with the odd orange spot of rusted metal… there was no sound of a running turbine layered over the rushing of the water. The electric poles were all but collapsed into the river bed, the windows of the control station were hollow, shattered. Nearby, a cable car station that would have taken people to the caldera of the nearest volcano was naught but a ruin, its cables snapped and the cars lying on their side inside the building or forgotten in the depths of the jungle.

Slowly, the four sailors crept up towards the structure, finding it covered in fallen leaves and soil. A flock of parrots scattered when they neared it. Their irate caws reverberated around the canopy. At one point it may have been decently maintained, but now the cracks in the building were showing. Already the concrete was showing signs of being gnawed at by the sheer humidity of the jungle that surrounded them. Roots and vines dug into the masonry, and the branches overhead looked as though they were reaching for the dam, eager to reclaim nature’s domain. It wouldn’t be too long before the dam breached, further dooming anything downstream of it (as if that wasn’t bad enough already).

And like much of the ruins they had found along the way, symbols and effigies had been raised around the structure, still with the same three figures. This time though, Skinner found the dam’s door barred and held shut with twine and palm leaves.

“So much for finding survivors, uh?” Lilian deplored. “I guess they went elsewhere. Wasn’t there an old British fort north of the island? They could have gone there.” The dragoness mentioned, moving over to one of the effigies. Flicking a claw, she cut the piece of twine that kept it hanging from a nearby branch and picked it up.

It was exactly what you’d expect from pre-Columbian civilizations in the Antilles. A rough carving made from a single piece of wood on which you could see each singular incision. The effigy was painted in places, with that same white gunky pigment used to paint those symbols all over the place. It depicted a female figure with generous forms, exaggerated facial features and an appearance that was… sort of at the halfway point between a frog and a human?

The feeling of magic was also pretty hard to miss. Lilian ran a claw over its surface in curiosity. Behind her, Skinner and the two sailors gathered around the map to figure out where to go next.

Skinner was just about to order that they keep going uphill when he spotted Praveen going still. The Abyssinian’s fur stood on its end, tail fluffing up, perfectly rigid.

“Is-” He began, but didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Praveen sprang up and tackled him, right in time to avoid the flurry of darts that whizzed at them from the treetops. Three of them embedded themselves in his map with sharp ‘thwacks’. Their companion wasn’t so lucky. The parrot looked down at the small dart protruding from his arm before his eyes glazed over and drowsiness overtook him. Marcos was down for the count.

Maybe taking the Chief Cook on an expedition wasn’t the brightest of ideas. Skinner would have to apologize.

“Contact!” He yelled out loud, struggling with the strap that held his G36 across his chest.

All around, the jungle burst to life. Foliage rustled in the canopy, yells rang out, and darts descended upon the three sailors still standing. 

“The dam! Get inside!” He ordered, running for the unconscious form of his Chief Cook and grabbing the burly  parrot by the back strap of his combat vest.

Several darts flew his way, but he was a hedgefog. Still running, he shifted to fog form and the projectiles phased through his form harmlessly before he shifted to material form again. Behind him, Praveen stood next to the dam’s door, the feline’s claws were out and she was hacking at the twine keeping the door shut.

As for Lilian...

	‘Tink!’

Half a dozen darts pinged harmlessly off her scales, and the dragoness scrambled for the nearest piece of cover. She dropped the tribal effigy she’d been holding and fumbled for her pistol, swearing in Irish Gaelic all the way through.

Inside. Gotta get inside. The thoughts raced through Skinner’s mind as he did his best alternating between pulling the burly Chief Cook towards the dam and turning into fog to avoid the darts.

He looked back towards the building. Praveen was by the door. Unconscious with a trio of darts in her arm. There was only so much an Abyssinian’s prescience could do it seemed...

“Damnitdamnitdarnit!” He yelled, his Scottish accent coming through thicker on the last one. “Lilian! Tae door!” He ordered the medic.

Not much good. The pink dragoness had taken cover behind a chest-high railing and wasn’t showing any sign of poking her head out as darts bounced off the metal. Skinner looked back towards the jungle surrounding them. He could see flashes of color here and there. Feathers. But no actual shape to aim for. With one hand, he tried to reach for his radio as he kept pulling the unconscious Marcos towards the building.

And then it came into view with an ear-shattering roar.

Out of the jungle, it sprang. A body of wood and leaves, with ferns sprouting out of its neck much like a mane and white warpaint adorning its bark body, the timberwolf glared at Skinner through amber-colored eyes that clashed with any picture the Scot had seen of the species. He was pretty sure they should be green.

The fact it had an Ornithian as its rider was also a surprise, and the parrot’s glare was pretty much a match for that of his mount. He was a macaw, with the fiery red feathers of scarlet macaws, wearing almost nothing save for warpaint, necklaces, bracelets and a small satchel. In his claws was an obsidian club, and across his back, an ornate blowpipe.

The rest happened in but a few seconds. The timberwolf rider charged him, he turned to fog and let him sail right through him…

Except the rider wasn’t aiming for him and went for Lilian. The dragoness found herself pinned against the nearest wall by a hulking mass of vegetation, not even getting enough time to release a gout of fire before the rider swung his club and sent her into the realm of dreams.

And in the time it took for that to happen, a squawk resounded above Skinner. He swung around, still in fog form, seeing a hippogriff dive for him from the treetops.

	Well... shit. A cloudwalker.

Fog form or not, he sure felt the pair of hooves hitting him in the gut so hard he flew across the dam, walkie-talkie slipping from his paws.

“Sunuva...” He half-growled, cradling his stomach.

The walkie-talkie was just in reach. If he could just contact the ship, then maybe… He began crawling forward, one paw extended forward. Before he could reach it however, the timberwolf rider picked it up and tossed it to the same hippogriff that had knocked him to the ground.

Skinner craned his neck to look him in the eye. The warrior shook his head disdainfully. He said something, but Skinner didn’t understand. Was that Creole? Pidgin English? He couldn’t tell.

“What did we even do to you?” Skinner mumbled. “We were here to help...”

He didn’t get a reply. The warrior swung his club, and the world went dark.	





Amandine and Rhine Forest’s venture in Mexico was going a bit better than what Fugro was experiencing. Early in the morning, a team composed of Dilip, Alejandro, and Amandine’s recce team was lowered in the water in the MOB boat before the little craft left the larger ship’s side in the middle of the cove to approach the quays.

The rain had let up by them, allowing for a clearer look at their surroundings. Forestry that was quite jungle was visible in the distance, sharing the area with marshlands and small meadows along the banks of the river. Most of the terrain around the outer edge of the refinery was kept clear. A means to make sure if anything sprang out of the trees, they’d have the time to see it coming.

But the installation was quiet. Disturbingly so. As the little orange craft crept closer, the gantries and walkways above them remained bereft of guards. A few curious Diamond-Dogs and Abyssinians, even the odd parrot, came to look at the new arrivals over the edge of the tall quays, but they’d twist their heads back and hurry away, as though someone had ordered them to step away.

Thankfully, most of them were wearing coveralls. Dilip would have been more worried if the attire was casual, or worse, military fatigues. He was aware of the grapevine. The tourists they were repatriating were worried, wondering what cartel might want a refinery for themselves. Los Zetas and Jalisco Nueva Generacion were thrown around a lot, as known to operate in the area, though presence in Coatzacoalcos was supposed to be limited. Most cartels focused on the American border.

Then again, borders weren’t worth much anymore, but fuel was, and the Bay of Campeche had plenty to spare.

“Sir?” Aleksei spoke up from behind the helm of the boat. “We’re approaching the quay. Any second thoughts?”

“So long that you’re up with your magic? None.” The sea dog replied, idly brushing the shoulder of his uniform. He didn’t carry more than the Congo sword and his revolver on his person, having made sure the white pilot shirt and his ranks would highlight his status. “Alej’? Any doubts?”

The hyacinth macaw was sitting in the front of the boat, carefully surveying the refinery’s gantries. The sentinels were hard to spot, but he’d seen a few well-hidden ones. Cats and dogs eyeing them vigilantly, with their guns casually hanging off their straps. Yes, they had as much of a backup at the ready as the sailors had.

Not that you could blame anyone for being armed in a world where monsters were out to eat your face.

“No, let’s carry on. Hands off the guns though, if that wasn’t obvious.” He said, already preparing himself for the frustrating experience that was the difference between European and Latin American Spanish. He sighed.

As if Cuban accents hadn’t been bad enough.

They tied up the boat alongside the quay, one meant to fit vessels the size of Amandine instead of a mere boat, meaning the lot of them had to fly or climb up a barnacle-covered ladder just to reach the shore where they came face to face with the welcoming party.

In their direct vicinity were the tall humongous cylinders of the shore tanks and their white painted flanks that practically shone in the morning’s sunlight, a maze of gantries and pipelines connecting them to each other and offering excellent mobility for the overwatch teams keeping an eye on the visitors. Between the tanks were small sheds and pumping stations.

And as though there to greet them, was the PEMEX logo plastered as a giant stylized orange eagle head over one of the shore tanks.

Alejandro’s focus soon switched to the small crowd standing about a dozen meters in front of them. Various members of the three species they had already spotted around the place, all standing in front of a cluster of trucks that likely brought them there. Three figures stood out among them, leading the group.

One was a German shepherd of a Diamond Dog clad in coveralls. Short (shorter than Dilip at least), broad-shouldered and with a stern look on his muzzle. He had a plastic helmet pushing his ears to the sides, one with a mark that denoted his status as a foreman.

Not a fighter then, but important enough, and not the kind of person you’d want to piss off. He may only have a pistol, but that large wrench on his other hip? Not the kind of stuff you’d want to be on the receiving end of, much less given how much strength D-dogs had in their arms.

Number two was an Abyssinian. Much taller than the foreman (not really surprising given the species, the cats never were on the short side), he was covered in short, mottled black and orange fur with the one odd white blotch around his left eye that made their sharp hazel color stand out all the more. Thin of build, he cradled a heavily customized assault rifle between his paws as he observed them, rounded ears flicking slightly under the morning breeze.

He was also the only one wearing military fatigues in the group. On his assault vest were the letters ‘MARINA’ proudly displayed in white across his chest, with the name tag ‘Morterero’ slightly below.

The last of the three ‘leaders’ stood slightly behind the two, though she had no trouble looking over their heads. She was a Diamond-Dog, a border collie, and she had the large size that came with females of her species, standing a good head and a half taller than Dilip and with a lot more bulk to throw around.

Not ‘minotaur’ bulky, but nothing to scoff at still.

She stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a machine gun slung across her back, one belt draped over her shoulder, looking at them curiously. She wasn’t wearing coveralls, unlike most folks around the area. Instead, she sported a pair of heavy duty work pants, steel-toed shoes, and a tank top under the yellow vest that came with her hardhat.

Dilip squinted his eyes. There were already some conclusions from that.

The female D-Dog was a genderswap, that much was obvious. Those work pants showed old oil stains and hints of having been patched up several times over. She wasn’t new here, and he doubted you’d find many female blue collars in an oil refinery. Prior to the Event at least.

Judging by the way the others carried themselves around her, she was also above the foreman. An engineer then?

There was also the fact of their clothes. Usually there was a difference between when folks converted their clothes to their new forms, and when they had a professional do it for them. This was no exception, so either they were lucky and really talented, or the colony was big enough for a dedicated person to handle the sewing.

Still as far as clothing went… the locals’ coveralls were a mix of old and new. Supplementing trained personnel with post-Event hires then? Risky gamble in an oil refinery, unless they were confident in their ability to teach the recruits.

Silently, Dilip nodded towards Alejandro.

	Go ahead. Make first contact.

The hyacinth macaw cleared his throat.

“Greetings.” He began in Spanish as he took a step forward. “My name is Alejandro Mendoza. Chief Officer. We’re the World Seafarer Union. Estamos aquí para comerciar... y prestar ayuda también.”

“Xolotl.” The cat in the military fatigues said.

“I’m sorry what?” Alejandro’s head tilted to the side in genuine confusion.

“Just checking. We’ve had our issues.” The cat said, the look on his eyes suspicious. “You wouldn’t happen to venerate any kind of death or blood god, do you?”

“Oh shit...” His eyes widened. “It’s really a thing around here? Cultists, ancient gods, they’re real?”

“I’m afraid so. Trouble’s found a way to combine our worst ills… and you haven’t answered my question. Death god, yes or no?”

“No!” Alej’ quickly replied in a squawk. “We’re not cultists! Closest we got is Aleksei back here, and she’s just a priestess for a goddess of fertility and equines. No blood sacrifices I promise!” He raised his claws to placate them. “Worst thing she can do is some healing and midwifery… and I guess the contraception cantrips are neat too.”

The whole group of locals turned their gazes to look at the shapely hippogriff hen in the back of the group. Aleksei noticed, and she shifted a bit awkwardly on her hooves, giving them a wave.

“No dark rituals?”

“None whatsoever.” Alejandro reassured. “It’s Celtic, we picked it up when we stopped in Northern Ireland. Haven’t had any problem with it so far.”

There was a short pause. The border collie bitch pulled her two fellow leaders in a huddle and they chatted quietly for a few seconds before all three nodded. They separated. The military cat took a step back, while the border collie advanced.

“Very well then.” She spoke up in heavily accented English. “We’ll believe you’re not bloodthirsty cultists. You’re from Spain right? The accent doesn’t lie.”

“W-wait, you speak English? And yes. I’m from Galicia.”

“I was sent to get my degree in America before I came back to work here. Helps with the language.” She explained, casually putting one paw on her hip. “You can call me Carmelita. Kitty-cat with the gun back there goes by Samuel, security chief if you hadn’t guessed. And our forepup here is Enrique.” She nodded towards the German shepherd by her side. “He manages the work crews.”

“Well met.” Dilip took a step forward and extended a paw for Carmelita to shake. “I’m Captain Prateek of M/V Amandine. The grey Ro-Ro.” He added, jabbing a thumb towards his own vessel.

“Encantada.” She shook his paw firmly. “You people can’t be sicarios, yet I’m seeing a lot of guns in your group, and I’d wager your backup is on your ship, no?”

Dilip faltered. She smirked.

“Gotcha. What gives?”

“I… ahem, I apologize for the extent of the measures we’re taking, but concerns rose across the fleet due to past experiences with monsters and bandits. We have Mexicans on board we’re supposed to repatriate and some of the things they said...” He trailed off with a grimace, feeling a bit intimidated by the taller dog in front of him.

“Cartels. I get it.” Carmelita sighed. “It is what it is… and not completely unfounded if I’m being honest.” She shook her head ruefully, dropping her arm to her side. “You said you were there to trade and help?”

Dilip nodded.

“We’ve been doing this in a couple colonies already. Last one was Havana. We can provide technical assistance you may need to better set up your colony, fix up some stuff, and what we ask in return is a trade agreement to commerce with other colonies. Here...” He waved an arm at their surroundings. “Should be obvious. Plenty of colonies relying on oil for electricity, and an oil recycler can only take you so far.”

Carmelita raised her head at that.

“I’m sorry. ‘Oil recycler’ you said?”

“It’s a device we made to combat fuel spoilage. It’s… well, it works.” He grimaced. “But the amount of polluted water it generates to clean up old fuel is less than ideal I’ll admit.”

In front of him, he saw her work her muzzle a few times before she looked up at the sky. It was clear, with just a few passing clouds. Without lowering her gaze, she spoke up in Spanish.

“Sam, Enrique, you can go back to your own business. I’ll handle it from here.”

“You sure?” Samuel asked, still eyeing the sailors with a bit of suspicion. “We barely know them.”

“I said you could go, not to drop the whole security detail.” She rolled her eyes. “No estoy loca. Just keep it subtle.”

“Fine.” He relented. “I’ll be at the barracks training the militia.”

“Spanish-speaker here. Just heard that.” Alejandro raised his claw sarcastically.

“Wasn’t trying to hide it.” She smirked again. “Besides if you’re going to keep your armed backup on hand, I don’t see why I should dismiss mine. Now, why don’t you folks call up the sailors from the other ship that’s anchored over yonder? I figure they got some stuff to tell as well. Gotta figure out what can provide each other, no?”

Which was how Captain Lorelei got introduced to Carmelita, with a fair hint of disbelief on the latter’s part when she discovered the great black hulled ship was commended by such a small pink unicorn filly. The local leader, who further presented herself as a petroleum engineer, had some of her subordinates bring a couple chairs and a folding table around which they gathered to discuss. At one point during the gathering, a message was sent to finally allow the two vessels to moor alongside one of the several piers that ran perpendicular to the shore, the vague T shape for once allowing Amandine to use her stern ramp to discharge cargo.

And under the increasingly warmer Mexican sun as it rose up in the sky, nearing noon, they talked. Carmelita had a long list of questions regarding the WSU and their goals to ensure her colony wouldn’t be misplacing their trust. She was a bit suspicious about how they located the colony in the first place, but the Bay of Campeche was a petroleum hotspot, and she seemed satisfied with their saying they had access to satellite data.

Technically, not a lie, even though it was the HPI that had sold them the intel on their existence.

“So you claim you help colonies wherever you find them and...”

“Our main goal is to revive industries and ensure civilization doesn’t slide right back in the middle ages.” Lorelei explained.

“Through trading?” Carmelita quirked an eyebrow.

“Trade has long been a source of advancement throughout human history. Isolated civilizations never truly prosper, quite the contrary.” Dilip asserted confidently. “And with how few people are left? Our tech is too complicated to be handled by a single colony. You want to keep your refinery working...” He waved a paw at their surroundings. “I can point you to Belfast where they can machine the parts you need. I can point you to a lab we helped set up in Havana, and where they also have a farming commune in need of fertilizer. I can point towards Georgia, where they’re making ammunition to fight back against monsters, and generators.” He leaned forward over the table. “Do you genuinely think that everything your refinery here needs, you can handle on your own? It was never meant to operate like that.”

For a few moments, Carmelita remained silent. Then she burst out laughing, a loud half-barking half-chuffing sound that lasted a few seconds before she got it under control.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that.” She chuckled, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye with her paw. “You almost managed to make it sound like we’re the ones in need. Didn’t know Captains could handle PR like that, bravo. Truth is… you are the ones in need of oil.” She stated with a cheeky grin.

“Maybe we are.” Dilip’s stone was calm. He threw Lorelei a look. “Or maybe we’re also aware most ports kept thousands of tons of assorted oils in shore tanks and we also happen to have developed a way to recycle spoiled oil. Really just a matter of convenience and how many oil filters we’re willing to clean, no?”

Carmelita leaned back in her chair, she and Dilip looked at each other impassibly. From the Indian’s viewpoint… she was a bit of an oddity. Her posture clearly showed she was genderswapped from the way she sat with her legs slightly spread and a bit of a slouch, yet every so often the border collie would try to show off some cleavage or act coy.

Aware enough of her femininity, willing to use it, yet not experienced enough to do it subtly or skillfully. She crossed her arms under her breasts and looked at the sky, showing off the bright white spot of fur on her throat.

“From a purely academic standpoint you tickle my curiosity with that thing. I can think of a few ways you could make stuff like that off the top of my head, I just never really saw the stuff in practice.”

“No peeking until we have an agreement on paper I’m afraid.” Lorelei quipped, feeling obligated to speak up lest she be forgotten as the two canines stared at each other like…

~Oh Dilip you sly dog~

“So be it.” Carmelita grumbled before she stood up, pocketing a small notebook in which she’d written down some of the sailor’s points. “You make a compelling argument, but I’ll need to discuss the terms and conditions with my fellow colonists before we can actually come back to you with our first offer. The folks you’re repatriating will have to wait too, but we’ll take them off your hands and sort it our ourselves, that much you can be certain of.”

They needed to know how much they could produce and at what value… and how these sailors could possibly help them. If they were claiming they had already helped others set up, then there were a few things they might need help with, depending on how they could pull off negotiations.

“Come, at least for now I can give you a tour of the facility.”

And the refinery was even larger than what they’d first assumed looking at it from the sea. Not only was their array of storage tanks extensive, further distillation columns and fracking units had been raised further inland away from sight, with anything ranging from intermediary pump rooms, heating units and warehouses stuck in between as far as the eye could see with the odd flare stack and vent mast breaking up the horizon.

Though, Carmelita explained, their group may be numerous but they definitely weren’t the several hundreds required to run the whole refinery at peak efficiency. Or restore most of the piping in running conditions. Left abandoned for an extended period of time, pressure had fallen down across the board when the automated systems vented more gas than necessary.

Add to that the fact that the heating coils had failed in places when the current ran out, and you also had to deal with polymerized compounds blocking important lines and whole tanks where the crude had solidified into tar.

But those were capabilities that could be reactivated in the long run with sufficient effort. In the short run, they still were able to process fuel of all grades in small batches (and by extension run their generators), and most of their efforts went towards salvage and fortifying the refinery, as she showed the group of sailors when they finally reached the outer edge of the refinery and Carmelita took them on a loop around the compound.

It was clear they were still securing the area, but they were making clear progress with that. Teams of cats and dogs could be seen working on the outer perimeter, raising a secondary fence next to the primary one with a patrol route between the two, along with watchtowers at regular intervals, plus enough razor wire to cut yourself just looking at it. Carmelita greeted the work crew with a wave and a few words in Spanish before they continued.

One of the good things with a refinery of such size and strategic importance, was the many auxiliary services it came with as she showed them. The main reason they had an ex-military as their Security Chief was due to the existence of the barracks at one end of the refinery, overlooking the port’s entrance. Prior to the Event, a military presence had been kept with a fleet of speedboats and some coastal artillery.

Now? The barracks served to house those returnees that volunteered for the militia, a dedicated force no bigger than a platoon, though everyone was armed.

Along with the barracks, they had a small clinic to which they were bringing any salvaged medical equipment from town. No doc on hand however. Medics were hard to come by, and the best they had was some vague first-aid training.

But the gear was there.

Discreetly, Dilip spied Roberto in the back of the group taking notes. Figures. Maybe they could train some medical personnel. Or worst case scenario sell them some seeds and teach them how to make health potions.

Further on, Carmelita showed them the many warehouses they were using to process and sort salvage gathered from all around the region, saying they sent expedition teams out on the daily, if only to recover spare parts for the refinery from all the other petrochemical complexes found around the region.

And then was their HQ, near the heavily guarded checkpoint they kept as the sole access into the refinery. Probably an office building at some point with all the modern accents and extensive use of glass that came with it, making a sharp contrast with the more utilitarian buildings found elsewhere around the area. Surrounded with rows of palm trees, only one facade lacked windows, and that was to make room for the large PEMEX logo on the wall’s earthy surface. At some point however, a disgruntled worker had come by and defaced the eagle head with spray paint.

“Union issues. Not the worst company to work for, but certainly far from the best.” Carmelita explained after receiving a few inquisitive glances. “We’re still deciding what to replace it with. Bit of an issue since all the coveralls we got are company stuff. Anyway… that building here is where we lodge most of the personnel running shifts at the refinery. We got it first when we set up here, just the first batch of me, Enrique, and the rest of the guys that were commuting for the night shift by bus. Was a bitch to convert, but we got about thirty apartments in there.”

Dilip looked at the building, then towards a group of D-Dogs standing watch at the checkpoint.

“I’m not exactly seeing enough room to house all your folks here.” She did imply they had started off with thirty souls, but the levels of activity he was seeing were more in line with the hundred-to-two-hundred range.

Which was pretty impressive all things accounted for. That was probably three times more returnees than Belfast.

“That would be because we don’t all live here.” She explained matter-of-factly. “Not everyone wants to live on an oil refinery. We got the militia in the barracks, then we have the hacienda.”

“Hacienda?”

“It’s a few kilometers inland. Think... small commune atop a hill, it’s decently cozy I guess? I don’t usually hang around there, but we have some folks who take the commute convoy every morning. I suppose avoiding the fumes is worth a few minutes in the back of a truck.” She shrugged. “I’m not one to complain. I commandeered the exec’s penthouse. Plenty comfy for my tastes, and it’s payback against that jackass in its own right.”

“I get he wasn’t a good manager.” Lorelei grimaced.

“Damn union-busting weasel he was.” Carmelita sniffed. “Either way… you lot can tell me if you ever wanna visit the hacienda. I can arrange something. I’m sure the folks there would appreciate the novelty, and it’s… less blue collar than here. They even have a bar they called La Madriguera.And...” She paused, tapping a digit against the side of her muzzle. “The big trade agreement, I still need to talk about with the others. But if you’re up for bartering and exchanging stuff, you’re free to visit the warehouses. We’re always bringing in some neat stuff and spare parts.”

“Thank you. We just left Cuba, and I’m sure some of our subordinates have some rum and cigars to trade. Right Dilip?” Lorelei smiled politely.

“Uh uh...” He nodded distractedly, still looking around the area, watching a pair of trucks drive past the checkpoint and towards the warehouses. “Miss Carmelita, I’m curious, you mentioned monsters and implied cartels… may I know more about that?”

“Unfortunately it is something I’d rather discuss behind closed doors...” She said, lowered her tone before she slowly walked over to him.

	Dilip raised an eyebrow at the display, a bit puzzled as the taller dog closed in, putting a paw on his shoulder, a soft smile on her muzzle.

“I’d be happy to go into details about it in a more...” She whispered to him, digits gently rubbing in a circle on his shoulder. “Private setting. I’ll be busy for now, but if you’d come visit me in my quarters this evening, I’d be happy to make it worth your time around dinner.”  She told him before squeezing his shoulder slightly.

Attempted to rather, it felt more like a vice grip. Female D-Dogs were quite a bit stronger than their male counterparts. Her words said, she left the group of sailors, making her way towards her HQ with her tail wagging and an exaggerated motion in her hips. She stumbled a few times.

Dilip blinked.

“Did...” Lorelei stammered. “That wasn’t an hallucination? Did you just get a date?”

The dog was silent. Rolling her eyes, she ignited her horn and zapped him in the thigh.

“Owch!” He let out a curse word in Marathi. “I heard you just fine!”

“Then a reply would do.”

“You don’t think that was awkward enough?” He was incredulous, waving his paw at the building Carmelita had just disappeared into. 

He briefly threw a look at the group of sailors that had been trailing behind them and… yep, they had all just seen that. The grapevine was going to be horrendous with that one.

“Someone’s gonna have a funny evening.” Lorelei quipped cheekily.

Dilip just threw the little pink filly a mild glare.
> Chapter 92: Tribals, Cultists and... Airship?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Starswirl materialized inside his realm with the soft ‘pop’ of teleportation, which was quickly followed by the enchantments he had created around his home asserting themselves on him and shifting him into a decisively non-ghostly, material form. For a second, he relished taking a deep breath, before he made his way inside the Canterlot-esque tower on the floating island. He didn’t pay much heed to the decor as he cantered over to the stairs and made his way towards a very specific floor near the top.

Shelves and alcoves lined the walls of the vast, circular room. Most were already filled with copied grimoires and notes, along with various projects like a mana stone encased in a brass apparatus, some recall stones he was making for Rockhoof’s troops if they ever needed to leave on distant expeditions, and scores of parchments covered in prototype spell constructs and matrices.

Most were attempts at making spells stick on returnees.

Given how overflowing the shelves were, he fully expected he’d need to add another floating island to his little magical realm. This one with a library tower.

Barring the cluttered walls, most of the floorspace was kept clear for a purpose, except maybe for a little desk by the room’s only window. Its heavy purple curtains were drawn shut, the only light inside the room coming from mana lamps hanging from the ceiling.

The reason why it was kept clear?

One large circular slate slab in the middle of the room, about three meters in radius, along with many magical brass gizmos, running gears and enchanter’s lenses hanging off the ceiling. Arrayed in a circle around the slab were dozens of shiny little slots made to receive however many magically-charged gems or mana stones he needed to power up the magical arrays conceived here, in addition to a couple waystones linked to areas of Broceliande he felt could stand a little mana syphon without suffering too much harm.

For emergencies only, obviously. Starswirl liked himself one of the best wizards around, but he’d rather avoid a visit from an irate Cernunnos.

This, this was Starswirl’s pride. A crowning achievement of modern (Equestrian) technology he had learned after his return to Canterlot, combined with human arcane arts, ancient practices lost to time and a lifetime of experience. He knew many a mage would sell body and soul just to get a few hours with his creation… if they knew it even existed. He was always a bit secretive regarding the more advanced aspects of his work. An ingrained habit. Pony or humans, mages were always rather cutthroat when it came to research.

In the past at least. Current experiences with the Canterlot Academy of Magic revealed they had mellowed out considerably and had become rather stringent on patents and plagiarism.

His device was the focal point from which he carried out all his research, launched his more elaborate spells and rituals, whilst it also served as the anchoring point for the several dozen spells that maintained his personal little plane of existence. Understandably, the whole room thrummed with barely contained arcane might. Above him, the brass gizmos would let out little sparks every so often, twitching, awaiting orders.

Best not to keep them waiting then.

Still in unicorn form, Starswirl walked up to the slab, igniting his horn to grab a wooden box off a shelf from which he extracted three gleaming jewels before he inserted them into the slots around the slab. Little brass irises closed up around the jewels, securing them in place as the machine came alive, thrumming with anticipation.

From the ceiling, a heavy arm detached itself, holding a grimoire as big as the unicorn was. His repertory of premade spells. With a mechanical ‘clank’, it locked itself in place in front of him, already open. Still, Starswirl flipped through with his telekinesis, expertly picking the mix of spells he needed today.

That one for scrying, that one for tracking, and for the display…Scorpan’s link-ritual. His old friend always designed the good ones, and that one in particular held up despite its age.

More mechanical arms came to life at once. A rack filled with brass stencils smoothly slid out from a recessed nook in the ceiling to position itself above the slab with the clicking of its inner mechanisms. Then, a latch opened on the rack, releasing the requisite stencils for the preset spells, each picked up by more brass mechanical arms that hung from the ceiling.

Starswirl watched it all with a satisfied smile. The stencils found themselves locked in place on the slate slab, while more mechanical arms fetched the powdered components, salts and chalks needed to fill them out. 

They weren’t just brass forms to fill out. Each stencil glowed slightly with arcane sigils. Instructions to guide the mechanical arms.

A simple concept. The spell repertory in the grimoire was for selecting the preset stencils. The actual detailed instructions etched into the stencils were meant to be ‘read’ by the multiple sets of magical lenses hanging off the ceiling that served as coordinators for the mechanical arms.

And at last, once the stencils were filled out with the requisite reagents and components, the artificial foci came down from the ceiling.Protective covers opened up to unveil delicate, carefully-enchanted crystals necessary to give the rituals their potency. The whole system locked itself in place with a series of quick ‘clicks’ and ‘clacks’, immobilizing it save for one arm that held a larger red gem, this one moving next to Starswirl’s grimoire.

In a confident gesture, he brushed a hoof against its polished surface. The thrum of magic heightened, and in a flash the spells activated, summoning a large map of the region and an oval mirror off the nearby shelves.

On the map were several icons. Landmarks, places of power, but not the stuff Starswirl was interested in at the moment, nor what the spell was showing in. Moving rapidly towards Broceliande, coming in from the north, was a little red arrow with a few figures next to it. Speed, course, altitude. It was flying high, and fast.

The oval mirror shimmered. Ah, there was the scrying. Yup, it was an airship alright.

Starswirl blinked.

Humans didn’t use airships… and the relief teams from Equus should have long ended their expeditions. Yet… he could see it right there, flying towards the center of the forest. It certainly looked Equestrian: any other species would have gone for a more utilitarian look without all the frills and bells, except for Ornithians but they never used as much gold and brass in their decorations as he was currently seeing. And the purple-and-white balloon?

Definitely Equestrian, Canterlotian even, which was further confirmed when the scrying spell rotated the view around, showing off the several equine shapes standing on its deck, along with the name in stylized letters on its bow: ‘Canterlot Courier’.

Starswirl frowned. What the buck were they still doing here? They were long past the point where ponies could casually make the trek back and forth between both worlds, so why were they lingering?

Were they stuck? Stragglers that overstayed their welcome?

Whichever the answer was, he didn’t get to think about it for long, because the feed was cut off abruptly.

“What in Tartarus...” He grumbled, going to smack the mirror with his hoof before he caught a glimpse of the airship’s last position on the chart.

They were near Comper Castle. Vivian’s territory. They had strayed inside her wards… which obviously included anti-scrying.

He swore again, stroking his bread in frustration. A flash of his horn later, a soapy and visibly annoyed Rockhoof was standing in front of him.

“I was giving Meadowbrook a massage in the bath!” He complained loudly.

“Sorry to burst your retirement, friend. Again.” The mage apologized, making a point of ignoring the thing dangling between Rockhoof’s hind legs telling him exactly what kind of massage he was talking about. Whatever the pony did in private with his pregnant wife, Starswirl was nopony to judge kinks. “But we have an emergency. An Equestrian airship has entered Vivian’s territory and we must get there. Quick.”

There was a moment of silence. Starswirl stared at his friend, expecting a reply from the Earth Pony whose soapy wet fur was leaving a growing puddle on the carpet.

Rockhoof exhaled slowly.

“I’m sorry, it seems a significant portion of the blood that would normally ensure my head functions properly is otherwise occupied. Can’t figure where.” He drawled sarcastically in his usual rough accent. “Care to run that by me again?”





Consciousness came back to Skinner, not in the instantaneous way movies would have you believe, but slowly, as though his mind was wading through molasse. His sight was hazy, the world shook and he felt nauseous, a drawn-out groan escaping his muzzle as he stirred. His head throbbed, no doubt thanks to being knocked out with a club in the temple. His tail was bunched up under him, uncomfortably, with the tassel lying in a puddle.

When he boozed up, Skinner wasn’t one to stop at the halfway mark, and even then he’d rather take a hundred hangovers over this.

The room he was in felt damp, and cold, with a chilly breeze that pierced through his fur in the dim darkness that at least had the advantage of not making his throbbing headache worse. One paw reaching for the side of his head that had been struck, Skinner tried to pull himself into a sitting position, only to almost fall back down immediately before a pinkish blob came into his vision, talking nonsensical gibberish.

Nah, that was him. His ears were still buzzing like crazy. He groaned again. Something was thrust into his paws. A canteen. He drank it up eagerly, feeling a light tingle as the fresh liquid ran down his throat. Immediately, it felt as if a veil had been taken off his eyes and his mind rebooted properly, the pain in his head lessening to a more tolerable threshold. In front of him, the pink blob cleared up, revealing itself as Lilian, the medic dragoness inspecting her superior with careful eyes.

“Better, sir?” She asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He handed her back the canteen. “What was that?”

“Diluted health potion. First-aid grade.” She replied curtly. “Not perfect, but it’s the best I could do against the concussion and it won’t waste our reserves. We’ll still need a proper examination once we’re back on the ship.

We? Ah right, she’d been struck with a club as well, as testified by the bandages she wore around her head, hiding a set of cracked scales oozing blood. He brushed a paw against the side of his head. Yep, she’d done the same to him. The blood would be a bitch to clean off his quills.

Easier to shrug it off when you’re a dragon though.

The tingle of the health potion’s magic faded away, leaving him oddly refreshed despite the head wound, mind clear enough to survey his surroundings as he pulled himself into a sitting position, one paw reaching to massage his sore tail. He still had his combat vest on, along with most of his gear, but their captors had taken his radio, the flare gun, and all his ammo and weapons. Boot knife included. He liked his clichés.

They were in a small cave, hardly tall enough for Skinner to stand up to his full height without hitting his head against the ceiling of dark, sharp volcanic stone. The only light came in through the gaps in the door, a little round thing made up of bark and palm leaves and held together with twine. It looked so flimsy too. A rough carved effigy was hanging just above the latch, its goofy grin almost taunting him.

According to his watch, it was already late afternoon. He’d been out a couple hours. Absently, Skinner got up in a crouch and reached for the door.

“With all due respect Captain, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Praveen spoke up, the cat sitting in a corner of the cave with her legs tucked against her chest, fiddling with the tip of her tail. “It’s enchanted. Painful too.” She winced, ears folding against her head.

Skinner sat back down, back against one of the cave walls. So the tribals had access to magic. Great. Now the four of them were stuck… Four… 

Hold on…

“Where’s Marcos?” He blurted out. The burly eclectus parrot of a Chief Cook was absent from the cave.

“They took him.” Lilian said sullenly. “I was the first one to wake up, but as soon as I woke him up with a health potion a tribal barged in and dragged him away.”

“But why?”

“Beats me.” She glared at the door. “Could be that he’s a parrot like some of them. Maybe they’re more comfortable interrogating him rather than us. Maybe that’s because he was the first to fall so they’re not afraid of him.”

“How long?”

Lilian checked her watch. At least they still had most of their gear. That was a good sign. Probably.

“A little under two hours now.”

“I was out for that long?” Skinner jerked his head towards her.

“You’ve been hit in the temple with a club.” Lilian pointed out dryly.

“So were you.”

“I’m a dragon.” She stared at him flatly.

“Riight...” Skinner drawled before returning his eyes to the door.

His mind was still a bit hazy, but the gears were turning trying to make sense of their situation.

Satellite intel and ruins found in Roseau implied the locals had been normal months prior, before the hurricanes and the floods.

But then they’d been driven further inland… and proceeded to seed effigies and primitive craftwork along the way.

And now they’d gone tribal and turned hostile towards foreigners.

But why?

	More worryingly, they were stuck in a cave without their radios. The rest of the crew must have sensed something was wrong when they didn’t come back and stopped reporting over the radio… but there was little they could do about it.  

For one they didn’t have many decent fighters or veterans, and for seconds there weren’t that many of them to begin with. There should be… sixteen sailors left in Roseau and on the ship. Not exactly what you’d call an army.

Skinner sighed.

“I fear we’re going to have to escape on our own. Somehow.” He scowled at the door.

So fragile looking… yet he could feel the magic it was laced with. How ridiculous was it that something so flimsy and primitive could prevent their escape?

It wasn’t until a whole hour later that something happened. There was a commotion outside, some shuffling and flashes of colored feathers visible through the gaps in the door before a pair of burly parrots yanked it open. Skinner raised his arm to shield himself from the sudden brightness.

Unceremoniously, Marcos was thrown back inside their cell.The Chief Cook tumbled inside with a muted squawk. He had a worried look on his beak, though Skinner didn’t get to ask him a single question before the two parrots grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. He was still blinking, trying to adjust to the sudden change in sunlight when they twisted his arms behind his back and tied his paws together with a thick vine.

But now he got a look at the tribals’ settlement.

He had been right in assuming the islanders would seek refuge by the water reservoirs near the summits, because it was exactly where he had been taken. Nestled just below cloud level between a couple calderas was a lake, and on its banks, where the usually steep slopes evened out in a little grassy plateau, a village had been erected.

Not a modern one mind, though… there were some signs. Something that at some point must have been built to help tourists and hikers, maybe a bar, with some parking next to it. 

It had been demolished now. The asphalt had been removed. The infrastructure pushed aside to replace asphalt and concrete with muddy paths and thatch huts raised on stilts. Of the touristic infrastructure, only a single ruin remained, stuffed to the brim with effigies and tribal symbols as though they were warding off evil.

For whatever reason, people here had decided to shun modernity and go back to a primitive lifestyle, without even a hint of metal.

One of his two wardens urged Skinner forward, and they proceeded to lead him away from the little cliff that held the cave/cell, through the village, and towards a larger, more elaborate, heavily-decorated hut with a raised platform in front of it.

In passing he did his best to take note of his surroundings. The village, as it was, consisted of roughly two dozen huts of varying shapes and sizes. Some were simple conical thatch huts. Others were more elaborate. Longhouses with wicker walls and little yards where they grew vegetables. Most had chimneys, some even had little kilns set up next to their porches, but nowhere did Skinner see anything actually advanced.

It was as though they had gone back a thousand years in time. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. Closer to the shores of the reservoir, some little fields had been prepared, and a few poles emerging from the water implied they were also fishing.

One glance towards the higher side of the village, the part away from the lake that hugged the mountainous slopes, revealed that some of the inhabitants had chosen to nest there, digging little crevices buffed up with thatch roofs, along with some terraces for their fields.

And the islanders… he could see several dozen. Way more than should be present according to their intel, an even mix of hippogriffs and parrots, with the usual vivid mix of colors it involved as clusters of them gathered to look at the intruder as he was being dragged through the village, exchanging words in a language he couldn’t recognize.

Their attire matched the locale… or the lack thereof rather. Save for a few who wore loincloths, the vast majority of them had come to the realization that neither Ornithians nor hippogriffs had breasts, and that fur and feathers were enough to hide the ‘goods’. What remained then were satchels to hold their belongings, and accessories to parade around the village: belts, bracelets, beads intertwined in their crest feathers and other paraphernalia to stand out from the rest.

Another nudge in his back. The two parrots guiding him didn’t appreciate the staring. Skinner lowered his head and moved on.

Their tools weren’t advanced either, he noted. He couldn’t spot a single glint of metal in the whole village, steel having been replaced in their tools with carved obsidian. A bit more subtly this time, he carried on with his observations as he and his wardens drew closer to what he assumed to be the chieftain’s hut.	

Despite their lack of anything advanced, there was also this arcane undertone permeating the whole area. Inscribings, effigies which he now noticed had some kind of magic to them, the biggest of which came from the sole display of modern technology in the whole village: a monument of sort, close to the chief’s hut, decorated with many effigies, flowers and stray feathers collected from the islanders to enshrine photos. Of humans. A monument for friends and relatives that had yet to return.

But the magic it carried? There was some kind of divine fuckery about, that at least Skinner was certain of.

A belief which was further reinforced when he took note of a pen, right next to where they kept their chickens. A pen currently occupied by a bunch of timberwolves, lazily lounging in the sun, watching passer-bys come and go. One of them raised its head when it spotted him, letting Skinner note the little harness it wore. Its attention didn’t stay on him. A caretaker dropped by and emptied a bushel of leaves in its trough.

“Ya fookin’ tamed these monstas?!” Skinner exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the creatures.

The only response that got him was a not-so-subtle punch in the kidney. Right, he had a meeting with the chieftain… or whatever filled the role up here in crazytown. The hut was the biggest in the village, raised on a set of stilts that protruded slightly over the reservoir. It was tall enough to display its intricate decorations and painted roof for the whole village to see. Two wings made up its structure, each with its own entrance masked by a bead curtain, leading to a raised platform that overlooked the little town square Skinner was dragged in the middle of.

One swift kick brought him down to his knees. The warden on his left flashed his obsidian club. A clear message. Don’t try anything, or else…

	Skinner caught the sound of hooves and claws shuffling inside the hut as he waited, some hushed words in a language he still couldn’t recognize. Seriously, weren’t they supposed to speak English in Dominica? Or some kind of Creole at least? After a short minute, a pair of creatures emerged, an Ornithian and an hippogriff.

The former he recognized as the timberwolf rider from earlier, a bright-feathered scarlet macaw wearing nothing but white warpaint and accessories in the way of belts, bracelets and necklaces that denoted his status, in addition to the same obsidian club he’d used to knock Skinner out. The Scot’s gaze must have lingered on the weapon a second too long because the parrot drummed his talons against it and smirked haughtily at him.

Prick.

Behind him was a hippogriff mare with a stern look on her beak. Much like the parrot, she wasn’t wearing much: green body paint that formed linear patterns on her pastel blue coat, beads in her crest feathers, flowery bracelets, and a headband that kept her light gray crest feathers out of her face. She didn’t have a weapon, just a small pouch whose herbal scent Skinner could sniff from where he was standing.

At first she didn’t address him. She fished a carved idol from her pouch and handed it to one of his warden, squawking a sharp order at the parrot who made a hasty retreat towards the valley.

Skinner didn’t say a thing.

After a minute, she finally spoke up.

“So this heathen has a bit of patience at least.” She scoffed. “Beats the last one.”

Marcos he assumed.

“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet.” Skinner said in as calm a tone as he could manage. “The name’s Captain Skinner, of Fugro Symphony. World Seafarer Union. I’m glad someone here is willing to speak English.”

Okay, maybe he could have said the last sentence without dripping sarcasm, but he was a sailor, not a diplomat.

“Not out of goodwill.” She sneered. “One among us must bear the dishonor of this ancestor-accursed tongue, and as Bohiqua the burden falls upon me. You may call me by my title and nothing else. The Cacique and I will be questioning you.” She said, pointing a talon at the warrior-macaw beside her.

Great way of starting off sparking more questions in his mind than it provided answers,he thought sardonically. Up on the platform, the ‘Cacique’ said something, in their weird tongue and the ‘Bohiqua’ leveled a glare at him.

“You’d best answer truthfully. Much of the answers we wanted, we already obtained from your companion. The Goddess-Mother may look more favorably upon him given his species… but you… You shall not get such lenience.”

“Gee, glad to know someone’s getting off lightly at least.” He snarked.

Bad idea. There was still a warden behind him, and he was keen to remind the hedgefog of his presence by painfully twisting his tail. Skinner gritted his teeth.

“I will not tolerate cheek from intruders.” The Bohiqua raised her voice, crest and tail feathers rising slightly as an ethereal aura appeared around her.

Great. A cleric. Or something along those lines. Just what he needed.

“For the record, the Goddess-Mother has uses for all she brings under her fold, and in her leniency she might decide your companion is worth integrating in the flock. We currently have an imbalance and could use more hens, I do know. Atabey would change his mind and body so he may fit the role.”

“May I at least be informed as to how we have wronged your people?” Skinner inquired, deciding to ignore the fact she’d just threatened to turn his Chief Cook into… some kind of broodmother.

The Bohiqua smirked.

“Invasion of our territory, trespassing upon sacred grounds, tampering with holy effigies and heresy.”

“Heresy?!” He cried out. “Bull! We came to this island to help your people and that’s what we get?!”

The warden behind him kicked him in the back and slammed him muzzle-down in the mud. The Ornithian then lifted a leg and planted it against the back of Skinner’s neck. Ornithians had prehensile feet, and Skinner could feel the agile talons wrap around his throat and squeeze.

With a flutter of her wings, the Bohiqua jumped off the platform and sat down on her haunches on the edge of his vision, lazily inspecting her talons.

“The people of Dominica have no need for assistance and the thinly-veiled treachery outlanders always slip with it. You’d pretend to be saviors only to keep us at the mercy of continental elites later on. We have enough problems dealing with those bloodthirsty Kalinagos as is...” She sneered at nothing in particular, eyes looking towards the north of the island. “Our people are past dealing with the outside world. We no longer need the hubris of technology and a crooked society that doomed us in the first place. The Goddess-Mother’s embrace shall see us through everything. Any new returnee that joins our flock, we purify through Atabey’s touch. No more English unless needed, a new name, a new life...”

Gal may not be asking many questions, but she sure was doing a good job of filling the blanks for him.

“Bold claim seeing how that turned out last time. The world catches up to isolationists. Always.” He grunted.

The Bohiqua lowered her head to his level.

“Magic is on our side. All our gods and ancestors stand behind us, they help us raise wards around our island, they warp the monsters that would threaten us into servants, they’ve reunited families separated by the cataclysm, they’ve helped us learn how to live past the chimeras of consumerism. We are reborn for a greater purpose. Soon our power will be such that Guabancex will raise her heavenly wrath against any intrusions such as yours. No ship shall sully our shores unless the divines will it.”

“Good for you...” Skinner drawled. “So I guess you’re going to let us go so we can tell everyone not to bother you people? I mean, you said you had questions but I’ve mostly heard gloating so far.”

The Bohiqua’s beak parted in a smirk and she chuckled.

“Fool. Such is not my decision to take, and you’ve yielded all the answers I need already.”

	What.

She raised her talons to her beak, Skinner only then noticing the slight shimmer around them as she flicked them this way and that. A faint aura he had failed to notice faded from his vision.

“Convenient isn’t it? Atabey is generous in handing out powers to her servants.” She laughed. “I must say, I wouldn’t be able to pull it off were it not for all the wards we’ve raised around the village, but it makes it incredibly easy to learn the truth. Figures a Captain such as you would know more than a cook...” She tapped a talon against the side of her beak. “Come to think of it, a cook isn’t that bad an addition to the tribe. Atabey knows he will improve the cuisine. Or she, rather. We need hens.”

Skinner glared. For a brief second, he felt his electric powers flare up in his quills, but it was brought short when the warden with the talons around his neck put more weight on him and squashed his muzzle in the mud.

“Yer maw mus’ be fookin’ proud ye wankstain!” He insulted the warden, the Scot in him rising up. “Dampot like ye, bein’ a cocksleeve fur a piece o’ shite witch!”

“Don’t bother. They don’t understand English anymore.” The Bohiqua drew closer and tapped a talon against his snout. “Or read it for that matter. Ensures we don’t stray from Atabey’s path. Neat, right?”

“Yer’ off kilter.”

“And you’re deluded. Look where all that fancy technology got us. Wiped a whole species. Destroyed millenia of advancement because we strayed… and yet you chose to go down the same road. I won’t let that happen to my island. I was like you once, but then the hurricane happened, and I searched the mountains for shelter, safety for my people. Goddess-Mother Atabey showed me the way.”

“Quit yer ramblin’ and be done with it!” He yelled at her.

“So be it...” The Bohiqua stood up and fanned her wings. “Tomorrow you’ll be brought to Atabey for your judgment. No mortal shall bypass her authority.”

She barked an order in that language he had yet to identify, and the warden forcefully hoisted him up on his feet. He tried to spit in her face, but beyond missing by a country mile the only thing it earned him was to be punched in the gut by none other than an irate Cacique.

Fucking zealots…

As he was being dragged back to the cave, Skinner took note of where the Bohiqua was looking pointedly. The summit that overlooked the village, from which a thick vapor column rose above the caldera.

Oh for fuck’s sake, can’t you be any more cliché?





Meanwhile in Mexico, the first day had come and gone rather quietly, if dully. With the locals still debating among themselves, there wasn’t much to be done except for routine work and maintenance, as was always the case on a ship. The only exception to that came when the militia’s leader (Samuel if memory served) turned up to hammer down some details regarding security and how they could guard the ships.

Lightly that is. A matter of being diplomatic and not upsetting the locals. Samuel asked them not to deploy any of their APC’s (God forbid they pulled out the CV90) and to please limit the amount of machineguns they set up to guard Amandine’s ramp. The refinery already had a security perimeter after all.

So an armed gangway watch was what they settled for. A couple sentries to keep an eye out for unwanted visitors, and ready to raise the alarm for the rest if the refinery was actually breached. It soothed Dilip’s concerns. If anything bad happened, he could rely on the sailors on sentry duty to rouse the whole ship.

After that… well… not much else happened. A couple sailors including Angelo loaded up a Unimog with their own loot to go barter with the locals at their warehouses. They had plenty of excess cigars, liquor and DVD’s to trade after all.

Dilip also got the opportunity of seeing the veterans gather up groups for sport. The ex-mil folks from both ships gathered the crews in groups of various fitness and species, loudly barking orders before they set off on a jog around the refinery.

Fitness was important after all. Peeps may come back in good shape thanks to their transformation, but you had to maintain that level of fitness afterwards. Cardio’s important. Moreso after the apocalypse. There ought to be a rule about that somewhere. From up on the bridge where he was standing, sorting through nautical publications, Dilip saw one of the jogging groups stop by the barracks and start a football match with the local militia.

Good on them. Some stuff like that managed to transcend language barriers.

His attention didn’t linger on them for long, paperwork called.He needed to sort through some new intel files. Roberto was off-duty at the moment, apparently eager to meet a significant other he’d met on Rhine Forest. A gal by the name of… Lekan was it? The lass Miss Jensen liked to bring on her radio broadcasts.

Either way, his Intel Officer deserved the time off for his date… which left him to process the new data.

In front of his eyes were copies of weather charts, each taken at intervals of one day.

Not for the weather forecast actually. Those were elsewhere on the bridge. That one was their log on the location of those demonic pirates. He eyed the charts critically. Each tracked the weather formations that followed the pirate vessels, little dots progressing around the world map with several lines of notes written next to them. Speculations about their targets, range, firepower.

All of them had grouped up above ten days prior near Cape Horn, where a constant storm implied the position of one of the two demons. Charybdis or Scylla, Dilip didn’t know, but they had split up shortly after that. Two of them prowled around the Pacific, one of which was fast enough to be an airship, whereas the other just lingered around the Australian coastline.

In the Atlantic, a single blotch hovered near the Gulf of Guinea. By measuring its speed and comparing it to prior data, Dilip was near certain it was the warship that had attacked Sao Paulo. Right then, its general direction implied it would make a hit of another metropolis. Lagos.

Good. If it was busy that meant Skinner and Fugro would have plenty of time to react if it crossed over to Brazil.

He would have happily kept going through all this paperwork, were it not for him being interrupted by the ringing of the interphone.

“Good evening Captain. Gangway watch here. There’s a… Diamond Dog here. The foreman. Says he’s here to pick you up for your meeting with Miss Carmelita.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Dilip said resignedly, hanging up with a loud sigh.

That was promising to be awkward… yet he did need to meet her. If only to know what were the threats to be found in the region. Closing the folder he’d been working on, he made his way down the stairs and towards the awaiting gangway, stopping briefly in his cabin to change into a clean set of clothes and to grab a tie he was just finishing tying up when he reached Amandine’s stern ramp.

Barely any words were exchanged with the D-Dog that had come to pick him up as he drove him to their HQ just as the sun started its descent towards the horizon. The former office building still stood near the refinery’s entrance, its tinted windows having gained a rosy sheen in the fading sunlight. Dilip was led inside and through a lobby that showed off the extent of the modifications done to the whole structure. Now less like a place of business and paperwork, it had gained more vivid colors, with a homey touch and the pleasant smell of spices drafting from the kitchens as its inhabitants gathered inside the refectory for their evening meal.

Dilip didn’t join them. Instead someone pointed him to a set of elevators in the back of the marble-floored lobby. He didn’t understand much of what the locals said – not too many English-speakers this far south in Mexico-, but the gist of it was that he was expected on the top floor. Carmelita’s dwellings, as she had mentioned earlier that day.

The elevator’s doors slid aside, opening up to a dull yellow carpet that led visitors to the secretary’s desk, currently unstaffed. Two doors on either side might have led to the former exec’s office and maybe a meeting room, but they remained shut, inviting Dilip to carry on through a third one just ahead behind the desk, from which drafted the scent of grilled meat.

A penthouse, of sorts. Opulent, it boasted dark gray flagstonespolished to a fine sheen that squeaked under his boots as he made his way inside. The room was narrow, arrayed with a long dining table in its center, the walls being decorated with a mix of plastic ferns and rough volcanic rocks that gave it a savage atmosphere made all the more eerie by the pinkish light that passed through the tinted windows overhead in the ceiling. Subtly hidden doors on the sides likely led to a kitchenette or some such, but the centerpoint of the whole room was behind the dining table. A small set of stairs as dark as the tiles that led up to the bedroom with fountains on either side of it, little waterfalls that added to the wild ambiance.

The table was set for two, with the whole nine yards of candles, wines and plates awaiting under stainless steel domes.

“Impressive isn’t it? Exec was making off like a bandit with all that stuff, and that asshole was still trying to dismantle unions.” Carmelita appeared atop the stairs, her footsteps near-silent despite her size. “At least he had taste, I have to concede him that much.”

Dilip’s muzzle was unreadable as he looked at the border collie. Gone was her utilitarian attire from earlier. She had shed it in favor of a simple white silk bathrobe loosely kept shut around her waist, its fabric arranged just so that it revealed more cleavage than would be considered decent in a less private setting.

“It looks rather nice indeed.” The Indian said carefully as he watched her pad down the stairs, one paw trailing over the banister. “May I?” He inquired, waving a paw towards the dining table.

“Of course, of course!” She smiled widely, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind beef? I heard your name was...”

“Prateek. From Mumbai, but call me Dilip.” He said, quickly raising a paw to placate her. “But it’s no trouble. I never was a good Hindu.”

“And I, a catholic.” She sat down at her own end of the table, pouring herself a glass of wine before she offered him the carafe. “I wasn’t aware Indians could turn into dogs.”

“It’s a mix of Diamond Dogs and Abyssinians – cats that is-, though I’m under the impression the latter are more likely to come from the eastern side of the subcontinent. It’s...” He trailed off. “… not an exact science. Merchant crews tend to be so mixed they’re a poor representation of what species a country might turn into.” He told as he began digging into his meal.

Not a bad one mind. It was… refreshing to enjoy something that wasn’t Rahul’s overspiced meals. The beef was fresh, rare. He liked the taste of blood mixing with the juice after every bite. You wouldn’t be able to cook that too often around herbivores. Most herbivores on Amandine were desensitized, but they had their limits still.

“Interesting. I’m surprised. Cats and dogs are among the most common around here too… but we have parrots from the Yucatan. I didn’t expect we’d have so much in common with India.” She commented between two bites of her own meal.

Still, Dilip noted how she was leaning forward, trying to subtly (not really) expose more cleavage. A nipple slipped out before she quickly caught the edge of her robe.

“There are close to two hundred countries, and our books only list about two dozen species that humans might turn into upon returning. Similarities are bound to occur, no?” He stated, matter-of-factly. “That aside, may I express my concerns as to what may be threatening your colony? Me and my fleet are well-traveled, we’ve faced multiple threats in the past, so I’m curious. My Chief Officer reported you said something about… a god I believe?”

Carmelita’s smile disappeared.

“That would be Xolotl. Of all the problems we have, he’s probably the biggest.” She told, voice low. “Because somehow, cartels and ancient death gods couldn’t just stay separate.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Damn indeed. Xolotl is… I’m no expert in the Aztec pantheon, but he is sort-of the guard dog of the underworld. Literally I mean: he’s a dog god.”

“So how did the two combine?” Dilip calmly asked, taking a sip of his wine, his plate now finished.

“At first we had the situation under control. The refinery’s easy to defend, and we have a good stash of guns to help with that thanks to the naval artillery station and the marines battalion Samuel’s from, so we had the advantage. The cartels… Some were from Los Zetas, others came from further inland, Beltran-Leyva, Juarez… the mix worked in our favor. There was a lot of infighting and with Samuel we managed to play our cards right to keep them at bay. That was good because there’s also a trickle of monsters coming from the north. Chupacabras mostly, but we had to blow a MILAN to kill a hydra once. The cartels are still worse.”

“Let me guess, they found a temple or a shrine and everything changed.” Dilip deadpanned, now more comfortable with the discussion underway.

“Correct.” She pushed her empty plate aside and held her head in her paws. “That united them somehow. High-priestess Atzi leads them now and… their rites… they’ve changed. More than just brainwashing, though there is a bit of that at play too. They’ve mutated.”

“Come again?”

“They call themselves Los Lobos now, and there’s a reason for that. The High-Priestess just couldn’t stand to have regular dogs at her service, so she had Xolotl change them. D-Dogs aren’t supposed to have subspecies, yet now we have wolf-dogs, and the cats they had, she turned them into legit jaguar warriors.”

Dilip leaned back in his chair, blank-faced.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Carmelita’s laugh was empty.

“Wish I was. Wolf-dogs… we’ve managed to nail one once. They’re… about fifty percent larger than you and I are, a lot stronger, faster, more aggressive… and they’re fucking zealots of course. Most don’t even speak Spanish anymore, except for the High-Priestess, probably to ensure loyalty.”

“On the bright side they’re tribals, right? Savages. Gives you the tech advantage.”

She remained silent.

“I mean… Aztec right?” Dilip laughed. “They just come at you with clubs wearing feathers and war paint. Shouldn’t be much trouble, you give them the conquistadooo…” He noticed her look and trailed off. “Xolotl is being pragmatic isn’t he?”

Carmelita nodded.

“Cartels used to have a lot of traitors in them. Former spec-ops, army, marines, swayed by big money. Most sicarios don’t fight that way, thankfully, but they’ll use guns and modern tactics alright. Cost us the lives of three militia members last month, with twice that injured. They have guns, mutants, and magic. We have guns, naval cannons, and a good set of fortifications. The monsters popping here and there or coming from the north we can keep at bay… Los Lobos? That’s a bit harder.”

“Shit… that’s worse than the convicts we crossed path with in the US.” Dilip trailed off.

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and out of the corner of his eye he saw Carmelita sashay her way around to his side of the table, still with that exaggerated motion in her hips.

“I love my country you know. Mexico is a beautiful country through and through… but it has its issues. It’s rough, now more dangerous than ever, but when you look past the criminals profiting off a flawed system, we're hard working people.” She whispered, coming behind Dilip and putting her paws on his shoulders, leaning to whisper in his ears.

He could smell her perfume. Flowery, fresh, subtle enough that it didn’t hide her natural scent, itself laced with an aftertaste of oils and chemicals from her work at the refinery. With the size difference, she easily loomed over him. Her grip on his shoulders tightened slightly.

“I won’t stand to see Mexico fall to the same pitfalls that hindered it before the Event changed everything. I may only be able to influence this region, but I’ll do anything to set it on the right path.” She whispered in his ear, putting emphasis on anything.
> Chapter 93: It's a Dog's Life
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’re shit out of luck ain’t we?” Lilian asked rhetorically after Skinner was thrown back inside the cave with the rest of his group.

“I’m sorry, do you mean the part where we’ll probably be tossed into a volcano, the part where this whole expedition is a complete fuckup, the part where they have a cleric that can extract information from you by friggin’ magic or was it the part where our dear cook is going to loose his dick and be turned into a broodmother if we don’t do anything?”

“They what?!” Carlos snapped his head towards his superior, wide-eyed.

“So they didn’t even tell you. Great.” Skinner snarked.

“No they just asked random questions about us and… wait… that does explain the weird looks I received. Urgh...”  The parrot shuddered. “And the hens were giggling at me. Guess I understand why now. Gah, it’s disgusting!” The Portuguese spat, devolving into mumbling in his native tongue.

In his corner of the cave, Praveen scooted over and gave him a pat on the back.

“Don’t worry Marcos, we’re going to find a solution.” She comforted him. “We are, aren’t we?” She turned her gaze towards Skinner.

The hedgefog massaged his sore neck. That parrot had really put some pressure on it, it ached.

“I wish I could tell you that but...” He waved at the enchanted idol that kept them trapped at the mercy of the tribals. “Can’t really think of an escape.”

“And the locals?” Praveen tried.

“I… I just don’t understand. What little I read about Dominica is that folks here were supposed to be welcoming but that… It’s like a fanatical anti-tech cult. Most of them don’t even speak English anymore, they’re completely brainwashed by that goddess uh… Atabey I think the Bohiqua said? Damn bitch.”

Lilian suddenly gained an interested look. The pink dragoness crept closer to her superior, at least as far as the small cave allowed.

“Atabey you said?”

“Yes. Rings a bell to ye?” He croaked.

She nodded slowly, though the look on her muzzle became unreadable.

“That’s odd. She shouldn’t be… here. It’s the wrong cult.” Noticing the looks she was getting from the three others, she continued. “Before we set off I read up a bit on the area. Because I’m a dummy, I got mistaken at first and read up on Dominican Republic. The name appeared. It’s the lead goddess of the Taino people. Fertility type with a thing for fresh water. Pre-columbian civ.”

“So she’s got an influence here too.”

“But she shouldn’t. That’s what’s… troubling. The Tainos – or Arawak rather at the time- were driven off the island and pushed back towards the Greater Antilles centuries before Columbus even arrived. So to see Tainos here is… wrong, and they’re supposed to be a friendly bunch too. Not... that.”

“So is there a tribe in Dominica? I mean one that’s supposed to be there?” Marcos asked.

“That would be the Kalinagos.”

“Eh, the Bohiqua actually mentioned those!” Skinner perked up. “She called them bloodthirsty.”

“Possibly an ancestral grudge.” Lilian shrugged. “I mean, historically they’re the ones that chased the Tainos off the island, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that brainwashing goddess imprinted the idea on her followers.”

“I hate to break it to you, but arguing over whether or not they should be there won’t help us get out.” Praveen interrupted. “We have to get out of here!” The feline said, fur bristling.

“I’d burn down the door, but I get a feeling that if I try...” Lilian trailed off.

“No flamethrowers in a cave please. You’ll just consume all the air and kill us. Or all of us except for you.” Skinner mused. “Dragons you know…”

“Your electricity then?” Lilian countered.

“I dunno...” The hedgefog conjured up a spark of lightning which he held between two digits, crackling. “Just maybe...”

It didn’t work. As soon as he fired an electric bolt at the little effigy, a force field shimmered in the air and sent it right back to him. The voltage didn’t do anything, but the force sent the already battered Captain flying into the nearest wall with a grunt.

A quick dose of diluted health potion later, and they were back to square one, the four of them glowering at the primitive-but-seemingly-indestructible door.

By sunset, no progress had been made. Outside, the villagers were assembling for their evening prayers, probably near the Cacique and the Bohiqua’s hut.

And even if they’d found a way past the enchanted effigy, an Ornithian guard had planted himself in front of their cell, a silent vigil resting his weight on his spear. The sun ended its descent below the horizon and torchlight replaced the touch of the sun in the muddy streets between the huts.

Shortly after that, there was some shuffling outside. A feminine voice exchanged a couple words with the guard.It must have been a joke because the parrot barely repressed a squawking laugh before he unlatched the door and let the feminine voice in. She was a hippogriff, wearing nothing but a satchel and a few beaded necklaces around her neck, though with only torchlight coming in from outside it was hard to distinguish her features.

She trotted inside, hauling a plate of fruits and a water skin.

Well at least they’re being fed.

The hippogriff raised a claw, talons extended. Three talons extended. Two. One.

Outside, the guard yawned and leaned against a nearby wicker fence. Seconds later, he was snoring loudly. The hippogriff nodded in satisfactionbefore she shut the door behind her, making sure it stayed unlatched.

“Sorry about that. I heard you had a boat?” She finally said – in English no less-, offering Skinner her talons to shake. “I’m Emily.”

“You aren’t brainwashed?!” Lilian blurted out. “Sorry I mean… how do you still speak English? I thought you people couldn’t anymore.”

Emily’s talons flew to her beak and she made a shushing motion. For a second she stood still, silent, but the guard outside kept snoring.

“Not so loud.” She hissed under her breath. “The village isn’t completely asleep yet, but they’ll be once they’re done with the daily prayers. Sneaking past was hard enough with the excuse that I’m here to feed the prisoners.”

“But… how?” Lilian repeated.

“I managed to fake out the conversion ceremony, that’s how.” She told them, pausing every few words to make sure the coast was clear outside. “Everyone, they get a new name and a new language when they join the tribe, but me? I’m an anthropology master. My thesis was on Arawak civilizations. I can fake it, but if they find out I’ve been lying the whole time, I’m toast. I want out.”

Skinner evaluated her carefully, working his jaw a few times before he finally strung together something coherent in his mind.

“Well I won’t be one to look at a gift hippogriff in the beak-” His companions threw him a look at the expression. “-so to answer your first question: yes we came with our ship, of which I’m the Captain. Edgar Skinner, of M/V Fugro Symphony. Your compatriots, ahemm...”

“Have gone fucking insane. I noticed.” Emily deadpanned. “What’s worse is there’s trouble brewing with the actual Kalinagos north of the island, and these fools have destroyed all the ships that were left behind. Planes too, I checked before the Cacique decided non-warriors had to stay inside the village.”

“And you wouldn’t have any issue with leaving them?”

Emily closed her beak, a forlorn look in her eyes as she turned her head towards the outside, ears flat against her head.

“It’s difficult. They’ve changed. Too much. Some of them I knew before this catastrophe and they’re just… not the same anymore. And Atabey? Did you see the altar with the photos?”

“I did.” Skinner frowned. “What of it?”

“I don’t know what kind of magic she uses but she can make your family members come back if you please her. I think that’s one of the reasons everyone accepted the brainwashing. Just so they could have a chance and work towards seeing their loved ones again.”

Really, she didn’t actively resent her peers for going tribal. At first they had tried to keep things normal, distressing as it was to see the island nearly deserted and that ships and planes had stopped coming. But then it had piled on. Timberwolves. Hurricanes. Landslides. People had started dying, and the few native Kalinagos that had come back looked as though their ancestor spirits were the real deal.

So when one of them ventured into the mountains and came back as their Bohiqua, when she used her magic to heal the sick, tame the monsters that were attacking them, and dangled the promise of their loved ones coming back if they went along…

Of course they’d take the offer. Who wouldn’t?

“And if you come with us you’d miss having your loved ones back.” Praveen pointed out.

“I...” Emily searched for words. “I know I’ll regret it in the future, but mom wouldn’t want me to give up who I am for… that.” She waved a claw towards the village. “All my life I’ve lived on this island… but now is the time to leave.”

Skinner grinned.

Getting out… wouldn’t be easy. They used what time they had before the guard woke up to draw up their plan. Emily would go to the ‘shrine of shame and hubris’ to retrieve their radios and weapons while they waited.

Next step? Sneak out when the guards were the least alert. A few hours before dawn. The cloud cover was thick, and with a bit of luck rain would cover their escape when they ran for it and made a dash for the opposite side of the island. Dominica was small, Fugro should be able to meet up with them there if they made a call on the radio.

They had their chance.





Warning: explicit sexual content is present in the next scene









	Carmelita twisted Dilip’s chair around, forcing the D-Dog to come face to face with her, her paws pressing down on his shoulders. The belt that held her bathrobe had come undone, letting the fluffy fabric part to reveal her in her full glory as she loomed above him. Try as he might, he couldn’t help himself with looking.

Dilip had yet to meet enough female members of his species to truly make his opinion over the matter, but it seemed that not only the female walking, talking canines were all larger and more muscular than the males, but he had yet to see an adult bitch that wasn’t ridiculously well-endowed, every single one of them was worth calling an amazon. You want plain ladies? Go check out the Abyssinians.

And Carmelita was very much a prime example of her species. The large border collie had a streak of white fur trailing all the way from the underside of her muzzle, between her breasts and to her nether regions which...

Noticing what he was looking at, he averted his gaze, to which she responded by grabbing his muzzle firmly in her paw and pointing it back where he’d been looking. She was all hourglass-shaped, with wide hips, a narrow waist with a flat, muscular belly hiding tightly packed abdominals beneath the fur… and her breasts. Bountiful mammaries covered in tufty fur the likes of which no human could have compared to without looking grotesque and which only would be superseded by a minotaur cow where the proportions would be lesser on a larger frame. All the muscle she sported gave the fleshy globes a gravity-defying shape with their fat black nipplies timidly peeking out through a layer of fur. More subtly, below her breasts, smaller vestigial nipples could be seen as well along her belly, three little pairs below one pair of functional mammaries. Funnily enough, he’d some as well, though of course being male his top pair wasn’t backed by breasts.

Carmelita’s form was quintessentially feminine yet with an underlayer of bulk and muscle worthy of amazons of legend, a form she was keenly aware of and which Dilip couldn’t help but stare at, feeling his member rise to the call. Her grin read clearly that she knew, the paw cradling his muzzle forcing him firmly to look her in the eye before she pulled him in a passionate kiss, both their long muzzle parting and angling to welcome the other.

And yet…

For all the animalistic attraction he was feeling, a part of Dilip couldn’t help but notice the key differences between the female D-Dog and the human women he’d grown up dreaming (more like lusting) over. The fur was obvious, a lustrous coat of black and white in stark contrast to his own shorter bronze fur, but that was only the surface. See, unlike humans where men are bigger than women, Diamond Dogs work the opposite way. That he’d already noted long before he met her.

Except now it was the first time Dilip truly realized the implications in that little detail. He was no weakling himself. Male or female, the entire species was only surpassed by minotaurs in the muscle department. And Earth Ponies if you counted magically-enhanced strength.

That said, Carmelita was in a league above him. The white fur on her inner body barely hid her abs and coiled muscles, the firm breasts had to thank their form to the pecs beneath them, and her arms were twice his size, let alone the thighs she had, what with the wide hips.

“Like what you see sugar?” She broke the kiss and smirked, revealing a mawful of canine fangs as she looked at him predatorily. “Oh yes… you definitely do.” She sang in her hispanic accent.

And judging by the way the fur between her thighs glistened, so did she. Dilip’s nostrils expanded, catching her scent.

Carmelita bent forward, nipping at his ear, so close to him her bare breasts brushed against his shirt, her larger form nearly encompassing him whole.

Shit, was that why the least assertive dogs were the first to find companionship? Was this how his genderswapped crew members felt on their first time? Whatever the answer was, his train of thought was cut short as Carmelita picked him up effortlessly, holding him in a bridal carry with a broad grin.

“You know, it’s actually rather funny.” She laughed after planting a quick kiss on his nose.

“What is?” He managed to string together, still a bit dumbstruck at being held in the same manner he’d carried his wife after their wedding.

He’d weighed himself. He was no small dog. Bigger than he’d been as a human actually.

“The role reversal.” She said in a husky voice as she began carrying him up the stairs and towards her bedroom. “At first I was mad when I realized I had become female, but then I noticed. With us dogs, it works in reverse. As a bitch...” She said the word in a sing-song tone. “I am the one in control. It’s always so funny when the guys realize it. Mexico’s a very macho country, and I heard… so is India, except you guys are completely whipped by your wives!” She laughed out loud.

“No we aren’t! I was married for over thirty years and I *mostly* got along with my wife!” He protested.

Carmelita smiled and shook her head softly.

“You’re a sailor. If you didn’t have an issue you wouldn’t have been out on the other end of the world. Let me guess… arranged marriage?” She tutted when she saw him frown. “Ah, and here’s the proof I hit the nail on the head.”

“I put three kids in her. That’s why we married. Unite the families. Make children. I did my part. So when they grew up, maybe I did rent a house in Britain to keep an eye on the kids while they were studying in the UK. She… had to keep an eye on the family estate in Mumbai.”

“Excuses, excuses and more excuses.” Carmelita looked at him mirthfully with her brown eyes. “At least I know the plumbing works.” She joked, letting her thumb brush not-so-subtly between his legs as she carried him to her bedroom and pushed through the door with her shoulder.

Much like the living room, there was volcanic rock a-plenty inside, so much of it covering the walls that the bedroom looked a little like a volcanic cave, with great efforts taken to reinforce the feeling. Any light in there was subtly hidden behind wall panels and plants to provide an intimate atmosphere, with the obligatory mood lighting Carmelita had preemptively shifted to red hues. Even the doors were hidden behind nooks in the rocky walls panels. One to the bathroom, another to what he suspected to be a walk-in closet (because of course an ex-exec’s penthouse would have one). There was a tinted skylight too, but at this point the sun had gone down, leaving only the mood lighting.

And occupying the center of the room was the bed. Large, round, and draped with a set of black bed sheets.

All in all the room was relatively featureless. Carmelita had left it as she’d found it, save for a couple car posters hanging above the bed, a socket extension peeking out from underneath the bed with multiple chargers and a laptop, and a small alarm clock.

In short: it looked like someone had plopped down a bed inside an oddly clean cave with the lighting looking as though there was red-hot lava in reach.

“That’s uh… really nice place you have here.” He stammered awkwardly.

What was with that anyway? He leads just fine on his own ship, but a bitch shows up and he misplaces his spine? That females were bigger and more assertive, he could understand, but that? He felt utterly cowed.

“Beautiful I know?” She smiled brightly, planting a quick kiss on his muzzle, her thumb still caressing his ballsack through the seat of his pants. “You know… at first I thought being a bitch, I had pulled the short straw. But really? I’m better off. We have the size, we have the strength, I have a body that turns heads around, and I can use sex as a leverage.”

Dilip frowned.

“You know I’m not the only Captain in the fleet, right? Turning things to your favor will need more than just a wild nigh-” He was stopped mid-sentence by another kiss.

“I know. I just took a liking to sex in this form. And you… you look like I’m going to be your first since you went dog. You don’t look half bad, pup.” She told him, gently dropping him on the edge of the bed before she shrugged off her bathrobe. Her tail was wagging. “Now off with your clothes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me...” She whispered sultrily, looming over his form, steadily pushing him backwards until he was laying down on the bed fully. She trailed a digit over his shirt’s buttons. “It’s either you take them off, or I tear them off myself.”

Dilip gulped and complied quickly. Carmelita glanced appreciatively as he laid his body bare. Without asking, she let her paws run over his chest, stroking his pecs before they began a voyage down, running through his short bronze fur and tweaking his vestigial nipples. Ever since the transformation had gotten rid of his middle-age paunch, he’d been careful to go to the ship’s gym and keep in shape. It showed. He hardly had a hint of fat on his gut, something which elicited a pleased purr from the border collie currently inspecting the goods.

And… he kinda liked the attention. With his arranged marriage he’d never gotten the chance to be ‘frisky’, and he considered himself too high-society to frequent brothels.

Maybe she knew it, maybe she didn’t, but Carmelita was the first female he was banging in his life that wasn’t his wife. Blame traditionalism.

Her paws finished their little trip between his thighs and he couldn’t help the canine whine that escaped his muzzle as she found her prize. It hadn’t taken much for his prick to escape its sheath, and there it glistened, exposed to the cool air and Carmelita’s ministrations.

“Not bad, not bad… You’re more impressive than most I’ve experienced.” She praised, flicking his member with her stubby claw-like nail. “But it takes two to tango right? Don’t just lie there like a starfish. Es lo que hacen las humanas. Use your paws.”

Tentatively at first, he reached out and put his paws on her hips, digits running through the smooth fur, rubbing circles in her lower back, marveling at the coiled muscles and firm flesh. Obviously that was still too passive for her, because as the scent of arousal filled the air and she pressed herself against him, peppering him with kisses, she grabbed one of his paws and put it on her breast.

Starting to feel more confident, he let her embrace him, her larger form above him nearly sufficient to blot the surrounding room as he toyed with her breasts, cupping them and playing with her nipples, gently scratching them with the tip of his claws. She liked it, arching her back and hugging him tightly while she was playing with herself with one paw. The other had left Dilip’s abs, instead showing him the truly new experience of how erogenous the base of one’s tail could be.

“That’s the stuff yeah…” She hissed softly.

That was… new. His member glistened with pre, poised just below Carmelita’s waiting snatch, yet it didn’t feel right to make the first move. The arousal was just… different. There was the usual throbbing, but also a warmth and tingling in his entire body that just made him mellow, wanting to lie there and take in her ministrations.

“Now to show you how different it is for us...” She bent down to whisper in his ear before giving it a small love bite. “Let’s not keep the little guy waiting any longer shall we?”

Finally, she lowered herself onto him and their hips connected. With all the foreplay, he slid in smoothly, his prick fitting snugly inside her wet slit as she guided it inside with one paw while her thumb tweaked her clit. He could swear that for a second she looked up to the ceiling, muzzle open in a silent howl as his knot popped in.

Then…

Well of course he didn’t expect it to be the human way. Nor at this point did he expect to have to be particularly proactive. Still in the top position, Carmelita pressed herself against him until they were torso-to-torso, her breasts squished between them as he kept playing with her nipples, sometimes switching to the vestigials along her belly or squeezing her hips in his paws.

The surprise came when her snatch started teasing his dick. There was no pumping action or hip movement, just her inner muscles coiling and pressing around his member, teasing it mercilessly, milking it. He almost pulled out by reflex, only to find himself stuck when she tightened her vaginal muscles around his knot, keeping him virtually trapped inside her.

“Holy-!” He gasped, wrapping his arms around her as a tremor of raw pleasure ran all the way up his spine.

“Surprised?” She smirked. “It’s as I said: the ladies are in command with us dogs. Be thankful we aren’t hyenas.” She laughed, rhythmically squeezing his dick tightly with her vaginal muscles and raising her hips to tug on his knot.

She took her time to toy with him, and she made him discover that when a female was involved, sex didn’t stop when he cummed once. She had him in a vice, calves wrapped around his back, trapping him under her heavier form. Once, twice, thrice he let loose inside her, and each time she would coax him back into action before he had the chance to soften in a matter of second, herself climaxing just as many times as he had, tweaking her clit, letting him fiddle with her nipples as the two of them kissed relentlessly in their tight embrace. His heart was beating like crazy, the edges of his vision graying out from the continued strain on his whole being. He was also pretty sure she had left bite and claw marks around his neck and upper back. He didn’t mind, too enraptured by the literal milking she was enacting upon him.

It wasn’t until his balls ached from being sucked dry (or it damn felt like it) and that both canines were utterly exhausted that she finally dropped to her side, still hugging Dilip as his member was finally released, the Indian’s head cradled between her pillowy breasts.

Given how passive he’d been, Dilip was shocked to be so sore and exhausted. As her snatch finally released its grip on his knot and he slipped out, slumber finally claimed him, the smaller male spooned by Carmelita, a smile on his muzzle.





	Disgruntled as he was from Starswirl suddenly teleporting him out of his bath, Rockhoof could recognize the urgency there was in speeding up making contact with Vivian’s recently founded colony. The Lady of the Lake, whilst certainly not outright evil, wasn’t one known to appreciate visitors or to be particularly lenient. That Equestrian airship… for whichever reason it was even there, they needed to get in touch with them.

Arrangements were made. Teams assembled. Contingencies taken to ensure all activities around Trecesson would still run smoothly and that their projects would still be seen to an end. In close proximity to the castle, multiple buildings were already rising, their foundations set and the beginnings of a structure emerging out of them like timber skeletons. Some were extra houses, others, more importantly, a workshop and a tavern.

If things kept going normally, Rockhoof should expect them to be finished before winter settled in fully. It was already early October here in Brittany, and with it came chilly rainfall and winds. As a peninsula, Brittany was subject to the whims of the Atlantic, and good weather seldom extended beyond summer. The jokes about liquid sunshine existed for a reason, and winter promised to come early, and strong.

That didn’t worry Rockhoof. Their stores were cushy enough to last them through a pretty rough winter.

Behind him, his little expeditionary force into Vivian’s territory awaited. Trecesson wasn’t very big, so it wasn’t more than two guards (one a unicorn, one a stag) and Miles, his lieutenant, but it was better than nothing. It also highlighted the little improvements they had made to their gear: they were still armoring themselves with a mix of retrofitted gambesons and chainmail, but now the craftsmanship was less shoddy, better suited to their smaller shapes.

Heavy yet flexible armor. Well-suited to patrolling the enchanted forest.

Guards on duty around the castle would typically don vivid colors, yellow and orange tabards usually, whereas those sent on patrol around Broceliande would replace those colors with brown or green cloaks (more like ponchos, a match for the lieutenants’ preferred clothing) above their armor. To go with that, they had canvas utility rigs to attach their gear, camo netting, and the ever-useful MOLLE daypacks (which were more the size of rucksacks for their smaller frames).

A mix of medieval and modern then. Much like their weapons: boar spears and halberds in melee, and large-caliber hunting rifles at range. With the size of hogs in Broceliande, you damn-well needed to pack a punch. Miles for instance packed a .45-70 lever-action, and experience had shown her the effects were well worth nearly dislocating her wings from the sheer recoil.

Rockhoof didn’t pack that kind of gear of course. He was more of a hooves-on fighter, and his own leather armor was more than enough when paired with his own Earth-Pony durability and signature combat shovel.

“Is everyone ready?” He eventually asked when the stag in the group was done chatting with his doefriend.

“Yessir!” Miles chirped, the pegasus landing by his side. “All geared up and prepped for the mission.”

“And the rest?”

“Emeric will keep an eye on the castle while we’re gone. No issue with that.”

“Good, last thing I want is something to happen while...”

“Meadowbrook will be fine.” Miles smiled sympathetically. “It’s not like we’ll be gone for long anyway.”

“Faust-dammit, am I really that obvious?” He chuckled lightly.

“Only to those in the know. You really don’t have to be worried. I saw her and Martin go down to the potions lab. They’ll probably still be there by the time we get back.” Miles reassured him before she opened a pouch on her rig with one of her primaries. 

She pulled out a map covered in various annotations gleaned thanks to countless patrols sent out into the forest. Danger areas, routes frequently taken by predators, ancient ruins and convergence points in the ley lines the sort of which you’d rather steer clear of (and boy was the forest filled to the brim with those)...

“I mapped out a safe route towards Comper Castle for us. It’s a bit slow since there’s that giant mushroom grove we found last week we need to go around, but we shouldn’t have any issues with animals.”

“Good initiative Lieutenant, but that won’t be necessary.” Merlin said, the ghost popping up right next to her in Rockhoof in his equine form.

“Lemme guess… teleportation? Doesn’t Vivian have wards against that?” Her tone was flat, now entirely indifferent to the wizard’s habit of popping all over the place unannounced.

“She does, but that doesn’t mean we can’t teleport as close as we can. Gather your troops, we’re going to Paimpont.”

By which he was referring to the village that used to be in the very center of the forest, northwest of Trecesson and roughly halfway to Vivian’s domain. They had gone through the area the last time they visited the Lady of the Lake to ask for Excalibur.

Not unsurprisingly, the ruins had only gotten worse in the meantime. The same effect that allowed Trecesson to have so many harvests also made the forest grow at such an accelerated rate it was quickly growing back to a size it hadn’t had in millenia, and the little village with the stone houses that was Paimpont had been caught in it.

Lacking any inhabitants to fight back against the plants, most of the houses were now covered in ivy with saplings sprouting wherever possible, even if it meant cracking through asphalt or pavement. Paimpont had been turned into a verdant maze, with only the odd blotch of color from former cafés and storefronts that used to offer goods to passing tourists, their wares now strewn about by animals that had scoured the place for food, terrace tables lying overturned in the tall grass that covered the streets like a blanket. The odd shape of a parked car could be seen here and there, large forms hidden beneath ivy and foliage, long rendered beyond use by the sole fact roads weren’t really a thing anymore in the region.

The sole exception to that overgrowth was the little abbey they appeared next to on the western side of the village, near a small lake from which a herd of deer was currently drinking. They scattered when Rockhoof’s group teleported into existence.

Merlin eyed the abbey. Its tall grey walls were covered in ivy up to the halfway point, but then they had stopped. The building was still showing signs of abandonment, broken windows and all, but no overgrowth. In fact its gardens were pristine yet… untended.

“Remind me to come back and explore the place when time allows. I was never too fond of Christians, but they did have a habit of locking magical artifacts in their reliquaries. There may be something of use there.”The ghost said before motioning for them to continue their journey towards Comper.

Paimpont was soon left behind, and with it the more open skies the ruins provided as the group headed into the shade provided by the oaken branches extending above them, each of them rife with life as birds tweeted and sang at their passage. As always, moving through the forestry took time, time to find and follow one of the many game trails big enough to let ponies through, time to hack away a passage through thorns and brambles to go from one to another, and thorough compass checks to make sure they weren’t led astray, with Miles having to fly up and pop out through the canopy at regular intervals to look over the horizon and ensure they were going the right way.

Enchanted forests never were too convenient to wade through.

But they made it eventually. Maybe one hour later than initially planned thanks to a patch of cursed vines trying to cop a feel of Miles’ hinquarters and them being forced to find a way around it, but they did make it to Vivian’s lake, and they took in the changes.

Comper Castle… well, there was no doubt the Lady of the Lake had amassed herself a colony of her own. Instead of the complete ruin they had observed on their previous visit back when they asked for Excalibur, the building now presented itself proudly. Not fully-repaired just yet – they could see some makeshift scaffolding wrapped around a tower- but it had seen its holes patched up with fresh cement and recently-cut stones, its shutters replaced, and a whole new coat of lime wash that made it practically gleam in the bright afternoon sun. Atop its tallest tower, a pennant floated. Blue, yellow, decorated with a wave pattern and a seven-pointed star.

Ponies and deer milled around the building. A couple tents had been erected in the courtyard, safe within the walls. The castle was bigger than Trecesson, perched atop a promontory that overlooked the lake, but it didn’t have outbuildings, and judging by the freshly cleared patches around it, it was recent enough that the inhabitants hadn’t had the time to farm much, even with the forest enhancing yields to ludicrous levels. The only thing truly ‘ready’ was an apple orchard in close proximity to the castle which a couple locals were already harvesting.

But as a whole, with the area cleared, it had a more open aspect than Trecesson. Maybe it was the absence of a bocage and the lack of a palisade, maybe it was thanks to Vivian’s lake, but it felt like there was a lot more breathing room than in their own castle where Broceliande felt like it was looming over them at times. Few buildings occupied the fields: a barn for their sheep and goats, a tall mill in the process of being repaired, and off in the distance the overgrown remains of a hamlet that had burned down shortly after the Event. Now nothing but a supply of construction materials.

Oh and there was an airship of course.

There it was, landed in a field next to the castle, its appearance leaving little doubt as to where it came from: a garish purple canvas balloon with a gondola shaped much like a boat suspended beneath it. Color wise, it looked as though someone had tried to make Canterlot fly: bright white, gleaming brass wherever metal was deemed necessary and sharp curves that accentuated its maneuvering fins, the both of them subtly hiding a pair of propellers in the aft section.

Miles whistled.

“Yep, that’s no Goodyear blimp. No way we ever made something like that on Earth.” The pegasus affirmed. “You said it’s ponies?”

“Indeed.” Starswirl’s ghost nodded slowly. “At least as far as I could tell before the scrying spell cut off. I wish I could have more information about them but...”

“But?” Rockhoof tilted his head. “Come to think of it, shouldn’t you have heard about them earlier? I mean from your other half in Equestria.”

“If I was in Canterlot as usual… then yes, I would have. Unfortunately my own research carried me elsewhere and my living half is currently scouring the libraries of Pantera, in Abyssinia.” He explained. “It… has yet to yield information worth using.”

“Still about making spells stick to returnees?” Rock guessed, eliciting another nod from his long time friend.

“Aye… Equus unfortunately knows little about the melding of multiple brands of magic.” He sighed, turning his ethereal gaze back towards Comper Castle. “Looks like they’re sending a welcoming party. Stand straight, first impressions are important.”

A unicorn inside the castle had indeed spotted them, and after that it wasn’t too long before a group sallied out of the ramparts and trotted over to meet them. Much like them, they mostly consisted of deer and unicorns, and they had already picked out the guards in the bunch. A group of three left the gates, their appearance a sharp contrast compared to what Trecesson’s guards usually wore.

The armor was more flashy for one. A lot more. Wearing blue and yellow barding that matched the colors of their flag, they had decided to go for plate armor polished so well it shone like mirrors. Less flexible, less practical when patrolling Broceliande, but far more protective, admittedly.

There was also a difference in technology. Where in Trecesson you could observe an odd mix of modern and medieval, that mixture was absent there. The three they could see didn’t have military rigs, backpacks or hunting rifles to accompany the medieval armor, swords and lances.

In fact that extended to the whole colony. From where they were standing near the lake, there wasn’t a single hint of an antenna or generator that would testify as to the presence of modern tech, except maybe for modern fabrics and salvaged materials like plastic and tarps.

Finally, the welcoming party came to a halt a few paces in front of their group. Three knights: two unicorns (a mare and a stallion) accompanied by a regal-looking stag with an impressive 20-point rack.

“Halt! State your identity and intentions!” The unicorn mare spoke up in French, her voice firm yet melodious.

She was… unique that was for certain. Beneath her plate armor and yellow coat of fur was a shape that would make many a stallion turn his head. Taller than most stallions, she had ample shapes to her lithe form with coiled muscles waiting, subtly hidden and ready to be unleashed. Paired with her glowing blue eyes and oddly long curved horn, it was clear she wasn’t a normal unicorn. Her reddish mane was crisply braided, so as not to impede her fighting ability.

And with the obviously enchanted lance and broadsword combo attached to her barding, she would be one mean foe to tackle, one that could take and dish a lot of punishment.

Trailing behind her was the unicorn stallion. Oddly bulky for one of his species, yet shorter than the mare. He wore the same kind of armor, though with less trim to it, the plates of his armor left undecorated. His looks were… cold to put it simply. Light grey fur paired itself with a tightly braided ice blue mane that shared its color with his eyes. Stern. Sharp. Wielding an ice-encrusted longsword.

There was only one detail worthy of note to his plate armor: the symbol on his flank plates, right where his Cutie Mark would be. A heater shield.

Right. Rockhoof gauged him. Subordinate. Young. Distrustful, but will defer to his obvious superior. Probably a defense oriented spellblade.

Last in the trio was the stag. Regal though he may look with the imperious posture customary of older members of his species, the trim on his armor made it clear he was the unicorn mare’s subordinate. He was also the obvious veteran of the group as the oldest. Calmer, but attentive as he surveyed Rock’s group with his amber eyes. He had a thick grey coat of fur with black spots all over his back, and from his head sprouted a 20-point rack made all the more menacing by the blades he had added to it.

This wasn’t the kind of stag you’d want to be charged by, and if that didn’t work he still had a glaive that shone with the green glint of magic.

But hey, with a rack like that his nemesis must be doors.

“I am Lord Rockhoof of Trecesson, here with my retinue. We came when we caught note of the airship entering Broceliande.” He said, vaguely waving his hoof at the landed airship.

“Trecesson? Et bien, comptez-moi heureuse de finalement rencontrer nos voisins.” She smiled politely. “Our Blessed Lady mentioned your existence a few times, but current affairs have so far prevented us from paying you a visit, I’m afraid.” She eyed the guards he’d come with, eyes quickly sweeping over Miles before they rested on Starswirl’s ethereal form. “And I’m honored to see Merlin the Enchanter in our territory, but… are all those guards really necessary?”

“Much as I like this forest, Broceliande isn’t safe. It’s a necessity, I’m saddened to say, Miss...?” He trailed off.

The mare quickly brought a hoof to her muzzle, sheepish.

“Oh I’m sorry. How rude of me. I’m Catherine, previously Charles, from the Gendarmerie Nationale, now devout Paladin of the Lady. My companions are Sir Renard...” She waved her hoof at the icy unicorn behind her. “… and Sir Armand.”

“Paladin?” Miles blurted out. “Isn’t that like a gaming word?”

“Our Blessed Lady bestowed her boon upon me as I drank from her chalice. With my title come powers that ensure I am best suited in my task of protecting this castle.” Catherine explained. “You’re not from here.” The last sentence was a statement, not a question. Fluent as she was, Miles’ accent was hard to miss.

Rockhoof spoke up before she could.

“Lieutenant Miles here is American. She works as my right hoof and has done an excellent job so far.”

“An American? Here?” Catherine quirked an eyebrow.

“Saint-Cyr. Exchange program.” Miles told flatly.

The Paladin mouthed an ‘oh’ of acknowledgement, before Rockhoof spoke up again and shifted the discussion to another topic.

“Now… to be honest we were planning to visit you just for the sake of making contact and possibly trade, but the airship forced our hoof here.” Rock started. “Have you-”

Catherine quickly raised a hoof to halt him mid-sentence.

“My role here is security. These ponies pose no threat to us and I’ve thus let them inside. Our Blessed Lady is currently meeting the expedition leaders in her castle and they should be back in a moment. As for the airship’s Captain, you’ll find him in the castle with our Intendant. They’re arranging an exchange of supplies.”

“Very well then, shall we chat while we wait?” He offered.

Paladin Catherine and her subordinates warmed up to them in just a few minutes, the caution they had initially greeted them with washed away now that they were sure nothing bad would come out of the strangers. How was she so certain of that?

Cernunnos had a lot to do with it. Much like Trecesson, they had an agreement of their own with the Horned God of the Celts, and he would not tolerate any kind of violence or conflict to take place between them.

And so they chatted, eager to learn about their neighbor’s colony.

Comper was interesting in its own right. Catherine admitted life was a bit… odd when compared to France prior to the Event, but the Lady of the Lake had plenty of boons to share with them. So much so that life was rather comfortable, even though they lacked much in the way of advanced technology. Magic could go a long way making up for the difference, and the Paladin swore her enchanted weapons and armor were just as good as any gun she’d wielded back when she was still male and a gendarme.

Life was… simple. There was no fuss of paperwork, no bustling offices to wade through, no constant buzzing in your ear from this computer or that phone.

They had the Lady of the Lake to provide her boons and ensure illness didn’t befall them. They had her magic and enchantments, the wards to protect them. Catherine to ensure safety from the odd monster that passed through the wards.

And an elected Intendant to manage how they went about developing the castle.

“Vraiment, you’ll want to talk to him. I’m sure we can arrange some kind of trade between our colonies. Surely we have enough guards between you and me to escort caravans through the forest.” Catherine mentioned once she was done describing how their little colony worked after they found a spot on the lake’s shores to lay down.

“Logistics is something we’re trying to fix, come to think of it.” Rockhoof mused. “We’re trying to get some kind of air transportation, since game trails take so long to pass through and the roads are just gone. Right uh, Star?” He jerked his head towards where the ghost was lying on his belly.

“Magic is a complicated matter Rockhoof.” Starswirl calmly said, eyes not leaving the lake’s surface, expecting the ponies they awaited any second now. “For all we know it may take months before I can manage to make spells ‘stick’, so to speak. Even with Morgane’ help, mind. Flying carriages won’t be here for a while.”

“Flying what?” Catherine gained a puzzled look on her features.

“Carriage. A flying chariot drawn by pegasi. See Miles here? She could pull one but she’s literally the only flyer living in the region.” Rock said. “What we’re trying is temporary spells so unicorns could grow wings and do it.”

The Paladin simply nodded before she twisted her ears. Behind her and Rockhoof, the rest of the guards were chatting idly, much the same kind of conversation as they’d just had. Learning how life was in the neighboring colony.

Soon though, Vivian’s lake came alive with magic. Somepony was exiting her underwater realm. In a burst of water, two unicorn mares emerged before they were escorted to the shore by the piasts the Lady of the Lake used to defend her realm.

“Wait a second… I know these mares...” Rockhoof mumbled.

One was an azure unicorn with a purple cloak and wizard’s hat.

The other was light pink, with a two-toned cyan and purple mane. Like toothpaste.

Starlight Glimmer and Trixie Lulamoon. Stuck on Earth.
> Chapter 94: Stranded Mares
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rockhoof was still blinking in surprise from seeing the two mares appear on the lake’s surface when he felt a pair of hooves wrap around his chest, Starlight having practically thrown herself at him in a move that would have toppled any other stallion. For a pony of his bulk? He barely felt the impact, looking down at the pink unicorn mare hugging him in bemusement.

Starlight Glimmer, a mare he hadn’t seen in a few years after his… rather unfortunate stint at the School of Friendship. The memory and embarrassment attached to it brought a wince to his muzzle. He’d been a confused mess back then.

She didn’t notice the wince… or she didn’t care at least.

“Rockhoof!” She greeted (rather loudly, mind) raising her eyes to meet his. “It’s me, Starlight! We met a few years back, remember? What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying my retirement.” Loose term, he knew. With him winding up as castellan of Trecesson, it really wasn’t much of a retirement anymore. “I would think Flash Magnus passed on the information. This world, in its state, is just a better fit for the likes of me and Meadowbrook. So let me return the question: what are you doing here? Last I remember Princess Sparkle passed on her school to you.”

Starlight’s face fell and she separated the hug, dropping down to her hooves.

“She did. We… it was summer break OK? They were looking for volunteers to help the ponies on this planet.” She looked towards Trixie. “We’re not new to adventuring, so we felt like we would be fine helping around. And we were. The monsters weren’t such a big deal. We traveled around the British Isles. We helped relocate a colony after a sea serpent attack in Ireland. Taught lessons on ponykind and magic. Gathered survivors. Spread Harmony. Even with all the danger it went well.”

“Then you overstayed your welcome and got stuck.” Starswirl calmly guessed.

Starlight felt tempted to ask the walking piece of Equestrian myth why he was a ghost, but she just nodded sullenly, head held low. Trixie trotted over and took it upon herself to continue the explanation.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is saddened to say we both overestimated our ability to power the spell back to Equestria and decided to continue helping colonies. We were just done with Ireland and starting with Britain. That was two months ago.”

“Add two weeks to that, and that’s about when we realized that wasn’t such a good id-” Starlight added.

She was interrupted by a small cough. Right next to Rockhoof, Paladin Catherine had stood up, her tall armored frame comparatively much larger than either Starlight or Trixie.

Still not quite as large as Rockhoof, but the stallion was on another scale entirely.

“I hate to interrupt, but we’re in France here. My country may not exist anymore but that doesn’t change most of us here don’t speak English.” She slowly said, throwing the visitors a look.

“Oh how rude of us. I’m terribly sorry Paladin.” Starswirl apologized. “Would you mind if I cast a quick translation spell?”

That earned him a curt nod from the heavily-armored paladin mare with the curved horn. The ghost focused his magic and released a flash of magic through his horn, ensuring all ponies on the lakeshore could understand each other before he sat back down.

“Understand now?”

Catherine nodded, satisfied.Starswirl turned back towards Starlight.

“I’m sorry Miss Glimmer, you were saying?”

“As you probably know, the energy requirements to go back and forth between Earth and Equestria have been increasing. What we didn’t expect was how quick it would happen since we thought ‘eh, we’re pretty good mages so what’s the worst that can happen if we stick around?’ Fast-forward to when we actually cast the ritual to go back and… the requirements were so high Trixie and I burned out and spent all our magically-charged gems in the attempt.” She explained, ending in a sigh. “Wasn’t even enough to send a call for help home an- and-  Faust damn it, it’s all my fault!” Starlight burst out, falling down in the grass with her head between her hooves. “Twilight, Sunburst, the students, everypony! They needed me, and I just ran off on my responsibilities because I thought I could have my summer adventure!” She wailed.

Trixie hurried over to her marefriend, wrapping a hoof over her neck and dragging her into a tight hug.

“Shh, it’s alright Starlight. We’re both at fault here.” She comforted, brushing a hoof through her mane. “We found Rockhoof now, and you heard Lady Vivian earlier. We’re headed the right way.”

“That’s what I was wondering.” Rockhoof calmly said after sharing a look with Paladin Catherine. “I’m not exactly familiar with this world’s geography just yet, but if you were in Britain, why have you come here?”

“Because we were told to.” Starlight sniffed.

The inquisitive looks she got from both Starswirl and Rockhoof prodded her to go on. The pink mare threw Trixie a small smile before standing up, shakily. She still felt guilty. She was supposed to be in charge. She was supposed to be responsible. Yet her actions had caused not only her and her marefriend to wind up stranded on a foreign planet, but along with them was the crew of the entire airship. They had livelihoods too. Families. Jobs.

All put in jeopardy because of her and Trixie's hubris. She shook her head softly.

“When we first hit England there was this small group of survivors in Liverpool which we helped relocate to a castle in the countryside. It’s only after we were done with the usual relief effort, giving explanations and teaching about pony biology that we cast the ritual to return to Equestria and realized we were stuck.”

“You panicked.” Starswirl’s tone was flat.

“What kind of pony wouldn’t?” She threw him a look. “I’ll give the short story and say we wandered around for a while trying to look for solutions. Thing is, we had heard about some human magic and gods while we were in  Ireland, and one of the ponies we helped in Liverpool suggested we try our luck in Wales with the ancient magic.

It sort of worked. After all, if we couldn’t get back home on our own means, maybe human magic could help us out? We took off, set a course for Wales and started looking around. We had to look through a few libraries before we gathered enough clues, which led usto a set of standing stones in Pembrokeshire.” She paused to take a breath. “That wasn’t quite the solution though. It was a gateway to the Otherworld guarded by a couple wights and the spirit of a dead druid. It...” She threw Trixie a look.

“In all her skills at bending light and befuddling minds, it still took the Great and Powerful Trixie all of two days to get the wights to calm down and obtain some answers from the druid. He didn’t let us through to the Otherworld though, instead he sent us further south saying maybe we’d have better luck in Glastonbury Tor at the Gates of Avalon.”

“The gates are still standing?” Starswirl raised an eyebrow. “I thought the island had been ravaged by a fire.”

“Must have been at some point.” Trixie stared at him flatly. “Because except for a chapel, the hilltop was barren. It’s also not an island anymore… however that’s supposed to happen.” She blew a strand of her mane out of her sight and tucked it under her mane with her telekinesis. The Prim and Proper Trixie never had bad mane days. “The magic was there however. So… we went through into the Otherworld and we saw the glass palace, the empty halls, the dead orchards, his tomb,it was...”

“Eerie? I’d be surprised if you found it normal. The Otherworld isn’t meant for mortals. It tends to leave its imprint on those who visit.” Starswirl calmly said.

“Talk about an understatement.” Starlight shuddered. “I’ve never felt anything like that. It was like… anywhere you put your hoof there was a magical echo, but the halls were cold and empty.”

“Aye. At one point Avalon was at the crossroads of the entire Otherworld. A link to many Celtic divinities’ realms. A place of knowledge and wonder for all practitioners of magic to behold, human or not. Camlann changed that, and it was never the same from that point on after Arthur’s burial. I never learned what happened to the place.”

“Vivian said it was sealed shortly after, but how do you know that?” Starlight inquired carefully. “Is there anything we should know? Is that why you’re...”

“A ghost?” He chuckled. “It’s tied to it, yes, but my nature is not something so easily discussed. We will get to it later. What happened then?”

“There was this cloaked figure.” Her mind flashed back to the moment. She and Trixie had been looking at the eldritch skies of the Otherworld in Avalon’s dead orchards when it had waltzed out from between two gnarly dead trees. Even by the realm’s standards, the shimmering and inconsistency of its shape… it hadn’t been quite right. “We think it was a god, but it didn’t give us a name or a title. It just appeared out of nowhere, asked us a few questions about our goals, and then told us it may have a friend in Broceliande with the magic to help us.” She finished her sentence with a pointed look towards Starswirl.

“It’s a real coin toss who that ‘friend’ may be, don’t you think?” The Lady of the Lake snarked in Latin as her form emerged from the lake’s water. She spread out her dragonfly wings and settled into a hover above the lakeshore.

Starswirl glowered at her for a couple seconds before he let out an annoyed sigh, pushing himself up on his hooves. Give it to Vivian to drive his annoyance to its limits in one sentence.

“You and I both know it’s not him, just a memory. No use dangling that hope in front of me.” He glared at her before turning towards Starlight.

“Miss Glimmer, Miss Lulamoon, I suggest we move off to that airship of yours and see whether or not I can actually help you out.”





“You know… I think I’ve made up my mind on this.” Dilip broke the silence.

He’d been awake for a good quarter of an hour now, quietly watching the sun rise through the skylight as Carmelita spooned him, the border collie keepin an arm wrapped around his chest as the two of them dozed in bed. The scent of sex still lingered in the air, as was the dull soreness in his muscles. It had been a while since he’d actually gotten any…

“Have you, now?” His partner of the previous night smiled, one paw brushing through the slightly paler fur on his chest. “I didn’t know you needed a whole night to figure out whether or not you liked sex. Was I that bad?”

“No. No. Definitely not.” He half-barked, half-laughed. “You were excellen-”

“So were you. Pretty decent for a first-timer.”

“I did say I was married before, right?”

“I was talking post-Event, dummy. Experience as a human doesn’t count.”

“Either way...” He rolled his eyes, nose twitching. “It’s still a bit… bizarre how different it is for us dogs. I don’t dislike it though. It’s… relaxing really. I’m always supposed to be in charge on my ship, and passing over the reins to someone, just for the night… it’s more relaxing than any blend of tea I’ve ever come across. And believe me when I say: I know my infusions.”

“You’re weirdly into tea for an Indian you know.”

He just snorted. The comments on him being ‘Briticized’, he could understand.But the tea? Really? His ancestors were drinking tea thousands of years before hot water as a concept reached the British Isles.

Just plain silly.

“Still...” She continued. “I’m glad you liked it in the end. You looked rather awkward at first.”

“Blame your methods. You’re not exactly ‘subtle’ about your intentions you know. What’s with that? You think I don’t have the self-control to see you dangling the metaphorical piece of meat in front of my eyes?”

Carmelita’s arm tightened around his chest.

“I’m sorry as to how that may have come across.” She slowly said, unsure of how to continue. “But… I told you yesterday I’d do anything to ensure Mexico would be set on the right path from now on. That includes… handing out incentives to the right pups.”

“You do know we’d have helped either way? I mean… that’s what the WSU does. We go around and set up colonies.” He craned his neck to look her in the face from the corner of his eye.

He yelped when she bit his ear playfully.

“Cut the cheek, I’m the one in charge here and you’re enough of a prize on your own.” She grinned. “You being on my side now, that’s just a bonus.”

“I just said I liked laying back and letting you take charge.” He stared at her flatly. “Not that I was turned into a complete sub. Out of curiosity...”

“I’ll just say I did sleep with my foreman. Samuel though? He had a bone to pick with the cartels, so he and his militia are on my side by default. Abyssinians don’t work the same way dogs do.”

Figures. The feline had a more… common sexual dimorphism. Pretty similar to humans actually, though their females tended to fall on the plain side when compared to say, the matronly build of female gargoyle or amazon-esque creatures such as minotaur cows or D-Dog bitches, one of which he was currently using the breasts of as a (pretty comfy) pillow.

“It’s gonna be a mess in the long run.” He muttered.

“I’m aware.” Carmelita confirmed, finally relenting her grip on his chest as she stood up to get dressed. Spooning was fine and dandy, but she needed to work on reactivating the refinery, among other things.

That didn’t detract from the fact they were keenly aware the planet as a whole was bound to face severe social issues in the future. There was already the fact gender norms were thrown asunder by the fact a solid third of the population was swapped around, but human norms didn’t necessarily carry over to newer species either.

Humans had dimorphism in that women were generally smaller and less suited for blue collar work than men. That didn’t carry over to Diamond Dogs at all to the point that Carmelita had to forcefully convince several bitches to get off their asses and go to work. Moreover, if primadonnas and machos persisted even after becoming dogs, she feared the future may yield cases of battered males because they kept thinking like humans.

A right mess with just the one species.

Given that most colonies including Coatzacoalcos were inhabited by more than one type of creatures? In their case, developing social norms would be a pain in the ass. Cats and dogs literally, with gender dimorphism that sat on opposite ends of the scale for either species.

Frankly given the complexity of the topic, Dilip wasn’t surprised to see the Mexicans had adopted an attitude he’d been seeing for a while among sailors: ignore it, leave it for someone else to deal with, and just keep working. Most folks already had too much on their plate to really worry about the topic, ensuring day-to-day logistics ran smoothly was hard enough as is.

And eventually, after rolling out of bed and gathering their discarded clothes, those were the logistics both D-Dogs headed back to. Social issues were fun food for thought while you were sharing breakfast after a night of wild sex, but colonial matters needed to be tended, trade deals hammered out, and overall handling the matters of stabilizing civilization.

By early afternoon, a trade deal between the WSU and the oil workers had been printed, signed and filed.

Per usual, the WSU would do its stuff of helping them stabilize their colony and set up various utilities, though to a lesser extent than most of their previous ports of call. Most of the cats and dogs (and the odd parrot) that called the refinery home were blue collar, and thus had the technical skills to set up a decent colony on their own.

Most of what the sailors needed to do was more about helping the locals and fill up work crews than actually set something up, barring lesser stuff like repairing and reactivating the clinic near the militia’s barracks, or the usual lessons like post-Event biology, monsters, the ten thousand years and whatnot.  

More ideas might pop up later, but for now the oil workers mostly needed engineers to reactivate the refinery.

That left trade. Coatzacoalcos was able to put out one precious thing nearly every colony needed: fuel. The one key component needed to run generators, and unlike recycled fuels, theirs didn’t have a negative impact on oil filters and machinery in general. Plus, recycled fuel was by nature limited to the amount of spoiled oil you could locate in one place. The refinery on the other paw was connected to subsea templates and oil wells numbering in the billions of barrels. More if they seized abandoned platforms and repressurized the oil pockets.

And that was only the fuel. Not only could you make plenty of lubricants and polymers from one batch of crude in addition to the multiple kinds of fuel, but then came the fact that crude wasn’t the only thing to come out of a well. Natural gas was a thing too.

Its main purpose as it reached the petrochemical complex was to serve as the main source of power to keep the current running, but sections of the refinery were devoted to processing it into usable chemicals.

Among the outputs of the gas chain? Fertilizer.

What did the farming cooperative in Cuba say they needed? Talk about a coincidence.

Though of course, it wasn’t only about exports. The folks at the refinery needed stuff to keep it going, things like large machined parts that could be made in Belfast, which also supplied meat from the O’Connell farm near Antrim. Savannah could provide ammunition by the boatload. Havana was able to supply canned foods and liquor. Even Narvik might be an interesting addition, if the dwarves they were trading with could enchant critical refinery components to withstand harsher parameters.

As far as supply routes went it was far from perfect and could probably use a lot of improvement as they discovered more colonies… but Roberto’s earlier assumption that adding a refinery to the network would cement the feasibility of the project was all but confirmed at this point.

Coatzacoalcos’ strategic importance was paramount.

“And that is why we can’t just sit back and let them be conquered by those...” Roberto trailed off.

“Cartels?” Dilip calmly completed.

It was late in the afternoon now, and he was back inside his quarters having tea with his Intel Officer. A little indent in the thicker fur around his neck hid a little leather collar with a pendant. A discreet reminder of his night with Carmelita she had stuck on his neck before he left.

“I was going to say cultists given your description, but either fits it seems. Los Lobos.” The feline bobbed his head, dumping two sugars in his teacup. “I still have to visit that hacienda of theirs, but the constant commute from there to the refinery makes them incredibly vulnerable to attacks. Or so Samuel said. They can readily defend either facility, but the enemy presence is something else, and it’s been hampering their ability to develop.”

“I know that. Looks to me like we’re going to have to fight them…” Dilip took a sip of his tea and sighed. “It’s a dangerous situation.”

“Few things aren’t dangerous.” Roberto pointed out.

“Ex-cartel members turned cultists I believe are a cut above what we’ve met before, Roberto. Don’t underestimate them.” Dilip looked at the feline across from him. “Need I remind you we are not military? Overconfidence could just as easily lead to one of us getting killed and that’s about the last thing we want in this situation. People are precious, now more than ever.”

“Understood Captain. What shall we do then?”

Dilip stood up and moved over to the nearest porthole, small steaming teacup held in a large paw.

“Let’s follow the same principle that we did in Savannah. Prepare a list and ask for whoever is up for fighting Los Lobos… then I want you to pass it over to Artyom and tell him to get into contact with the militia’s commander… Samuel I mean. Good liaison with local forces will be important. Lorelei should be doing the same right about now. That way we should have an idea of the forces we can deploy to stamp out the threat.”

“Anything else?” His subordinate inquired, his own tea forgotten -not that he was too fond of it anyway- now that he’d pulled out a notepad.

“Yes. Double the guard detail on the ship. The locals have been fearing an assault for a while and I fear our arrival may force their hand and lead to an attack. I also want you to prepare expedition groups. Send out the recce team into town for stuff we could sell to the HPI, and prepare another expedition to salvage medical equipment. We need the stuff to reactivate the clinic. That is all for now, just make sure you spare the time to visit that hacienda of theirs for a colonial assessment. I’m sure Alejandro wouldn’t mind coming along, you two seem to get along well enough. That is all for now.

Behind him, Dilip heard the door open and close with a click, signalling the Intel Officer’s departure. He turned his gaze out the porthole and towards the jungle beyond the refinery. For a brief second, he swore he could see a hint of yellow fur disappear behind vegetation.

Enemy scouts most likely. Los Lobos wouldn’t stay quiet for much longer.





None in Skinner’s group slept in the span of time between Emily’s departure and her return just before dawn. The four of them were far too tense for that.

Instead, in hushed tones, they talked. Wondering what was going to happen, if their hippogriff savior would be found out by her peers whilst she retrieved their gear, if she failed and couldn’t make it in time, if she just gave up and decided to run for it…

If she was going to betray them. Then again, Skinner couldn’t see why she would do that. Their captors already had them in a cell.

Much as Skinner wanted to be cautious about her though, Emily kept her part of the bargain. As dawn neared and the guards outside started becoming more tired and less alert, there was some rustling outside their cave. The guard in front of their cell grunted in confusion, and then promptly collapsed, his body caught just in time before it could hit the ground and cause a ruckus.

A few seconds later, Emily’s beaked face peeked through the now open door frame as she deposited a large canvas bag between them with a metallic clatter.

“Your gear. Hurry up. The timberwolves are getting restless.” She told them quickly before she went back outside to keep an eye out.

They didn’t waste their time gearing up. Emily had done a good job of retrieving their stuff: everything was there. Sure, the guns’ optics were misaligned, the comms’ batteries were in the red and some of the mags had been emptied, but it was there.

Skinner racked his G36 and chambered a round before he slung the rifle across his back. Firing any shot right then was just begging to be captured… and likely killed on the spot.

Subordinates in tow, the hedgefog Captain slipped out of the cell and into the night. Emily eyed them up as she was finishing tying up the still unconscious guard. Whispering an apology, the hippogriff hen shoved a gag in his beak before she turned around to face the sailors.

“Ready?” She mouthed, to which Skinner replied with a confident nod.

Getting out of the village was… tense, obviously. Emily had managed to steal a blowgun and a set of sleep darts, but she’d only dealt with the one guard and caught him by surprise. There were more roaming around the primitive village, tired parrots and distracted hippogriffs that forced the five of them to scramble into the shadows every time they walked past lest they alerted the whole village.

Sneaking around as a group wasn’t easy. At all. Every step he took, every little plank that creaked or every time his gear rustled, Skinner could swear he was about to wake up everyone and get them tossed into a volcano. He would take cover in a dark nook, only for the one cloud that was blocking off the moon to drift off and light him up like a spotlight, prompting the hedgefog to quickly shift to fog form.

In fact the only one in the group not to experience any difficulties with all that sneaking around was Praveen, and he was pretty sure she had her feline grace to thank for it. The Abyssinian hardly made a sound as she padded from cover to cover, sometimes lowering herself to the ground to walk on all fours silently, effortlessly slipping between the tired guards that looked like they were just waiting for the end of their shift.

It still took them over an hour to make it to the log palisade that constituted the edge of the village, with several close calls that forced Emily to eat through her already limited supply of sleep darts. On the bright side, Skinner discovered how little sound his species made while in fog form, so he quickly developed a tactic of sneaking up on guards before quickly switching back to material form to deliver an electric burst to neutralize them.

Keyword being neutralize. They weren’t out to massacre the locals after all. That would only make it worse for them when the village woke up.

Which, going by the orange hues the sky had taken when they snuck past the palisade, wouldn’t be long from now. They quietly closed the gates behind them after taking care of the one parrot that had been watching the perimeter before they left in a mad dash towards the jungle, intent on putting as much distance between them and the villagers as possible before the alarm was raised. And it would, no doubt. It was just a coin toss as to what they’d find first: the unconscious guards, the empty cell, or the altar Emily had profaned to retrieve their gear.

Had they been a whole team of flyers, they might have been able to fly down the mountainside and back to the shore, but neither Praveen nor Skinner could fly, and Marcos, being an Ornithian, was admittedly terrible at it… so they were left with legging it through the jungle.

Emily led them to the lakeshore opposite the village where a tiny path wound its way along a narrow crest covered in ferns and saplings, one side sloped smoothly towards the lake, the other a near-cliff that dropped into a valley a few hundred meters below. She had them stop in a glade in view of the village just long enough for the hippogriff to drag a rucksack from underneath a rotten log.

“All there. Thank God they didn’t find it.” She said in relief as she opened it and began taking off what few tribal garments she was wearing. “I stashed this stuff here when the Bohiqua started seizing anything remotely modern. Couldn’t access it when they decided non-warriors had to stay inside the village.”

By which she was referring to the set of hastily refitted cargo shorts with a hole for her tail feathers along with a rough hiking shirt she had stuffed in there. A poor fit to her frame, something she must have done soon after reappearing, but a definite improvement over the primitive fashion she’d had forced upon her. She kept digging into the rucksack, pulling out various items like a map of the island, some waterproof bags containing her phone, laptop and journals – the batteries sadly empty-, going through the contents for a minute before she put them back in her rucksack, satisfied the jungle’s humidity hadn’t damaged her gear too much.

“Sorry, but I’d rather not stay dressed like a savage.” She apologized after she secured her rucksack’s straps. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Skinner inquired.

“Northeast.” Emily replied. “I know the area. If we go this way...” She pointed down a valley with her talons. “We can get some good distance between us and them and they’ll have difficulties flying down after us. That still leaves the timberwolves, but if we keep a good pace and watch our tracks maybe they won’t catch up too soon.”

Skinner didn’t really have a counter-argument to that, so they went with her decision. She was a local, and she actually had a topographic chart of the island, instead of Skinner’s own inaccurate satellite picture. So down the valley they went; through dense jungle as the sun slowly made its ascent above them and the temperature began to rise.

Emily’s plan took them towards the Atlantic side of the island, opposite Roseau where Fugro Symphony was anchored. It was far steeper, more densely forested and less developed than what Skinner’s team had experienced on the way in, which they quickly noticed when the trail they’d initially started on faded away and they had to force their way through an ever denser vegetation as swarms of insects started buzzing around them.

“Ugh...” Emily grunted. “Figures they wouldn’t maintain the trails that lead into Kalinago territory.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Skinner exclaimed. “Did you just imply we’re headed towards the tribe they called bloodthirsty?”

“Not directly no.” She countered. “We’re skirting around their territory because that’s about the last direction they’d go looking. Once we’re past them it’s one stretch of jungle to the ruins of the airport. Just watch for totem poles. That’s how they mark their borders.”

“And they won’t attack if we stay out?”

“Unlikely.” Emily snorted. “I studied the Kalinagos for a while. Unlike the Tainos they haven’t been ‘revived’ by this whole mess, and they were pretty chill as far as I can tell, unlike what the Bohiqua would have you believe. Stay out of their affairs, they’ll stay out of yours.”

“Better hope you’re right about that.” Skinner mumbled.

As predicted, it didn’t take too long for Emily’s former compatriots to wake up and sound the alarm. Off in the distance, they heard it, the dull sound of a horn rolling down the mountainside, echoing off the many trunks around them and making it hard to pinpoint its origin. Soon, flights of hippogriffs and parrots started patrolling the skies above them, to little effect: the jungle was dense, and the canopy practically impossible to see through.

But it was also hard to traverse. On a level terrain, rainforests were already difficult to wade through with all the insects and vegetation, but here in Dominica? It paired with mountainous terrains, narrow gorges and crests, made all the more exhausting by the sheer heat and humidity that permeated the area. Yet even though Skinner could feel the strain building up in his muscle, even though the straps of his combat vest were starting to dig their weight into his shoulders and he started loathing his fur and quills, they didn’t slow down.

Crest after crest, valley after valley, they pushed on and continued on their way towards the airport, hacking their way through the jungle and hiding under the vegetation whenever a patrol passed overhead.

They had a goal. Earlier, Skinner had pulled out his sat phone and used what little battery remained in the device to warn the ship of the situation and to order his subordinates to relocate off the airport where they’d meet up. From what little information he gleaned during the conversation, Quinn (his Chief Officer) had sent a group after them when they went missing, only to be chased out of the jungle by timberwolf riders.

At least nobody had been added to the tally of prisoners. This whole operation was enough of a mess already, so Skinner would rather be done with it and get off the damned island so they could continue towards Brazil.

“This whole thing is such a mess anyway.” Praveen growled in the back of the group. “I thought Carribean people were supposed to be nice people. Not… that kind of anti-tech craziness.”

“No argument there.” Was Emily’s reply. “I grew up here. I’ve seen them act pretty damn retarded at times… but this...” The hippogriff let out an annoyed trill. “This takes the cake. Willingly getting brainwashed by a Taino goddess? Please.”

“I’m gonna play the devil’s advocate and say the main reason is that uh… goddess can bring back their loved ones.” Skinner said. “You said she could do that, right?”

For a second, she was silent.

“Y- yeah, she can. Only for those who serve her well though, so...”

“Meaning by coming with us you’re giving away your chance at seeing your family again.” Skinner stated simply. “You know… you could still change your mind. At this point we four can keep going to the airport and you’d still have a chance to surrender and see them again. I’d understand the decision.”

“No.” Emily shook her head vehemently. “They wouldn’t want it to be this way. This whole thing… it’s just wrong.”

“That’s your choice.” Skinner shrugged. “What I can say is that we’ve got plenty of room available on my ship and I could always use the extra personnel. You said you were an anthropologist? With the amount of freshly settled colonies we’re coming across, we could use someone like you. Worst case scenario, you leave if you find a colony you’d like to live in.”

“That’s a… a nice offer. You mind if we leave it for when we’re off this island?”

“Music to my ears.”

In reasonable terrain, the group of five would have traversed the distance that separated them from the airport in as little as three hours. Dominica was not reasonable terrain, and the valleys and gorges, coupled with frequent stops to avoid detection throughout the day caused severe delays. Having to backtrack a few times when they found pathways blocked off by landslides and having to skirt a wide circle around Kalinago territory only made it worse.

The delay was so bad that by the time they finally came down the hills and towards the narrow stretch of flat land along the shore that was the airport, night had already fallen and Skinner had received several alarmed calls from Fugro asking why in the blazes they were taking so long.

“Sorry Quinn, but the terrain is kinda shit around here. Over.” Skinner grumbled into his radio, managing to catch himself just in time before he could slide down a muddy slope.

Sat phones? The batteries were long dead. But now that they were entering more open terrain and that they were on the right side of the island relative to the ship, the walkie-talkies were working again. Somewhat. Static was a thing.

“Understood sir. We’re on standby with the navigation lights turned off. Fire a flare when you’re in position and we’ll pick you up. Out.” The reply came, garbled, but understandable.

Straightforward, just the way he liked it.

“Come on people, we’re on the last stretch.” Skinner spurred the group onward.

They had taken a brief pause just above the airport, next to the ruined foundations of what at some point must have been a quaint little cottage, now naught but fertile soil for the jungle to expand on. In a fashion, much like the airport beneath them.

What little stretch of land had been cleared to give planes a place to land was ever so slowly being crept upon by the vegetation, to the point where anything outside the wire had become a sort-of mire with gigantic ferns and young saplings sprouting out of it in an area turned into wetlands by the same rainfall that had caused the landslides found all over Dominica.

Inside the wire was marginally better. The asphalt was cracked and battered, but it and the passenger terminal had held on, windows shattered, extensive humidity damage and rotting beams all over, but still standing as they walked past the wrecks of the support vehicles that used to service the planes passing through. Sharp cries inside the ruins denoted of bats that had made it their home as flocks of them took off now that the sun had set, eager to feast on the many insects that inhabited the jungle and the mire surrounding the airport.

And as Emily had said… the locals had burned down what few planes had been in the hangars at the time of the Event. Charred husks littered the side of the airstrip, the concrete blackened by the raging fires of a people that decided to shun modernity. Only one black husk wasn’t parked on the side of the strip.

That one, the islanders hadn’t set ablaze, that much was clear as they approached the end of the airstrip where sea met land. It was a regional liner, with a pair of turboprop engines, probably large enough for some three dozen passengers.

Which was about the amount of crosses planted in the mud beside the wreck. Skinner looked at it solemnly.

“It was before folks went crazy.” Emily remarked. “I came to help dig the tombs. They said it must have been landing when the Event happened, and the pilots turned into ponies. Nothing they could have saved them.” She shook her head.

“Did anyone survive?”

“A couple. Some died of their injuries later on. The others… some ponies grabbed a boat to go back to their country. The rest were the right species so they integrated. You must have seen some of them back in the village.”

“Brainwashed as well?”

She nodded. They had been more reluctant when the frenzy took hold and they started forcing folks to convert, but unlike her they couldn’t fake it. One of them, a male parrot, she was pretty sure Atabey had deemed would be more useful as a hen.

With the brainwashing? She was one of the first to lay eggs.

“Can we get off this island then?” Marcos asked hurriedly, eyes flicking towards the mountains as though a swarm of tribesmen would burst out of the jungle any second from now. “’cause last I checked that was the fate they reserved for me.”

“You’re right. Best not tempt fate and linger.” Skinner concluded, solemnly turning his back to the carcass before he started walking the rest of the way, towards the beach at the end of the airstrip.

With nighttime, it was hard to make out the horizon. Was that shade in the darkness his ship? Or a zeebeast? He couldn’t tell. The shore was dark, a brownish muddy sand making out the shore, covered in rotting algae brought on by the tide, its pungent smell mixed with that of the salty breeze that rustled the hedgefog’s quills. He let his G36 hang off its strap, reaching for the pouch that held his flare gun.

With a loud bang, the flare flew up in the night sky, a red star that illuminated the beach.

“Alright. We see you Captain. Stand by, help’s coming. Out.”

And then she appeared. Igniting all of her deck lights at once, Fugro Symphony popped into existence in front of their eyes, a tall hulking form that had been lurking in the darkness just off the shore, and with her came the smaller shape of one of their boats. Skinner smiled tiredly.

When the tribals flew in to meet them, it was already too late. A few bursts of the ship’s .50 cals fired over their heads sent them scurrying back into the jungle. They had failed: the sailors had escaped, and with them, Emily, the hippogriff mare staring forlornly at her native island she was leaving behind.





Thousands of miles to the east, some events of a different kind were unfolding in the Pyrenees. The mountain range stood as a natural border between France and Spain, or used to, since neither country really existed anymore at this point except as a memory in the minds of the returnees that called them home. The sun was already rising to a clear sky, good weather, yet with a chilly wind that heralded the end of summer. The end of civilization had come with its own flavor there, as it did in many places. It really wasn’t destruction that drove local returnees to flee the area, but lack of support. Mountain folks were hardy folks. The weather and harsh winds they could withstand. The rampant wildlife and monsters they might have been able to deal with.

But when supplies ran out with no renewal in sight, water ran dry and the fuel for generators dwindled down to nothing, it quickly became clear the wiser choice was to seek out a more comfortable life down in the valleys or closer to the shore. And thus, those few returnees that popped into existence atop the mountains soon made their way down and left their villages deserted. Civilization would come back, eventually, but not for years. Sure the mountain passes could be used to go back and forth between France and Spain, but there were tunnels too, and dangerous as they were without reliable ventilation, they still were vastly better than the alternative.

The presence of a lone unicorn up in the mountains was, by that account, an oddity.

‘Bang-bang-bang-click’ “Coño!” He swore. His old battle rifle had jammed. Again.Damn mechanism kept having double feed issues.

The stallion dropped his telekinetic grasp on the weapon and squared up on his hooves. No time to unjam the sodding thing, that maulwurf was upon him. He unlatched two sheaths he kept on his makeshift armor and a pair of knives flew up in the air, the telltale green glow of his magic wrapped around them.

When the large purple monster poked its snout above the top of the cliff he was using as a firing position, the stallion plunged the two knives in its eye sockets in a spray of gore. It let out a blood-curdling scream, its claws flew up to its injured eyes, and in doing so it relented its grip on the cliff. With a telekinetic shove, the monster tipped back and hurtled down the mountainside.

There was a thud. The screaming stopped. Rodrigo sighed in relief. That was the fifth one since the beginning of his doom-driven ascent up the mountains. At least now he knew to face them on rocky ground and not on dirt. Bloody things were damn fast at burrowing.

And for their humongous side, they remained rather vulnerable to 7.62 rounds. Or well placed stabbing. In a motion that was becoming routine at this point, he retrieved his rifle, unjammed it, and dumped two rounds into the dead giant-mole-monster-thing’s head. The old CETME could pull that off without jamming at least. He wiped his knives against its carcass before returning them to their sheaths on either side of his armor.

He wasn’t ex-army. He wasn’t ex-police. He was just a pony who understood that with monsters, you learn fast, or you die fast.

The Spaniard was a bit of an oddity for a unicorn in that his body shape was closer to that of an Earth Pony than the relatively lean figure his kind was known for, itself made all the bulkier by the makeshift refitted K9 armor he wore, to which he had added several layers of pouches and extra protection, to the point that the only exposed part of his fur was his head. A light gray coat coupled itself with his short black mane and the odd goatee around his muzzle, a stern appearance that matched the steely look in his eyes.

If there was such a thing as draft unicorns, he’d be one, and that build was what made it possible for him to endure the harsh, monster-infested mountains.

Once he was reasonably certain no more maulwurf would jump him, he resumed his ascent of the mountain. He’d been having this dream for a while, the main reason why he left Madrid actually. A green glow, like a lighthouse to guide him onwards. He was needed somewhere, with this tugging on his soul that was leading him somewhere up in the mountains.

Towards Roncevaux Pass.

Unbeknownst to him, or most of the world actually, a new Bearer was soon to enter the fray.
> Chapter 95: Mexican Standoff(s)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

 So...turns out Mexico wasn’t the relatively quiet and relaxing affair that Cuba had been. Big surprise there.

The problems had started barely an hour after the beginning of Vadim’s ‘mission’. A bullet whizzed above the griffon’s head and went to shatter some tiles deeper inside the hospital’s lobby. Next to him, Nguyen curled up tighter, a feline ball of sheer panic. The Abyssinian’s sense of prescience was probably telling him seven different ways he would get killed if he so much as peeked out of cover.

Not much support coming from that front then. Vadim cawed in annoyance.

Out of frustration, he reached up on his assault vest with a claw and grabbed his radio.

“Third Officer Zinoviya to Fleet Command, where are my fucking reinforcements? We’re fucking pinned here! Over.” He screamed into the device.

It had been going well. At the start that is. The mission had been simple: grab a unimog and go loot the nearest regional hospital in downtown Coatzacoalcos so the locals at the refinery would have the gear to improve their clinic.

Nothing new: salvage works to help locals gear up quicker was as simple as it got as far as the assistance the WSU provided went.

Plus Coatzacoalcos wasn’t more than a few minutes away from the refinery. It was right on the other side of the river, so beyond hacking through overgrowth to clear a path for the unimog and figuring what to pick between stuff damaged from disuse, lack of maintenance and the sheer humidity present in the region, it wasn’t a very complicated mission.

Shouldn’t have been was more like it, and Vadim’s team was picked in consequence: Nguyen had come along out of boredom to get out of the galley for a change, and Boris… his fellow griffon was also his medical assistant, so his presence to loot a hospital was self-explanatory.

As for him… his role as Amandine’s Medical Officer (and don’t call him Doctor, he didn’t have a medical degree) meant he wound up with the mission and had picked up his P90 at the armory earlier in the morning.

Too bad things have a habit of going south when you least want it.

Another burst of gunfire streamed past. Barking erupted outside. Vadim waited a second before he popped out of cover and fired back a few shots with his P90. Not that he intended to hit anything, but it ought to stall them, if anything because his weapon’s rate of fire made it sound more threatening than it really was. He then flapped his wings a few times, propelling himself just above the ground to quickly switch cover, bringing him behind the thick desk Boris was using for cover with his GPMG.

“Ammo count?” Vadim squawked, electing to ask the other griffon in Russian.

“Ne khorosho, not good. One and a half belt for the MAG.” Was the reply. “I can hold them back a few minutes more if I’m cautious, but when they realize we’re out of 7.62, it’s not your P90 that’s gonna save us.” The other griffon added dryly.

The ‘simplicity’ of his mission hadn’t properly accounted for the local brand of sicarios-turned-cultists. Nobody really knew how many of those wolf-dog warriors the cultists had on paw. Current estimation ranged somewhere between ‘many’ and ‘too fucking many’.

The thing was… Vadim’s little team wasn’t the only one to be caught outside the wire with their metaphorical pants down. Other teams had been sent out throughout the city to salvage stuff or just carry out general recce work… and every. single. one. was under attack at the moment, hunkered down tightly in the nearest buildings they could find and radioing for reinforcements from the QRF at the refinery.

And when it rains, it pours, and by that he wasn’t referring to the tropical downpour currently battering the city.
The refinery was under heavy assault at the moment, both by jaguar warrior sharpshooters that had started taking pot shots at the defenders, but also by technicals filled to the brim with wolf-dogs. The QRF was stuck inside.

Aleksei’s recce team was pinned down inside the archaeological museum on the other side of town.

It was sheer luck that Nguyen was a prescient-type Abyssinian: the feline had been outside guarding the unimog when his senses alerted him of the impending danger. The cat had immediately fallen back to relative safety of the hospital’s lobby which Vadim and Boris had been looting when the bullets started flying.

They had strutted up the muddy, overgrown street and opened fire on the sailors as soon as they were in sight. A sextet of wolf-dogs, all of them wielding SMG’s of various make.

Odd creatures they were. According to what the Captain had learned from the locals, they had been regular D-Dogs at some point. No longer. Their ties to Xolotl had reshaped them. The common canines D-dogs were supposed to be, had shifted into lupine forms bulging with muscle and sporting long, narrow muzzles that bristled with lengthened fangs in a similar fashion to the wicked elongated claws on their paws. Not much good for digging and burrowing anymore, at least not as good as regular D-dogs, but they were a warrior-class alright. Their yellow eyes shone through the ropey monsoon that buffeted the town, casting their ill-intent upon their targets.

As far as size went, they were larger than their unmodified brethren. So much so that a male wolf-dog was about as tall as a regular D-dog bitch, and the one wolf-bitch Vadim spotted leading the team attacking them could probably rival a minotaur in size.

A scrawny one though. Let’s not get too far.

On the bright side, they had yet to show their unmodified brethren’s ability to burrow at uncanny speeds. That, on the upside, meant that the frail perimeter he and Boris were maintaining was unlikely to be flanked.

They were six. Five males, led by one larger bitch with red accents in her fur. All wore black assault vests, loincloths, and a haphazard mix of Aztec headdresses and bracelets combined with white war paint coating their fur, mimicking bones. All sported submachine guns in their large paws that they fired in undisciplined bursts at the sailors hiding in the hospital’s lobby. Paired with the obsidian sword-clubs Vadim’s raptor eyes had spotted slung across their wide backs, the griffon was pretty certain they were meant to be close-quarters opponents.

Thankfully, Boris’ MAG had quickly established getting close to the sailors was a big no-no. One of the wolves had gotten a bit too brave early in the assault and discovered exactly what kind of damage a burst of 7.62 NATO could do to a creature by ripping through his stomach.

Right now, the wolf-dog was howling in pain and anguish, dying in a puddle of mud and blood in the middle of the street, clutching his wounds. His teammates had gotten the hint and taken cover behind a nearby delivery truck.

It was sort of a stalemate he would have been happy with, ineffectually trading pot shots until reinforcements that were actually worth a damn in a shootout arrived… except the stalemate could only last as long as they had ammo, and the QRF was stuck inside the wire.

He went for his radio again.

“Fleet Command, fuck’s sake, can I at least get an answer?! Over.” He shouted into his radio.

“We’ll get to you * when * we can get to you!” Alejandro’s voice erupted through the static in a caw. “Refinery’s still under assault and we can’t get the chopper airborne. Sit tight and hold your position, we’re sending help ASAP. Out.”
Well… there was his answer, but it wasn’t like it was any help. Boris looked at him grimly, the other griffon having overheard the message. Images of Micha and Andy flashed to the forefront of his mind, the more instinct-driven parts of Vadim’s griffon mind reeling at the prospect of leaving both his mate and his adoptive child on their own. Subtly, his talons tightened around his P90.

He highly suspected Boris’ reasoning to be the same, except the Russian had eggs to worry about.
Another burst of gunfire flew through the door, breaking his train of thought. On the other side of the lobby, Nguyen whimpered in fright. With a string of curse words in three different languages, Vadim quickly switched to another piece of cover and returned fire.

Outside, their opponents howled and exchanged words between each other. Some kind of Aztec dialect the Ukrainian couldn’t recognize.

They were all under assault. Just what kind of opponent pulls out a move like that?!





Elsewhere, a few dozen kilometers out of town, in the depths of a dank, dark cave network, a pair of yellow eyes gleamed with arcane might. It was at the very core of the cave network, inside a much larger chamber with a muddy ceiling that was held together by scores of roots and vines. Below that, was an underground pyramid, looking as though it had been dug up partially as a subterranean stream wrapped itself around its base. At its summit, a large stone statue of the Dog-God Xolotl, Guide of the Aztec Underworld, presided over the chamber, its head bent down to look into a pool of shimmering waters.

The statue’s immobile eyes gleamed with the same yellow hues as those of the tall lupine figure atop the pyramid. Her headdress swayed as she looked into the pool, watching images from her subordinates’ eyes as they fought both the heathen and the foreign. Every so often, the skeletal pattern of warpaint adorning her body would shine softly, a pulse of magic sent to her lieutenants to guide them, thanks to the warpaint.

The scowl on her muzzle was so fierce it was almost a snarl. High-Priestess Atzi wasn’t in a good mood.

The Gods were angry. Some mortals had started messing with their realms, profaning their sites and misusing the powers in their artifacts. Worse even, something was keeping the Blood God from reaching out to the rest of the pantheon.

Such an affront could not be allowed to stand.

Though she wasn’t certain the oil workers and sailors at the refinery were the ones actually at fault… the parts of her that remained of the former no-name sicario she used to be knew how important the place was. This was just too important a place not to attack and snuff out.

Maybe they might even capture some of the worthy pups and cats inside that refinery and turn them into proper warriors to bolster their forces.

As she thought: way too good a target not to attack it. The fuel was just a nice bonus for their technicals.





Aleksei’s team wasn’t doing any better than Vadim’s. Granted, with her cleric magic and Scarface’s combat spells, holding off the wolf-dogs should have been considerably easier… except they weren’t under attack by just the one team.

The cleric wasn’t entirely sure of the numbers, but there must have been two groups attacking them at once and forcing them on the defensive. Roughly a dozen wolf dogs that kept them under siege at an archeological museum… with one or two jaguar warrior sharpshooters. The buggers were sneaky, so getting a bead on them was proving nigh-impossible.

Only real hint she had of their presence was the sizable impact marks left by their high-power rifles in the chest-high wall she was taking cover behind on the roof of the museum.

Which was also something noteworthy in its own right. Were it not for the dozen of cultist-dogs firing at them, she’d be taking a closer look at the architecture.

It was a reproduction of a pre-columbian tiered pyramid raised along Coatzacoalcos’ seafront, three tiers high… though it being a modern structure meant some amount of corner-cutting had taken place. Obviously.

By design, it looked like it had been supposed to be out of a mix of sandstone and brownish bricks, but in multiple places you would see the original materials had been phased out in favor of cheap concrete that was showing cracks and coming apart.  The wiring for the light fixtures set along every tier of the little pyramid had been left exposed and dangling instead of inserted into the structure, and lastly the whole look of a museum inside an ancient pyramid was ruined by the A/C units exposed in plain sight on the roof of the access tunnel that dove under the pyramid.

So it wasn’t top-tier architecture, to the point that there was a gaping hole in its roof down into the exposition hall filled to the brim with Olmec relics. These, unlike the pyramid, were genuine. The magic they radiated was obvious, so the cleric had been quick to raise a few wards to avoid setting off enchantments they would rather not.

They had been in the process of loading them up in the recce team’s Defender when the assault started.

Like most teams currently fighting in town, they were pinned. 

Aleksei and Scarface were hunkered down on the roof below a green statue of Quetzalcoatl trying to get a bead on the jaguar warrior sharpshooters firing at them from further away in the urban landscape.

And below them, guarding the entrance tunnel to the exposition hall, Radiant and Thanasis had set up their MAG.

Arguably, their positioning, while keeping them backed up against the sea, did work in their favor defensively. The pyramid had very few accesses that they could easily cover, and it was relatively isolated, being on the outer side of the seafront. A hundred meters of road and open land separated them from the cityscape, with the nearest construction being an old abandoned playground on the beach side.

The wolf-dogs tried to use it on the approach… and soon discovered that plywood and plastic play sets are concealment, not cover. One now lay dead near a pirate-themed slide, and his companion had fallen back, reaching halfway across the no man’s land between the pyramid and the alleyway most wolf-dogs were using as staging ground for their attack before Scarface put an end to his life.

So now the recce team was just stuck. While they all could fly, the hole in Radiant’s wing she had just healed told of how bad an idea it would be to take off with this many guns pointed their way, and the Defender wasn’t armored either, so making a run for their vehicle wasn’t the brightest of ideas either.

To make matters worse… getting a good shot at their attackers was proving difficult because they had the advantage of firing at them from an urban environment, whereas Aleksei’s team were stuck inside an isolated building that stuck out like a sore thumb.

Aleksei fiddled with the knobs on the long range radio, her rifle propped up on the parapet beside her. What response she got from fleet command was pretty much in the same vein as Vadim had gotten at the hospital: sit tight, we’ll send help when we can.

Not much good unfortunately. She kicked the radio to the side with her hoof, a frustrated trill escaping her beak.

“No good?” Scarface inquired.

“Nah, QRF is stuck at the refinery. Fan-fucking-tastic.” She shook her head vigorously. “You alright there?”

The Bulgarian gargoyle just stared at her with a blank look. As if on cue, one of the wolf-dogs took a pot shot and a couple bullets impacted the statue above them, coating the two in fine concrete dust.

“Riiight...” She sighed. “Dumb question. You found the sharpshooter… -ers?”

“Two of them.” He confirmed. “And I can tell you they’re not at that construction site to the east. How’s your magic?”

“I still got a couple spells cooked up. That’s… just healing though. Banishment is only intended for monsters, won’t do shit against them, so why the question?”

Scarface held up his finger for a brief second before he grabbed a flashbang from his chest pouch and tossed it over the parapet. It blew up with a loud bang that was quickly followed by a howl of pain. In a burst of movement, he stood up and took two shots at the wolf-dog that had been running up to the pyramid before ducking back down just in time for a sniper bullet to puncture the left wing on his back, sticking out above his shoulder.

The injury didn’t even have time to bleed before Aleksei healed it with a wave of her talons and the pale glow of cleric magic.

“Those jaguar warriors got a bead on me. Can’t get up safely, and I’m running out of juice for my own spells.” He pulled the mag out of his SCAR to check his ammo. “Mind tossing me a mag?”

“Sure… you got a plan? I mean, don’t you have a shield spell?” She asked, grabbing a STANAG mag from her own pouches and throwing it to the gargoyle. She kept her ammo stowed under her wings.

Below them, the floor rattled. At the base of the pyramid, Thanasis was letting out a long burst of fire from his MAG. No howl of pain ensued however, though it did prevent another pair of attackers from rushing them.

Scarface looked down in the palm of his hand. The fingerless combat glove covering the four-fingered appendage was coated in blood from an earlier wound Aleksei had healed with her magic. One of the dark nail-claws at the tip was chipped. Focusing for a brief second, his entire forearm became wreathed in an aura of magic, and already he could feel the tiny drain…

“One shot of telekinetic shield, tops.” He concluded with a growl, dispelling the magic.

Gargoyles were never known for having large magic reserves. Versatility? Sure. But they blew their load fast.

“Enough to take care of them?”

He shook his head. The shield might hold against the first shot and let him counter-snipe a sharpshooter, but there were two of them, plus the other wolf-dogs. Confident as he was in Aleksei’s ability to heal lesser injuries, he wasn’t too inclined to try her healing with a rifle bullet through the chest.

Far above, the skies rumbled. Looks like that monsoon was going to turn into a thunderstorm soon.

“I… might have a plan.”

Scarface’s head whipped around, in time to see his superior’s talons light up with a warm glow. She waved them at him, and the glow transferred to him. He felt… invigorated, refreshed, his fatigue partly washed away.

“‘Bless’ spell. Epona gave me an upgrade recently. That should help your magic.” She explained, throwing a quick look over the parapet just to be sure the wolf-dogs weren’t attacking again.

No. A few were holding positions in an alleyway across the street, but the rest must have fallen back to organize another assault. They needed to get rid of these sharpshooters, and fast. A bullet whizzed above her head, grazing her crest feathers.

Might need to look into getting a helmet, to go with her flak jacket. Then again, most were designed to protect from shrapnel and wouldn’t do shit against bullets.

“Now I want you to try and modify that telekinetic shield of yours. Don’t create it as a bubble or a screen in front of us. Just… imagine a gun shield in front of your scope? That should cover you enough to take your shots… and focus all that power on intensity.”

The gargoyle’s eyes widened in realization, before the expression turned into a predatory grin that highlighted the ugly scar running like a streak across his muzzle. Behind, she could see his tail whip from side to side.

Figuring out how to modify his spell didn’t take more than a minute. Gargoyle magic was intuitive like that. It was a minute change in how he warped the spell matrix, just a matter of waving his arm more to the left and extending his pinky a bit more and… the magic glow around his forearms disappeared. On his SCAR, the air shimmered in front of the scope. Raindrops would halt midair, stopped dead by an invisible barrier. Scarface nodded in satisfaction.

He knelt behind the parapet and counted down mentally. Each second passing was punctuated by the subtle tapping of his trigger finger against the mag well. Three. Tap. Two. Tap. One. Tap. He stood up. Coatzacoalcos’ decrepit and overgrown landscape replaced the sandstone of the parapet beyond his raised rifle. Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream. Time slowed down to a crawl.

One muzzle flash. The gargoyle’s amber eyes zeroed in on his foe before the bullet even struck the gun shield, perched halfway up a fallen construction crane that was resting at an angle against the side of a tall building.

‘Jaguar warrior’ pretty much described all there was to the sharpshooter. By the same logic that the wolf-dogs were magically-modified Diamond Dogs, they were magically-modified Abyssinians meant to look more like jaguars than regular cats. At about the same size as their ‘vanilla’ counterpart, the one he saw was a bit more lithe, with a narrow waist, long limbs and a triangular chest.

Clutched in the paws of the one he had spotted was a simple yet powerful bolt-action rifle, scope-less. It (Scarface wasn’t sure whether that was a he or a she) wore very little in the way of clothing. All he could see was a bandolier, a pair of bracers, a camo cloak, and some goggles hanging from its neck.

More eerie, and a dead giveaway that magic was involved, was the green glow in its eyes as it aimed its bolt-action at Scarface.

This was all observed in the fraction of a second it took Scarface to range his scope and fire off two shots. The first hit the feline right in the shoulder, the second flew high, though the damage was done: thrown off-balance, the jaguar warrior tumbled backwards and slipped off the crane.

He saw the feline hit the ground, too injured to land on its paws. It didn’t stand up.

One down. One to go.

Down below, the wolf-dogs were reacting as well, wondering why he was staying out of cover for so long. Scarface remained still, even as SMG fire started converging his way.

“Take the shot… Iskash da...” He mumbled under his breath in Bulgarian.

Another muzzle flash. He immediately snapped onto it. The second jaguar. The gun shield stopped the bullet midair, a mere centimeters away from his scope. The jacketed projectile hovered on the edge of his scope, useless tumbling through the air, stuck in the telekinetic field.

The second jaguar was a bit less conspicuous, with only the head and gleaming green eyes poking out above a rooftop a solid three hundred meters away.

Range the shot.

The jaguar noticed the bullet had no effect. Scarface saw… her, him, *whichever* cycle the bolt of its rifle to line up another shot.

Line up the sights.

It noticed how unfazed the gargoyle was and started panicking.

Scarface rested his finger on the trigger.

The jaguar stood up in a panic, accidentally exposing more of its body to Scarface’s sights. It tried to run for it.

There was a bang. He felt the stock push into his shoulder. That was a tracer round, and a red streak soared towards the foe like an angry meteor. Scarface stoically watched it impact the feline somewhere in the lower back region. Kidney shot maybe. Guts definitely on the exit wound. Not pretty, nor fast, but enough to put someone out of commission.

Then an SMG round impacted the gun shield. And another. He felt the air around the shield start to vibrate, signalling it was about to fail. 

He ducked behind the parapet just as the spell collapsed with a ‘bzzt’, his heart racing. Looking at the statue behind him, he saw the impact marks practically drawing his silhouette.

He blinked. Okay, maybe that shield technique was better than he’d anticipated.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, twisting his head to see a frazzled Aleksei looking at him worriedly. She waved her talons with the glow of magic, and a stinging in his ear he hadn’t noticed from sheer adrenaline vanished.

Yes. Turns out as the gun shield was failing, one bullet had managed to drill a hole through his rather large ear. Uh…

“Scar’?” His superior inquired.

“Got ‘em… got ‘em both...” He panted, clutching his SCAR tightly.

Now to deal with the wolf-dogs.





“All units, Fleet Command here. Gonna have to wait some more for the QRF but fire support is now available. Please switch to VHF channel 37 and communicate target coordinates to Hussar for marksgriff support. Alejandro… out.”





 Rodrigo let out a frustrated neigh and threw his old map aside in a fit of anger. The damaged piece of paper was immediately picked up by a gust of mountain wind and carried off into the air, useless.

The closer he got to what he assumed to be his objective, the more the constraints piled on and made his journey harder. He was near a thousand meters up now, and the Pyrenees had become increasingly more difficult to navigate. Blame the maulwurfs that infested the mountain range for that. Their constant digging and burrowing had caused multiple landslides that blocked off critical passes, damaged the mountain shelters he needed to catch some rest, and contributed to make his ascent into some twisted, hellish obstacle course where the stallion frequently had to veer off the main road and venture in the temperate forests that sprouted along the mountainside. 

By his own reckoning, he had killed about twelve of the mole monsters by then, and already his ammo was running low.

Which frankly said more about the state of his old and battered CETME rifle than it did about ammo conservation. There wasn’t a single skirmish where he didn’t have to whip out his makeshift knives with his telekinesis.

His knives were showing wear as well. His gun was caked in grime and mud. The seams that held his retrofitted K9 armor were starting to unravel. And this was the fifth darn rock to jam itself under his hoof this afternoon! Rodrigo glared at the mountaintops, far above him, the distant peaks looking down at the unicorn, almost tauntingly so as he trotted up the mountainside.

At long last though, he was near. 

Behind him was yet another copse of woods he had been forced to hack his way through thanks to the maulwurfs collapsing a key road… but ahead was Roncevaux pass. 

Good. His saddlebags were starting to feel a bit too light for comfort.

On either side of him he could see the mountains converge into a plateau covered in dry yellowish grass and shrubs, an odd sight at an altitude where forestry was still prevalent, but it made for clearer sight lines than he’d been experiencing that day. As he trotted up the slight incline of the plateau towards the center of the pass, he looked back, now seeing the forested mountains full of empty villages, collapsed roads and the rotting maulwurf corpses left in his wake.

Took him long enough. He grunted and marched on.

In all fairness, Roncevaux Pass wasn’t the narrow gap between two rocks high up in the mountains stories would have you imagine. Actually, it was a fairly large plateau with a crest at the top where the mountains converged in a smooth gap ideal for pastures, the exact thing he was passing through at the moment. The tall, dry grass bending in the mountain wind made for a sharp contrast against the verdant forestry behind him and the gray cliffs found all over the place in these mountains.

Which was the more sensible look compared to what legends portrayed. Really, if it was an ideal place to get armies across the border, why expect something hard to traverse?

Rodrigo took a short pause to relieve his aching hooves and take in the scenery. There was a two lane road that snaked its way up the plateau after coming out of the woods – which he knew just led to the same landslide he had been forced to find his way around- before it went towards the crest at the top of the plateau. Beyond that, he knew the terrain dipped back down into a narrow valley that would lead you to France. 

The road was old, its asphalt cracked in many places with weeds poking through.

And at the top of the crest… that tingling deep in Rodrigo’s mind flared up. The green flicker from his dreams that had driven him out of Madrid. Yes. That must be what had pushed him to journey so far on his own. There was a small set of ruined buildings, formerly a road stop for hikers, bikers and caravaners alike to fill up on water and take a short rest at the top of the pass. The public toilets were a ruin of fallen shingles and broken windows. The little chapel with a parking next to it was nothing but charcoal. The electric line that had collapsed on its roof might be part of the reason behind that.

But the key feature was older than that. Rodrigo calmly trotted past the ruins and up a tall dirt mound that had been raised at some point. A memorial with a stellae on top, both to honor the legendary battle and another napoleonic-era skirmish that had taken place on the same grounds.

The unicorn’s horn tingled.  There was some magic in the air. Powerful magic. It wasn’t tied to the stellae erected on top of the mound… it was something different. Far more ancient.

On a gut feeling, Rodrigo mustered his own power in his horn and activated it. There was a ‘z-zap!’, a flash of light, and the world turned green.





Truth be told, the news of a colony living in Comper castle was of utmost significance.  Multiple colonies in the forest called for mapping out borders, diplomacy and trade agreements that would give reason for an actual economy to exist… but with the presence of an Equestrian airship containing two mares that were actually pretty darn important, dealing with Trixie and Starlight took precedence over diplomacy.

It was thus with an apologetic tone that Rockhoof and his guards promised Paladin Catherine that they would come back at a later date to manage that side of things. The Paladin seemed to take it in stride, and Miles even told them how to contact them by radio if they so desired… though Comper didn’t have (or want) that kind of tech in their colony.

That done, they moved over to where Canterlot Courier was, landed in a field next to the castle.

As Starlight quickly explained when they boarded it through the side ramp, the airship was a former passenger transport and parcel carrier that used to ply the Canterlot-Cloudsdale route before it was volunteered for the relief effort sent on Earth.

The Captain, an old pegasus by the name of Moral Compass, was still busy resupplying from Comper castle’s intendant when they arrived, and would be for an hour more at list. It mattered little, and Trixie and Starlight took it upon themselves to show Rockhoof and Starwirl (along with their guards) around the craft.

It was… actually fairly conventional as far as airships went when you looked past the decorations. One canvas balloon provided lift with the gondola hanging below it, itself looking very much like a boat. Its stern extended out in a prong that contained the engine room below which hung two propeller nacelles, both subtly hidden by the purple canvas of the wing-like maneuvering fins on either side of the gondola.

Typical of Equestrian-made airships, come to think of it. Other species usually went for more conventional control methods.

Canterlot Courier’s appearance was eerily reminiscent of the city it was named after – sans the marble-. The planks and girders that made up its skin and frame were all painted a bright white, while purple seemed to be the go-to color for any piece of canvas or fabric present on board. As a finishing touch, brass decorations lanced out here and there with the typical flair associated with the Equestrian capital.

Although… the airship and crew had been away from Equus for a while at this point, and it showed. Off-color patches here and there showed where the crew of primarily pegasi had been forced to resort to local materials to fix the vessel, and Rockhoof was pretty sure a solid quarter of the brass decorations were missing. The port maneuvering fin also looked to be only two thirds of the size of its starboard counterpart.

Before Trixie and Starlight led them below deck, they also got a brief look at the crew itself. No more than a dozen ponies. Most were pegasi, with the odd two unicorns in the bunch, both part of the Solar Guard (formerly known as the Royal Guard, but Celestia’s guard regiment had received a name change after the abdication, when Princess Twilight’s Mana Guard took up the mantle of Royal Guard).

Most were… frazzled to put it mildly. Looking worse for wear after spending far more time away from home than they were supposed to. They were unkempt, and the two guards’ armors were missing pieces, most replaced with kevlar plates taken from human body armor.

“You noticed didn’t you?” Starlight winced.

“’Be hard not to.” Rock rumbled. “How come it’s that bad?”

“The Courier isn’t meant for endurance. Well...” The mare rubbed a hoof through her mane. “...not initially it wasn’t. We did a bit of a retrofit before we left for Earth, but that doesn’t change much from its original role. So...”

“You started to run out of supplies once you overstayed your welcome.”

“Fighting monsters hasn’t helped either...” She sighed. “But you’re correct. We were only ever meant to keep going for so long, so we’ve had to buff up our gear with what we found along the way. Let’s get inside, I know where we can talk comfortably.”

The airship’s interior was centered around a spiral staircase that plunged deep within the bowels of the vessel, connecting all three decks together inside a narrow ‘atrium’. Skylights placed in the main deck above paired with subtly-hidden mana lamps to provide adequate lighting… though given the way they flickered most were overdue a replacement.

On each deck, a single passageway ran along the middle of the vessel, acting much like a spine with apparent beams, girders, and serving to pass conduits through the vessel, most hidden behind the ceiling panels. On either side were rooms. Former cabins turned storerooms, the galley and mess, actual cabins, even a pair of cabins where the bulkhead had been knocked down to create a makeshift workshop.

At the back of the group, Miles caught herself on a bump in the carpet. Somepony had hastily nailed a plank there to plug a hole in the hull, a charred mark implying there was a unicorn that needed to work on his aim… or worse.

“Here… the observation deck ought to do for now.” Starlight spoke up, showing them inside what might be the largest room on board.

Probably a dining room for passengers before the Courier was converted and sent to Earth. It formed a semicircle along the bow, just below the cockpit, with a huge observation window, a fancy brass chandelier with mana lights hanging from the ceiling, and an equally intricate carpet that could however use a bit of cleaning from all the hoof marks it was covered in. 

Starlight and Trixie took a short pause to look at the fields of Comper and Broceliande further off in the distance before they went down the short dais at the entrance and towards the main attraction in the room. All the previous chairs and tables had been pushed aside, some even dismantled for materials and joining the numerous supply crates lining the walls away from the observation window… and all the extra room was for one large circular table those in the know might have recognized as heavily-inspired by the Friendship Map.

Except instead of a 3D map of Equus, a paper map of Europe was pinned onto it, with little flags here and there around the British Isles, abandoned notes and even one lone laptop plugged into a solar charger. The sticker on it letting it be known the Great and Powerful Trixie had taken a liking to human appliances.

“Captain Moral Compass is still busy at the castle, but I think we can have a chat already?” Starlight said as she pulled the chair closest to the laptop with her telekinesis. “Like...” She looked pointedly towards Starswirl’s ghostly form. “… what is up with you? No offense intended, but you’ve looked better. Yet Lady Vivian heavily implied you’re the pony we’re actually after.”

The ethereal unicorn remained silent for a few seconds before he finally spoke up, taking the opportunity to grab a seat across from Starlight. Rockhoof and Miles came to sit on either side of him, with Trixie electing to sit on Starlight’s right hoof side. The rest of the guards from Trecesson just picked places at random, looking only vaguely interested even with Starswirl’s spell translating everything to French for them.

“I may be able to assist indeed. Emphasis on ‘may’.” He rubbed a hoof through his mane.

“But Canterlot Hig-” Trixie cried out only to be stopped mid-sentence when the wizard raised a hoof.

“You must understand Miss Lulamoon, that while I * did * create a relatively stable means of accessing another dimension with the mirror… that was a rendition of Equus as though it was solely populated by humans. Earth, while also a mirrored dimension to that of Equus, is also much more distant and of a very different nature. I take it you may have noticed how different the humans that used to live here looked compared to those of...” He trailed off.

“Canterlot High? Of course Trixie has, though she hadn’t understood the dull skin colors around here to be...” She sighed. “Relevant. So you’re saying you can’t make us a mirror to go back?”

“I cannot, but you’re thinking too far forward. You see, there lies a detail in mirrored dimensions, however distant they may be as Earth and your version of Equus are. Cultures echo themselves, names have odd matches, common languages are spoken… and sometimes even ponies and creatures find their match in different dimensions, such as you may have witnessed in Canterlot High. Therein lies how I may be able to assist. Canterlot High, being such a close mirror to Equus, had a lot of matches of that sort. Here on Earth they’re much rarer.”

Starlight crossed her forehooves and leaned over the table. There was a slight frown of curiosity on her muzzle, unlike the confusion that had appeared on Trixie’s features.

“How so?”

“I so happen to be one of the few ponies to have a likeness on Earth in the form of Merlin the Enchanter, legendary wizard and soul match to Starswirl the Bearded. Through arcane hijinks best left untold, both, while still apprentices, came to have their souls fused together, making them all but one person, spread across two bodies.” He shifted to his human form. “You’re actually talking to Merlin right now. Dead and ghostly, but still present in the material realm thanks to my skills in magic. As for Starswirl… * I * am presently exploring the archives of Pantera’s library, in Abyssinia.”

“Ah...” Starlight blinked, a smile creeping up on her muzzle. “So you have a link to Equestria.”

“And I shall send a missive to Canterlot to alert them of your situation as soon as the library closes.” He reassured the two mares.

“Why not earlier?” Trixie quirked her head.

Starswirl snorted.

“I am a proper scholar, young mare. Any erudite worth his salt * always * stays at the library until closure. Later if such can be achieved.”

 Rockhoof rolled his eyes. Across from him, both Trixie and Starlight blinked in tandem. Good gosh, he really was the same element as Twilight.

Ignoring their reaction, the ghost had launched himself in a tirade about how the dimensional rift was in a phase of increase, that he would need the attunement sphere from the device they were supposed to use to get back to Equestria, all of the mana crystals and charged gems they had in store, several weeks to research and redesign a new system from the ground up and get into contact with the right creatures on Equus, and a dozen alicorns’ worth of mana output.

“Trixie’s keen hearing appears to show signs of age, a dozen WHAT?!!”

“I did say the dimensional rift was increasing. Exponentially too, so it’s going to take a lot more to take you to Equus than it took to get you here. Don’t worry though, I already have a couple ideas. Rockhoof, do you think we can offer board and lodging while I research how to help these mares?”

The bulky Earth Pony by his side furrowed his ginger brows, accidentally tilting the circlet he wore around his head.

“Aye… ‘should be enough rooms in the castle for a couple of them. The rest I figure we can spread around the village. Miles? Lass, you mind grabbing a radio and going up on deck to call the castle and tell ‘em? Be nice to give Meadow the heads up, init?”

“Of course.” The pegasus stood up, eager to keep away from the wizardish rant Merlin would inevitably start up once the logistics were swept aside. “Anything else?”

“You’ve been up in the air above the forest. Just wait for uh… Captain Moral Compass was it? Make sure he points the ship the right way.”

With a mock salute, the purple pegasus buzzed out of the room.

And then it happened. The barrage of obscure arcane terminology, hypotheses, random ideas on how to go about the project and references to publications that might yield some insight into the issue. Starlight had no idea what Bright Endeavor’s thirteenth theorem of dimensional displacement was, but it sounded important so she nudged Trixie and the mare booted up her laptop, scrambling to take notes.

Starswirl really was like a rougher Twilight at times, and while Starlight was somewhat accustomed to her friend’s style… the ghost wizard had nothing of the academic polish the Princess had when she carried out research.

On his own side of the table, Rockhoof just yawned and crossed his forehooves on the table to lay down his head. This was going to take a while, so he’d best catch a nap while he was there.

At least when they got back, he might be able to resume the ‘massage’ session he’d been indulging in with Meadowbrook.
> Chapter 96: Winged Hussar
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Now that the reports were coming in through the radio, it seemed like the bulk of the wolf-dogs and jaguar warriors had been directed towards the attack on the more heavily-defended refinery rather than those skirmishes currently occurring throughout the city.

Given how few people were left in the world, the fact that Los Lobos could even muster that many troopers to attack them was downright impressive. Carmelita’s description of the cartels-turned-cultists really understated how dangerous they actually were and at this point Dilip was pretty sure the continued existence of the refinery was owed to defensive tactics and Samuel’s militia.

Which was currently putting up a damn good fight holding the outer perimeter. The staccato of gunfire rang out at regular intervals around the refinery, and a couple trucks could be seen relocating militia troopers to areas of the perimeter where they were needed to back up the lesser-trained oil workers.

Either way… now that they were actively involved in the fighting it looked like the sailors would have to ensure this part of Mexico didn’t become a haven for crazy sacrifice-happy cultists. Charybdis and Scylla’s ilk were already enough, thank you very much.

The windows of Amandine’s bridge shook, and a dull ‘boom-boom-boom’ rang out in the distance.For a brief instant it drowned out the sound of small arms fire. That was the CV90’s Bofors.

Dilip had been quick to dispatch the combat vehicles to go provide fire support, along with whatever sailors were left over to throw into the fight.

Across from him on the other end of the chart table, Lorelei was juggling talkie-walkies in her telekinesis, periodically jotting down positions and vectors on the map to show where all forces were located.

Rhine Forest had sent troops into the fight to hold the perimeter as well, but Lorelei’s attention was focused on the two torpedo escorts which she had sent out of the cove and up the river to the west to flank the wolf-dogs and cut them off from the town.  

At about the same time, the biggest concentration of forces remained with all the combat vehicles near the refinery’s gates.

And then came the smaller skirmishes. Dilip leaned over the table, a worried scowl tainting the sea dog’s features.

Groups stuck in the city. Data from that side was… harder to keep track of. They had fewer teams spread out across a much larger area, and the urban landscape, compared to the green expanse around the refinery, made it much harder to keep track of where the enemy was.

He had a notebook in his paw, the current page showing a quick list of their thinly-stretched assets. Behind him, Alejandro and Roberto were busily barking orders and brief messages in their radios, coordinating their forces.

“RPG impact on Piranha number three at the gates. Minor damage, the applique armor did its job, but it’s a mobility kill.” Roberto announced loudly. “We need to get it towed out of there.”

“Is there anyone left on the backline then? Tell them to grab a hooklift truck and get over to the gates ASAP.”

“Sorry sir.” The feline Intel Officer shrugged apologetically.“We sent our last guys on ambulance duty to help get the casualties to Doctor Delacroix’s clinic on Rhine Forest.” The feline shook his head.

“Shit.” He swore. “Then get Piranha number two to tow it. I don’t care if that pulls a .50cal away from combat, I’d rather avoid getting any of them destroyed. Shift the veterans from the west flank to the gates to compensate. Lorelei, your boats, they’re getting into range?”

“Two minutes.” The pink unicorn filly didn’t look away from the map. “They had an issue with a sharpshooter on the edge of town but it’s good now.”

“Excellent. Any casualties with your guys?”

“None dead so far, just injuries. With the health potions and Camille’s work, it’s nothing they can’t walk away from in a few days. We’ll see once it’s done.” The pink filly replied curtly.

Sadly enough, Dilip’s own medical crew was unable to provide any assistance with casualties. Vadim and Boris being pinned down at the hospital meant both the Medical Officer and his assistant were out of the action. And Aleksei, the only one in the entire fleet with healing spells worth a damn, was also stuck in an archeological museum that had quickly lost its appeal once the bullets started flying.

As if on cue, the sound of an ambulance siren passed by, an olive blur with blue sirens and a red cross, that same army ambulance Amandine’s crew had obtained with the Piranhas back in Denmark. Tires screeched as the vehicle made a sharp turn to quickly offload a pair of injured militia troopers before immediately speeding back towards the frontline.

At least it was armored, even though the impacts on the applique armor showed their foe had no qualms shooting ambulances.

Dilip turned away and looked at his Chief Officer.

“Alejandro! How are we progressing with the fire support?” The D-dog barked.

On the other end of the bridge, the hyacinth macaw turned on his talons and pocketed his handheld VHF.

“I was just on the line with Samuel at the barracks. Give him fifteen minutes and we’ll have the mortar battery online. Any request for that, ask on VHF channel 43.”

“I’ll pass on the info.” Roberto quickly said, earning a nod from the Ornithian before he resumed his explanation.

“Artyom’s team grouped up with Rhine’s veterans. Seems like they’re cleaning house on the west flank, so as soon as the boats are there to finish the job they’re splitting up again. Rhine’s big guys take the gates, and Artyom says he can resume QRF duty and go to town as soon as he’s got your blessing.”

“Good, good… what about ‘Hussar’?”

Whichever reason she chose that callsign for, he didn’t know, but might as well endear her.

“Give it three minutes tops and she will be up in the air. It’s less likely she’ll be shot down than if we sent something conspicuous like the chopper.”

“Okay. Then…” His eyes flicked over to Lorelei. The pink filly was still hunched over the map, but judging by the quick look she threw him she would defer to his decision. “… tell Hussar to focus her work on the teams trapped in town. They need all the help there. Mortar support I want focused on the refinery’s perimeter. As for the QRF, tell Artyom him he’s free to go as soon as he gets the gates are secure. Also… tell the ambulance to hold off for now. As soon as we can, I want them to rush to town and secure any casualty they had over there. Understood?”

“Aye Cap’n!” Alejandro squawked sharply.

Dilip allowed himself a momentary look out the window. The refinery was a complete mess, beyond just the chaos and confusion caused by the attack.

One of the shore tanks had been hit by a stray RPG already, and white mist mixed itself with a dark smoke column that rose up despite the ongoing rain. The damage was unlikely to spread, but it would be a bitch to repair.

Pretty shit day, and no amount of Darjeeling could fix that.





Standing on Amandine’s deck, she looked up at the sky, fat raindrops pelting her beak and feathers as the fighting kept going in the distance. She had just gotten out of the armory, finally done gearing up. Tail lashing behind her in anticipation, she gave her equipment one last check.

Hunting clothes? Check. Best avoid the usual orange coveralls for what she was planning.

Flak jacket? Check. She had removed the plates to shed weight in favor of enough mag pouches to take on a small army.

FAL? Check. She reached up with a talon and racked the charging handle, the gun’s lengthened barrel making it look almost comically large, attached to a sheath under her left wing.

Radio? She could hear Alejandro tell her to hurry up and take off so… Check.

Now for the last item on the list… her eyes trailed down towards the griffon cub in front of her forelegs. Funny, despite being adopted she still looked like a carbon copy of Vadim and her... She swept Andy off her paws and hugged her tightly. Behind, standing in the rain, was Rahul. The burly black D-Dog that served as their Chief Cook looked on with a fond smile.

“Promise to stay on the ship and be good, kitten?” Micha asked in Polish. “I’m going to be very disappointed if I come back and Uncle Rahul tells me you’ve been naughty.”

“I’s won’t!” Her tiny replica chirped eagerly. “Uncle sez we can make cake! A big one so everyone can have a slice!”

Micha laughed lightly. Trust the cub to bring a flare of happiness in that situation.

“Mom?” Andy asked, this time more carefully.

“What is it sweetie?”

	The cub tightened her grip around her mother, and Micha saw her look around with a hint of fear.

“What’s happening? Why is everyone...”

“Shhh...” Micha rubbed her back. “Don’t worry sweetie. It’s only grown-up stuff. Bad people are trying to hurt daddy...” She bent down to Andy’s level and smiled predatorily. “… so mommy is going to hunt them before they do.”

“Like rabbits?”

	Micha nodded slowly, a very predatory grin creeping up on her beak. Like rabbits indeed. Her radio crackled. She stood up and looked towards Rahul more sternly.

“You take care of her. As long as I live nothing’s going to harm her or this ship.”

	With a flap of her wings, she was airborne, taking off with a level of grace and lethality that could only be achieved by a griffon hen. Letting her instincts take over for a split second, she let out a piercing screech that let everyone in a three kilometer radius know that a hunting griffon had taken to the skies.

Prey beware.

	Up she climbed, beating her wings and pushing past cold raindrops and buffeting winds. The higher she flew, the more her line of sight expanded, slowly revealing the refinery’s outer perimeter, even the edges of the town. The griffon only stopped once she was in talon’s reach of the cloud cover, deftly scooping a few bits of the roiling grey mass that was causing the current downpour.

Their attackers didn’t have any flyers… they wouldn’t know what hit them.

Quickly, she fashioned the bits of cloud into a perch. A sniper’s perch, high up in the sky.

Micha knew she was the best shot on Amandine by a wide margin, better even than the veterans, thanks to her talents as a huntress. As a griffon, she could also walk on clouds.

The conclusion was drawn with an almost banal level of logic.

Unsheathing her FAL and letting it dangle by its strap attached to her midsection, she adjusted her position and poked both barrel and scope through the little cloud she was using for a perch. Both blended perfectly with the cloud cover above her, rendering her nigh invisible to outside observers. More than that, she could relocate wherever she wanted by just beating her wings to move the cloud.

As the safety came off with a click, she smiled. Not the warm motherly smiles she would make when hugging Andy, no, but the dark smile of a creature about to unleash some serious pain.

Micha liked to think herself more in tune with the instincts ingrained in her species than most. She didn’t consider them to be as superfluous as Vadim would think… and inside her, both mind and instincts agreed on multiple things.

Vadim in town being attacked? Her mate was threatened.

The refinery? And the ship by extension? Her cub and her nest were threatened.

An academic mind would call a griffon hen’s instincts territorial… and he wouldn’t be entirely wrong. A practical mind would describe the behavior of one who perceives a threat to nest, eggs or family as… cold, calculated, cruel even. A sharp contrast to more hotheaded males.

Micha? She felt no shame indulging such instincts. Not through beak or talons, not even usingthe elegant Sako bolt-action she usually hunted with… this time her claws held a FAL. A rough, efficient, powerful instrument of war. Raising her wing, she braked the cloud right in position above the city. The cloud beneath her felt cold, yet comfy. Malleable.

“Hussar online. Please call your targets for execution. Out.” She called over the radio, though her scope was already pointed the direction she wanted it. Towards the hospital.

Then she reached inside one of the pouches on her flak jacket and flicked a button. The music started playing.

‘A cry for help in time of need, await relief from holy league…’

‘Sixty days of siege outnumbered and weak...’

First target. The wolf-dog bitch leading the pack attacking her mate. It looked like their gunfire had managed to injure Nguyen. Boris was struggling to slip a health potion in the Abyssinian’s mouth.

‘Sent a message to the sky, wounded soldiers left to die...’

‘Will they hold the wall or will the city fall...’

	She gauged the distance carefully. Account for wind and altitude… her talons twisted a knob on the side of her scope. That ought to account for windage.

‘Dedication… Dedication...’

‘They’re outnumbered fifteen to one...’

The crosshairs rested slightly above the bitch’s shoulders.

‘And the battle’s begun...’

The gunshot kicked against Micha’s shoulder. In her ears, the music kicked into action.

‘THEN THE WINGED HUSSARS ARRIVED!!!’ The voice of Sabaton’s lead singer roared.

Howls of pain immediately ensued. The bullet went straight through the bitch’s lower back, tumbled through her belly and erupted out in a spray of gore. If that wasn’t enough, two shots to the throat killed any hopes the bitch’s subordinates had of saving her.

Leaderless, the rest of the pack howled to the skies in rage before rushing Vadim’s team inside the hospital lobby. Two more fell to Micha’s FAL before Boris took hold of his machine gun and sprayed them. They all toppled, dead or injured from charging at a live GPMG.

The injured? She executed them. Attack her mate, pay the price.

She saw Vadim walk out of the building while Boris went back to tending to Nguyen. Somehow he was looking right at her. For a few seconds he had an unreadable look on his beak before she saw a grin split the grey falcon griffon’s beak.

“Thanks love. We got it from here. Good hunt and… see you tonight.” Her radio crackled with his words said in Polish.

She smiled. ~Oh how the hen in her loved the implications in those words~ Her tail coiled in anticipation and she was almost tempted to leap off her cloud and take him right ther-

“Klavins to Hussar. Need fire support over on the seafront at the crossroads between John Spark and Constitution street. Over.” Aleksei’s voice in English on the same frequency cut off her train of thoughts.

Right. Back to the hunt. For such a bad start this might actually turn into a good day. In her ears, the music resumed. The same album Vadim had gifted her for her birthday. Los Lobos would rue the day a winged hussar took to the skies...





	Getting from Comper to Trecesson by airship was a quick trip. Laughably so. Even then, all the magical jargon being casually tossed around was enough to make Rockhoof doze off. Starswirl didn’t dwell on it. He had already whipped out a sheet of parchment and begun jotting down notes and possible spell patterns Trixie and Starlight would have to look into to get back to Equestria.

“Hold on… we?” Starlight balked. “I thought you were going to help us!”

“I am, and I will.” Starswirl grumbled through his beard. “But if you knew half of the ungodly amount of research I need to get done, then you would understand why you need to do some research yourself. I just have too much work on my plate already, have an apprentice I need to keep training, and this planet’s equivalent of the Tree of Harmony to keep an eye on.”

And there still was the issue of powering up the ritual to get the Equestrians back to Equus. He had a couple ideas already… he just needed to check whether or not they still were viable. Which… oh horseapples, as if his schedule wasn’t already overburdened. He paused in his writing and rubbed a hoof against the base of his horn. Ghost or not, it was all so tiresome.

When he raised his eyes to look at the two mares across from him, he was surprised to find them silent. Trixie’s jaw hung wide open, and he was pretty sure Starlight’s horn let out a sparkle out of confusion.

“What is it now?” He asked in a tired voice.

“This planet has a Tree of Harmony?” Starlight’s head tilted to the side, eyes wide.

“Tree of Concord would be more appropriate a name… but yes. A sibling seed to that found in Equestria. We planted it a few months back and now we’re guarding it while the spirit -Concord- assembles the Element Bearers. Sorcery is already my apprentice… but now Concord straight up told me to sit and wait because the other Bearers would show up in their own time.” He finished in a grumble. “So far it’s rather quiet. One Element Bearer active, two artifacts collected out of seven… and any hint I have says it will be a good five years before the team is complete.”

“So...” Trixie started.

“No using them to get back to Equus I’m afraid.”

The light blue mare swore under her breath. That earned her a disapproving look from her marefriend, but if there ever was a situation that called for a sailor’s mouth, this was the one. That and hanging around airship sailors for so long loosened up a pony’s vocabulary.

“But we had so much planned for when we got back...” Starlight stared numbly into her lap. “I mean… the school, Sunburst, Ponyville and...” She sneaked a glance at Trixie.

“You know Sunburst?” Starswirl asked in mild surprise.

“Of course I do! He’s my fillyhood friend, we grew up together. He promised he’d keep an eye on the school while we were out volunteering. You know him?” Starlight pointed a hoof at the ghost.

“I keep a correspondence with him, yes.” He nodded. “Sunburst has been a great help in my research ever since I met him at an academic convention… and also revealed one of the biggest issues I have with this generation’s magic education.”

“You mean the Canterlot’s School for Gifted Unicorns?” Trixie guessed. “Trixie has had her own issues with them… School feuds with Friendship School notwithstanding, she could do with an elaboration on the topic.”

“Seconded.” Starlight nodded in assent.

“It’s… how do I put it? I know that’s rich coming from me, but I am of those ponies who think a mage should not be judged on account of what he can pull off on the fly with his horn or whichever kind of foci his school of magic favors, but on account of rituals based off careful research and experimentation. Therein lies the issue, because modern Equestria puts * all * of the emphasis on horn-based magic and none on rituals. Take Sunburst...” He spread out his hooves. “Brilliant colt if I’ve ever seen any, but because his horn magic is on the weaker side he had to drop out. That… that’s just bad prioritizing. Did you know he and I co-authored six books on spell matrices in the last three years? I mean… Faust’s teats, the teleportation devices relief teams used to travel from Equus to Earth and back...” He paused and threw them a sympathetic look. “… barring exceptions. That’s his doing. He directed the whole project.”

Starlight muzzle opened and closed like a fish out of water. Her horn fired off a small spark. It was almost as though her brain had shorted out at the revelation, only rebooting after Trixie gave her a not-so-subtle nudge. She shook her head. It… made sense, weirdly enough. While he did occupy the position of vice-headstallion at the School of Friendship ever since he moved back from the Crystal Empire, he did also spend the bulk of his time curating their library and pouring over rare books collected from all over the country. And she was reasonably sure a third of the mail not addressed to students at the school was his.

He just never was too forthcoming about his research, or more simply insecure about it. That, she blamed on him being a dropout. That experience seemed like it had left an ugly scar on her fillyhood friend’s behavior in more ways than one. It stings to fail at magical school when your Cutie Mark relates directly to magic. 

Starlight knew he was leagues ahead of her when it came to theory, part of why as vice-headstallion he would frequently teach students remediation classes on the topic.

In brief… she shouldn’t have been surprised by him not to be so open about his academics.

Sunburst… the orange stallion’s smile and signature goatee flashed inside her mind. She missed him. The projects they had with Trixie… She deflated in her seat, ears so low that Trixie reached over with a hoof and patted her on the back.

“We’ll see him again.” Trixie reassured. “Think of the bright side: when we get back, we can be sure he’ll have kept the school together, and he’ll actually know how much of the work you and I do around the school for a change, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Starlight chuckled sadly. “I bet now school counseling doesn’t sound so bad?”

“Are you kidding?!” Trixie dropped the hoof on Starlight’s back and tossed her mane over her shoulder. “Trixie’s fans span across the entire planet. Ever since we opened the school’s doors to all species, starstruck fans have sprung out from the student body to seek out advice from the Great and Powerful Trixie! She relishes handing out valuable life advice!” She finished with a flourish, standing up proudly on her hind legs, forehooves spread out and cloak billowing in the wind.

“Uh… looks like there is a hole in the hull there.” One of Rockhoof’s guards said in French before he stood up and shoved a crate against the wall to plug it before returning to his position by his snoozing superior’s side. Trixie’s cloak dropped.

Shortly after that, Canterlot Courier arrived, halting in a hover above Trecesson castle. By that time, Rockhoof’s guards had woken him up, if only so their superior could take a look at their home from up in the air.

The castle, the village, and the farmland around them sported a very different look compared to Comper to the north-east.

Though a lot more developed and advanced than the neighboring castle, it was also less tidy, and in all honesty quite a bit darker in its atmosphere. Most of that was owed to the bocage that split the farmland in multiple plots of land, along with the surrounding forest that loomed over the whole village, in close proximity to the palissade. The sight lines were considerably shorter here in Trecesson, with a color palette that leaned more towards darker tones of gray and brown rather than Comper’s lime washed walls.

Farm animals of all sorts still grazed in the pastures closest to the village: it wasn’t yet cold enough to warrant keeping them cooped up in their stables.In the fields, various shades of yellow and green showed they were on the last rotation of the year. Rockhoof only had a vague understanding of how fast crops grew in Broceliande, but by his reckoning the last harvest would coincide with the end of October.

It was kind of impressive really: Broceliande’s magic (combined with a bit of Earth Pony and centaur influence) boosted yields so much that in about six months the fields had gone through an entire crop rotation cycle. The food stores were overflowing, and they might still get some late produce from the gardens if frost came late in November. A little ways away from the village, a smoke column rose up above the forest, their charcoal kiln set in a clearing.

As for the village, it had grown, though not to the point (yet) that the streets felt narrow and cluttered. Most habitations and buildings were former cottages, farm buildings (some still were used as such) and the castle’s dependencies. All built with sturdy stones on the ground floor and mossy shingles covered their roofs.

Adding to that, some of the buildings reached a floor or two higher, extensions to add extra room built from the same type of timber used to construct the palissade, with the planks covered in a thick dark brown kind of varnish.As to break the sea of gray and brown of the village, most shutters and doors were painted a vivid red, with a few white notes on some buildings where one of the inhabitants had offered to paint vine patterns on the beams.

Most villagers stopped what they were doing upon noticing Canterlot Courier’s arrival. Few inhabitants as there were in the village, they still clustered in a little crowd somewhere on an unused plot of land between the schoolhouse and the recently-built-but-still-unnamed tavern. They started waving when they noticed their own guards at the railing, along with Miles flying down to the castle to signal their return.

The castle indeed, occupying a whole side of the village. Rockhoof’s home. It came in full view through the airship’s observation window as the Captain slowly circled around to find a spot to land. Thick stone walls and towers emerged out of a moat full of reeds, mallard ducks and lilypads, with an imposing gatehouse that housed the castellan’s chambers and connected it to the rest of the village. The gatehouse was connected to both battlements on one side, and the main lodgings on the other with fancy masonry and turrets breaking up the monotony of smooth stone walls. Emeric’s radio antenna poked through the roof, by far the tallest structure in the whole settlement. A trail of smoke rose up from a little building in the courtyard, the charcoal boiled, another of Emeric’s inventions that provided electricity to the whole settlement, in addition to the castle’s running water. 

As a final addition, Starswirl’s tower occupied the other end of the courtyard, a tall narrow structure adjoined to a lone storehouse. The main food stores, among other purposes.

Not the biggest castle of all… but for Rockhoof? Just the right size for his liking. He smiled proudly.

“Miss Lulamoon, Miss Glimmer, welcome to my home.” He announced theatrically, waving one of his massive hooves over the whole area.

In the courtyard, Meadowbrook and Martin waited patiently under the maple tree.





	Skinner could barely keep the electric arcs from dancing across his quills as he looked at his computer. He had connected to the satellite network the WSU fleet used to keep in touch and share intel, hoping to call either Dilip or Lorelei to give them the news about Dominica… only to find both unresponsive. For whatever reason, both had put up a note to call back the next day for ‘security reasons’ (whatever that was supposed to imply).

In a world with demons and monsters, did they really think that would assuage his concerns? Out of frustration he slammed his laptop close a bit too forcefully before he turned back towards the hippogriff on the other side of his desk. His newest hire.

“Something the matter, sir?” She inquired politely.

“Nothing too bad… at least I hope it isn’t. The rest of the fleet is making itself hard to keep in touch with.” He drummed his fingers against the desk before he reached for his coffee. The hot liquid burned pleasantly on the way down his throat. He set the mug back down, wiping a drop of liquid on the edge of his muzzle with his thumb. “But we’re not here to talk about Captain Prateek or Captain Gerig. You are today’s topic, Miss… Vaughn was it?”

“With an ‘n’ at the end, yes.” The hippogriff – Emily – nodded, nursing a coffee of her own. The creole accent was palpable, her voice light and musical. She was still wearing the same set of clothes she had crossed the jungle with: hiking shirt and cargo pants, both having had holes pierced through with a knife for her tail feathers and wings respectively.

At least they had taken the time to send them through the wash since then while Emily was taking a shower likely long overdue. As a result, both Emily’s clothes and feathers were still damp as she sat on the other side of Skinner’s desk.

Then again, he was fresh out of the shower as well, and it would be some time before he cleaned the jungle muck out of his quills and they regained their normally white color. Uncomfortably, he tugged at the bandages around his head. Lilian insisted he keep them a few days more at least, for the concussion incurred in Dominica.

“Of course, of course… Don’t forget to ask the bosun for your nametags by the way. And spell it out, otherwise I can guarantee there will be a typo in your tags. I know Vitomir can sound a bit scary at times, but he means well. Just don’t ever mention Yugoslavia in his presence.”

“The boatswain?”

“Right… you’re new to the maritime life. Think of him like a foreman, then? Tall for a gargoyle, dark blue fur, curly antlers, hangs around the workshop swearing most of his days. You can’t miss him...” He blinked. “Though now that I remember, we’re here to discuss your future duties. Sorry. Guess that chieftain...”

“Cacique.” Emily raised a talon to correct him.

“That bastard hit me harder than I first thought.” He rubbed a digit around his temple. “Sorry… I’m still a bit sore our venture on your home island went so badly. Do you know how far one has to travel to even find a colony? It’s hard to find people these days you know, such a waste...” He ended in a grumble.

“Believe me Captain, I’m as saddened as you are seeing how my former countrymen turned out. That was a whole million steps backwards there. My… my duties, if I may ask?”

“Right right… enough dawdling. Since you said you were an anthropologist and we’re always in need of good intel, I can offer you the position of Intel Officer.”

“Officer? Really?” Emily brightened up and sat up straighter in her seat. Her wings even spread slightly.

Skinner winced. It felt wrong to burst her enthusiasm like that.

“Noooot exactly.” He brought his paws together diplomatically. “It’s a misnomer really. They started saying that on one ship in the fleet and ever since it’s spread. In reality it’s closer to a white collar rating, so little to no manual labor. You see some ships used to be lucky enough to have secretaries on board to handle their paperwork – lucky bastards- and when they popped back into existence and didn’t have work for them… they fell into the role of gathering information on certain areas. On Amandine they have this guy, Roberto, and whenever they drop anchor somewhere he’s got a list of places to hit to recover useful supplies, information on the general area... The works.”

“That would be my job then?”

“Collecting, sorting data, and providing it whenever necessary. Given your education, it’s also likely other ships will call to get information on what kind of ancient divinities they may find or local culture. We have satellite communication systems, a mainframe to store data, even a little library.” Skinner explained.

Emily nodded slowly, her eyes vacant as she processed the information.

“I could do that yes… and what comes with it? I mean...” She waved her talons around.

“Board and lodgings, obviously.” Skinner shrugged. “You get a rating-sized single cabin which you may modify as long as it doesn’t endanger the ship’s safety or stability… so run that by an Officer just to be on the safe side before you do it. Bathroom is shared with the cabin next to yours so pay attention to that. You also get access to all facilities including the cafeteria where you may be asked to pitch in with the cooking at times, our gymnasium, sauna, laundry facilities, rec rooms and cinema...” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Again: the works. It’s a home away from home. And since you’ll be our Intel Officer, you’ll also get an office. Payment is… hard to figure out. No colony has a currency as of now, so we can only offer the promise of a share of the ship’s profits… and some storage space to store any loot and items you recover during our travels. The Chief Officer can set you up with that, so ask Quinn if you need it.”

“Is that all?” She quirked her head.

“Of course not.” Skinner laughed lightly before he fished out a sheaf of documents from under his desk. “I know contracts aren’t worth much these days, but they’re good to keep track of agreements. You’re free to leave anytime we hit port if you so desire and… that’s it really. All the finer details you’ll find in this contract, along with a list of the equipment you’ll be assigned and a schedule for training.”

“Training?”

“Basic ship safety that is.  We’re on a ship, and there’s a lot that entails. I’ll ask one of our Officers to give you a tour and run you through the safety briefs. Weapon training...” He paused. “… I’ll have to find a gap in the schedule to plan for that, but you will be assigned a weapon, even if it’s just a handgun. The world just ain’t safe without one.”

“I… uh...”

“I know, I know. Living with guns is a big deal, it’s a big responsibility, but you won’t need to keep it in your cabin at all times. Unless we need them, the guns stay in the armory.”

“Oh that’s a relief.” Her wings sagged.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.” Skinner smiled. “Now, I know it’s a lot to process, so you take your time, go back to your cabin and read it all thoroughly. Particularly the parts about unions, arbitrage and discipline, please. Ifyou have any issue with it, hold off signing, and we’ll discuss that with the bosun. He’s the union rep.” He pushed the pile of documents across the table. “On that note, I think it’s a ‘dismissed’. Have a nice evening, Miss Vaughn.”

She signed as soon as she reached her cabin.

Outside, Fugro Symphony sailed down on a general southerly heading, staying to the eastern side of the Lesser Antilles. Keeping close to land, the big red offshore support ship drew ever close to Brazil and to her next port of call: Belem. A port that would hopefully turn out better than the mess Dominica wound up being.

And Fugro’s crew would certainly approach the upcoming situation with a more jaded outlook.





	The moment he used his magic felt like popping a bubble. Except the bubble was pressurized, as big as a Toyota, and the rush of magic blew Rodrigo right off his hooves. He found himself rolling off the dirt mound and down near the ruined chapel near the top of the pass, accidentally spilling gear along the way. One of his knives slipped out of its sheath and embedded itself in the ground. His battle rifle landed beside him with a clatter, and he was pretty sure he’d lost half of his remaining ammunition.

Yet… not something that remained on his mind for long. There was the smell of ozone in the air. He wrinkled his nostrils, ears falling flat against his skull. A thin trickle of blood and throbbing pain on his forehead also let him know he had scuffed his horn against the asphalt at the base of the dirt mound.

All around him and the plateau as a whole, magic swirled in the air. Green ethereal wisps that rose up from the ground and formed a mist around the ancient battleground. Rodrigo pushed himself up on his hooves. A slight tug on his left side signalled the seams on one of his extra armor plates had come loose and was now all but dangling off his shoulder. Great. He ripped it off before he carefully made his way over to his discarded rifle and knife as the magic kept moving through the air, swirling. It howled and crackled, an eldritch wind made up of two conflicting kinds of mana trying to find their marks.

With a loud neigh Rodrigo jumped aside just in time as a green lightning bolt struck the ground he’d been standing on, leaving a scorch mark and some strange circle of symbols that spun around wildly. All around the plateau, the same phenomenon was happening. The weird lightning would strike down, mark an area with a circle, and cracks would later appear in the ground, connecting each circle with more of the symbols he couldn’t recognize.

It was… like the whole area was coming apart at the seams. The ruined chapel, the public toilets, the road and parking next to the dirt mound, even the lampposts, all were starting to crumble and wither away as the magic reduced them to their base components while vegetation bent and warped. Trees crumbled into sawdust, only to be reconstructed a few paces further. The tall grass would make room for the dirt and debris to assemble into a short embankment along the sides of the paved road that now replaced the asphalt, only to go grow elsewhere, pushed away by green arcs of magic.

Amidst all that chaos, Rodrigo tried to escape, profusely swearing as he ducked and dipped to get past the roiling magic. The ground would fall out under him, obstacles would turn to mulch in places whilst trees would pop into existence in others… and he soon realized he was stuck. It was like a foggy dome, an impervious green barrier on the edge of the plateau. He hit it at a full gallop, only to be thrown backwards by the magic.

Okay… can’t leave. Geography’s trying to kill me… wait no… seems like it’s stopped.

	And stopped it had, though only after thoroughly reshaping the landscape so much so that it was barely recognizable. Gone was the modern infrastructure that went through Roncevaux Pass, now replaced by an ancient-looking paved road with embankments on either side of it and a rough shepherd’s hut where the chapel used to be. The plants looked vaguely different too. The treeline had moved a bit further away. The grass was just a bit shorter, if weedy-er.

“What the hell’s going on here?” He asked to no one in particular.

The only response it got him? The dull blaring of a horn in the distance. Not a car horn, mind. A hunting horn.

That’s about when they started coming into shape. Wights. Ghosts. Shades. Whatever you’re supposed to call them. They all had the same green hue of the magic that had reshaped the land, translucent men you had to squint to truly see.

They first came in from the valley side, the Spanish side, striding up the road in orderly ranks. An entire Frankish army, back from a successful campaign and accompanying a supply convoy laden with the spoils of a well-waged war. The green silhouettes were faint, the humans still a lot taller than the small unicorn Rodrigo had become lately. Their horses and wagons? Gigantic, particularly when the army passed him without a sound, ignoring or not noticing him. There was a lord leading the convoy, with his vassals astride their horses overseeing the train of supplies, their chainmail-clad elite and the lesser levy escorting it.

Rodrigo shuddered when he saw their faces. Beneath the round iron helmets, hollow eyes gazed. Skulls bereft of flesh without even a flicker of life in them. These shades were long dead, a mere afterimage of an Event that had taken place there. Their presence didn’t trample grass, nor did it stir the air, not even the lord, one richly armored cavalier at the head of the convoy and surrounded by nobles and banners.

That privilege went to the rear guard apparently. The magic in the air shimmered when they entered the plateau. Their silhouettes were clearer, their steps heard as they journeyed uphill towards the crest of the plateau.

All of them also looked like they’d just gone through hell. Hauberks were pierced, round shields chipped and covered in arrowheads, helmets bent and all out of shape. Except for their commander. Rodrigo’s gaze felt naturally drawn towards him, a weathered beast of a Paladin with scale armor astride a barded horse. One of his armored hands held his banner, the other rested on…

“Necesito esa espada...” He realized in a whisper. The sword. The. Sword.

The way he felt his horn tingle. The way his eyes insisted to focus on the weapon. This. This was why he had left Madrid. This was the green flicker in his dreams. Whichever the reason, he was there for the sword.

The Paladin’s cloak billowed with the mountain winds as he surveyed his troops. The skull under the helmet didn’t convey any emotion, but the way the horse jerked in place, the way he was fingering the pommel of his weapon… actually the entire army moved with a hint of worry, hurriedly making for the pass.

Reason for which became known when a rider emerged out of the woods the army had just come from at full gallop, instantly making for the lord leading the convoy. It all happened in but a few minutes under Rodrigo’s confused eyes. The paladin from the rear guard hurried over to the lord. Words were exchanged in a language the pony couldn’t understand… and then the paladin hunched over resolutely in his saddle, bowing to the will of his lord.

Banners were waved. Drums started beating. The supply wagons from the rear guard were discharged into those of the rest of the army.

Then they moved them into a barricade across Roncevaux Pass while the rest of the army walked on. Archers took position in the wagons. Cavaliers set themselves on the flanks. The militia’s overseers arranged their troops into a wall of shield and spears between the wagons, with the core of elite troops taking the center position. They were mounting a defense.

Leading his troops, the paladin dismounted his horse. He gave his banner to one of his bodyguards before forming up with the core of the army, grabbing a large round shield bearing the same pattern as his banner. On his sides, a group of nobles prepared to defend him along with his bodyguards.

Rodrigo observed with bated breath. The main army soon left, off towards the French side of the pass, escaping, and the rear guard waited. The banners whipped in the wind. Soldiers shifted uneasily. Horses neighed. One spearman accidentally dropped his spear and earned himself glares from the entire group, paladin included. All around, the troops carried themselves with an air of resolute finality. Rodrigo even saw a couple move their skeletal jaws. Silent prayers maybe?

Then the first signs came. A flock of ethereal birds scattered. War horns rang out around the forest, converging towards the assembled rear guard. Trees shifted in the forest.

And then it began. Out of the woods, they charged with a thundering warcry that reverberated all around the plateau. A Basque army.

The rear guard’s last stand had begun. Rodrigo was stuck in between. And he needed to get that Paladin’s sword.
> Chapter 97: Basque in the Heat of Battle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘BANG!’

	One more wolf-dog fell, sprawling muzzle-down in an alleyway which he had been using to fire at a group of sailors sent to loot a hardware store. His companions immediately ducked back into cover… to little effect. Micha beat her wings a few times to shift her cloud to another position, and at the altitude she was, their cover quickly became useless. It seemed that only the bitches leading their squads and some of the jaguar warriors had radios, so once she made a point of picking them out, the rest fell into disarray.

Crafty creatures those jaguar warriors. It seemed they were meant to be scouts and marksmen, working in pairs which now Micha realized were always composed of one male and one female. The reason she was only then noticing as she was cleaning up the stragglers, was because it was starting to look like that the transformation from regular Abyssinian to jaguar warrior actually reduced the amount of gender dimorphism between the two. Given that in their normal state, the females were already modest in the chest department and that both sported narrow waists and triangular chests…

Yeah. No surprise it was hard to tell. She finished off the squad of wolf-dogs she was busy with and twisted in her cloud to line up her scope on the next target. That was… 550 meters maybe?

‘BANG!’

More like 530. Still, her raptor eyesight made her damn good at ranging shots. The shot hit high on a jaguar warrior that was busy getting down from her perch. She slipped off the ladder and landed six stories below. Micha didn’t bother with a follow-up shot on that one, and the jaguar warrior’s partner didn’t seem eager to check either.

He might have gotten away… if he actually knew where the shots were coming from and didn’t waste time climbing up a fence.

‘BANG!’ A short pause. ‘BANG!’

Micha tore her eyes away from the shooting, long enough to draw one more notch along her FAL’s handguard. Depending on which country you were from, she had already gunned down the equivalent of a small platoon, almost entirely uncontested at that. One or two jaguar warriors had managed to spot her muzzle flash and survived because she missed her ranging shot, but they had only fired back once, so good was her cover. In her ears, the playlist had moved on to other tracks, such that she would bob her head during reloads.

Not entirely professional, that much she was ready to admit, but cartel-cultists hardly called for mercy.

“Hussar. Fleet command here.” She heard Alejandro’s voice crackle in her radio. “Got a request for ya. Over.”

“Hussar here. I hear you. Over.” She replied, scanning the town for enemies. At this point all the fighting was winding down, and the assault on the refinery would probably break off any minute from now.

“Could you maybe let one of them live? Over.”

Wait, was this guy for real?

“Chief you can’t be serious!” She squawked out, momentarily diverting her focus away from all the shooting.

“I absolutely am. Massacre them all you want, they deserved it… but Captain Lorelei suggested we should tail one back to their base, since it seems the militia doesn’t know where they’re coming from. You got that right? Over.”

“Aye chief...” She hissed. “Wilco. Hussar out.”

Didn’t mean she couldn’t have her own interpretation of the stuff. She rid the Earth of one more wolf-dog squad and one jaguar warrior before she finally decided to go on with that idea. Alejandro only said they needed the one survivor, and stragglers killed now were combatants that would not fight them again later.

She was running low on ammunition anyway.

Her prey practically handed itself to her on a silver platter too. She had pushed her little cloud towards the edge of town to catch the runners when a pair of jaguar warriors ran out of the urban landscape in a mad dash.

Range the shot. Adjust sight. Breathe out. ‘BANG!’

The first of the two collapsed in the mud with a gaping hole in his thigh, bleeding profusely. Not what she was aiming for, but she wouldn’t bleed for much longer. That was a hit on the femoral artery with a 7.62 alright, no need to waste one more bullet. The jaguar’s wild struggle was already growing weaker by the second.

She focused on the second. The taller male had turned around in horror at the sight of his injured companion. There he was, standing atop a fallen tree, his yellow spotted fur standing out sharply against the background vegetation and presenting the perfect target.

Now to make sure he believed he was lucky and wasn’t being tailed…

‘BANG!’

Definitely not a killing shot. Micha didn’t want to kill him. The bullet caught his forearm, probably shattering bone and effortlessly cleaving through both leathery vambrace and flesh. He stumbled and fell backward in a shallow ditch that conveniently put him out of sight from the town. His camo cloak caught on a branch and was wrenched off his shoulders in the fall. Excellent. That would only make her job easier.

The warrior looked as though he was struggling to figure out what had happened for a few seconds where he lay in the mud, fur now thoroughly covered in mud and filth. Micha saw him stare numbly at his injured limb before the pain caught on and he slammed a paw on his muzzle.

But like a dutiful cultist, he moved on. He crawled his way along the ditch to put some distance between himself and the town, unaware that the sniper was in the skies and not atop an undefined building… Then, once he had a copse of trees and a few hedges between him and any building, he took off south into the jungle.

Which would have made for decent concealment… except the local landscape didn’t really lend itself to that. See, around Coatzacoalcos, the climate certainly was tropical (hence the monsoon currently battering them), but not every bit of land had the requisites to grow a jungle. Drier and higher land around towns and buildings did allow for small copses to grow (such as around certain sections of the refinery, forestry being more prevalent on the eastern banks of the river), but otherwise the terrain favored the appearance of marshes.

Not to the extent they had seen in Georgia (far from that), but there were two or three kilometers of marshland on either side of the river.

And since Micha’s quarry was on the side of the river with the least forestry, he made it pretty easy to be tracked. The bald eagle griffon slung her rifle over her back, not needing the scope. Her raptor eyesight was more than enough to see the jaguar part reeds and tall grass as he ran through the swamps.

What would have been enough to shake off pursuers confined to the ground was woefully inadequate to slip by a griffon. Micha only needed to beat her wings every so often to steer her little cloud, watching the struggles of the jaguar warrior with the same disinterest of a cat toying with a mouse.

It kept going like that for a while. The wounded jaguar warrior certainly had impressive stamina, because he kept running for five more kilometers deep into the marshes, making bounds from one isolated bit of jungle to another along the river before she saw him pause. Taking a breather now? He had stopped at the edge of a copse that ran alongside a country road, kneeling in a bush.

And then he shrugged off his bandolier and leaned his rifle against a nearby tree. Out of one of his pouches came some primitive kind of medical kit which he used to shave the fur around his wound before applying some greenish healing salve. With how it glowed when it applied it, some kind of magic or potion-making was involved, unsurprisingly. He wrapped the wound tightly in some gauze that looked eerily like palm leaves before he reached for a tree, snapped off a few branches and splinted his injury.

Ah… The wolf-dogs didn’t exhibit that kind of behavior. So maybe in addition to being scouts and sharpshooters, the jaguar warriors also dealt with providing medical assistance? Healers then? From a certain point of view… scouts could certainly recover the requisite medicinal plants and gain the skill set.

Then the jaguar shoved the medical kit back in his bandolier which he put back on. From another pouch came a little flask from which he drank. Potion, obviously. Regular liquor didn’t make you roar to the skies nor did it make your fur stand on its ends. Tail lashing from side to side with renewed vigor, she watched him spit some shiny blue liquid to the side, pick up his rifle and continue his dash back to base.

Approximately ten kilometers away from Coatacoalcos, he settled his pace down to a quick stride, though he kept avoiding roads and towns. She saw him steer well clear of any habitation or farmstead he came in sight of, walking ever deeper into the hinterland. Wounded, covered in mud up to his waist, the feline trudged on, his rifle slung over his shoulder. And he kept going, so far Micha drifted out of radio range from the city and had to turn on her sat phone.

Finally though, her quarry made it to his destination. By that point, all the marshes on the banks of the river had steadily shrunk just as its width decreased, instead being replaced by abandoned meadows and farmland. Micha could see the remains of a few tiny villages and hamlets here and there, most of them already partly reclaimed by vegetation and covered in vines. Stray cattle was visible, their herds dull blotches of color that stood out against the overwhelmingly green landscape.

She frowned. Those were a bit too close together to be natural and… yeah she was right. The jaguar warrior made a beeline for one of the herds before he collapsed in a meadow, what energy his potion had provided now flushed out of his system.

Another pair rushed out of the treeline to meet him. While the reunion was taking place beneath her, she was already surveying the area, looking for landmarks to locate the place on a map. Water tower there… bridge there… She pulled out a compass and jotted down the bearings in her notebook. With how she could see the course of the river, finding the place again should pose little trouble.

It was definitely a hub of activity for them, and well-hidden at that. They had chosen to take residence not in an abandoned village or hacienda, but in the woods next to one. Some trucks and technicals could be seen from the sky, subtly hidden beneath camo nets and layers of vegetation. In other places, she could see what looked like foxholes and firing positions covering the woods and keeping an eye on the nearest village while a group of wolf-dogs occupied another copse of tree, keeping an eye on the main road and a bridge. Smart choice. The nearest alternative to that one was a solid five kilometers downriver.

But save for a couple depots, vehicles, and the jaguar warriors guarding the cattle… Micha couldn’t see habitations. She set her eyes back on her quarry, which had now been laid down on a gurney and was being carried off by a pair of jaguar warriors.

Male and female again. Looks like they really operated in couples… and the female griffon couldn’t blame the reasoning. Hunting with one’s mate was one of the most enjoyable activities she could think of, and the primal instincts in the dark recesses of her mind agreed.

Sharp raptor eyes tracked the trio as the gurney was carried along the treeline and near a small hillock. She took note of several more firing positions and wolf-dog patrols along the muddy path they followed – muddy enough that they almost slipped and dropped the gurney- until they reached… she wasn’t sure. There was a tiny, almost invisible cliff dug in the flank of the hillock. Discarded tools and an excavator had been set aside next to the entrance to some kind of grotto. Or a mine maybe, though she had no idea what kind of minerals you’d find in the region.

More importantly, as she waited and observed, she didn’t see the jaguar warriors come back outside. A pair of heavyset wolf-dog bitches and their respective squads were vigilantly watching the entrance, equipped with a mix of shotguns and assault rifles instead of the SMG’s spotted earlier on the attackers. Paired with rudimentary armor and more of those ceremonial Aztec garments…

She was pretty sure she’d just located their HQ.

Micha spread her wings and took off from her little cloud, keeping above the cloud cover while the rain kept beating down on the countryside beneath. The sun and winds above the clouds dried her damp feathers and she twirled, before she angled her body on a course that would take her back to the refinery.





Unaware of the fighting that was winding down at this point in Mexico, Fugro had carried on with her passage towards Brazil. Slowly, since the red offshore support ship didn’t get anywhere fast, the vessel drew a path along the eastern side of the Lesser Antilles, passing the isles of Martinique, Saint-Vincent and Grenada on her starboard side before she set her bow towards Galleons’ Passage, right between Trinidad and Tobago before Fugro started hugging the South American shoreline.

While not the shortest way to get to their destination, there was a very good reason as to why they were sailing like that.

For one, they needed to stay close so the calls that they were regularly sending over the airwaves would reach further inland and might lead to finding returnees and possibly a colony. They didn’t actually find any, but while they were passing a gas field off the shore they saw that the lifeboats of one platform were gone. Unless whoever used them had perished at sea, then it meant that there were returnees in the area.

Too bad they didn’t find them.

For second, another reason as to why they stuck close to shore was because Skinner had printed some weather charts of the past month and ran some calculations. By then it was pretty much certain that the storm detected somewhere off West Africa was the same one that followed the warship that had attacked Sao Paulo.

The problem there? That warship, while not fast, was still faster than any speed Fugro could achieve without severely damaging her engines. If that warship somehow detected them, there was very little they could do to avoid them.

Luckily, Fugro had a pretty shallow draft and could slip rather deep in an estuary, which the South American coastline had plenty of. If there ever was a sign of the demonic pirates heading in their general direction, Fugro would quickly sail up the nearest river and hide behind a bend in the jungle until such a time that the threat had passed. Cowardly, but even with the recent addition of torpedoes Fugro wasn’t a warship.

It didn’t happen.

Once they were past Galleons’ Passage, the three next days were some straight sailing. Granted, the sea was a bit choppy which wasn’t kind on their latest recruit, but otherwise it wasn’t any kind of rolling that could unsettle sailors worth their salt. They had a steady breeze blowing in from the Atlantic on the port side, the verdant shores on the starboard size, and far ahead… their destination. The shores were sloped smoothly on that part of the continent, light inclines that rose out of the seabed to form beaches and lush coastlines that had at one point been farmland that fed countries like Suriname and Guyana.

No longer. It was a pattern you saw all over the world, magic enhancing plant growth. Different areas were affected to varying levels, and South America appeared to be no exception. What their charts argued to be meadows and fields, their eyes and satellites pictures confirmed as jungles to be, covered in short saplings, shrubs and ferns tall enough to swallow up a car. Already, what infrastructure they could see peeking at the coast through their binoculars was being ground down to nothingness by nature.

Given the difference in infrastructure between the coast and the hinterland, hopes weren’t high for anything more than fifty kilometers inland.

Work carried on onboard. Equipment wore down and was repaired. The everlasting fight against rust continued. Gossip spread and died. The Chief Cook started up wild tales of their daring escape from the fierce Taino people. Emily settled into her position as Intel Officer and started researching various ancient civilizations that might come back into existence. She got into contact with Roberto in Mexico when time allowed.

They even held a line-crossing ceremony for her when they passed the Equator, shortly before they reached the estuary of the Parà river, with a little party and mild hazing to welcome the new recruit into the crew. Skinner liked to think the small crew manning his ship was a family of sorts, strays cut off from their family and clinging to the few people they knew from before a catastrophe turned the world on its head.

Yes. That was about right. Pretty close-knit for a crew hailing from such different backgrounds. And if what he had experienced in Dominica was enough of a tell, then they’d stick together through thick and thin.

Now… as to what would happen in Belem… they were due anytime now. The Scot eyed his computer screen, watching a repeater feed of the ECDIS used up on the bridge. Very close now indeed. And as if on cue, his intercom rang.

“Captain, can you come to the bridge?” There was Mia’s heavily accented voice, the Second Officer. 

She was a young reindeer doe in her mid twenties, Norwegian, with icy blue fur… and funnily enough, unlike most of the females you’d see in the maritime industry after the Event, she had been a she prior to waking up with cloven hooves. Why was that funny? In an industry overwhelmingly made up of men and where one third of them had turned into females… she was the odd one out.

But she sounded worried. Or puzzled. Hard to tell with the accent.

“Is something wrong?”

“Det kommer an på… Sorry, I mean that depends how you look at it, and you should * really * have a look.” She insisted.

Skinner frowned.

“Be there in a minute then.”

What had the lass seen that could rub her fur the wrong way like that? He exited his quarters and made his way up to the bridge… and shifted to fog form out of sheer surprise.

Belem, according to intel, had been the first colony set up in the Amazon basin. That fact alone meant that unlike most cities on the continent, it had had more than four hundred years to grow and expand with various quarters adding itself to the settlement overtime, from the warm rusticity of a colonial district, to the shining towers of a budding CBD.

It was a port town that was, in all senses of the term, a tentacular city. For a long time considered the Gateway to the Amazon, a title the larger city of Manaus couldn’t claim despite actually being on the Amazon in the state of Amazon, by virtue of being built that much further inland.

So, a city with a long history.

Didn’t explain the giant trees dotting the horizon. He seriously hoped his eyes were having perspective issues, because it looked like the damn trees were as tall as some of the twenty-stories appartment blocks near the CBD.

“Da fook?” Ah, there was his scottish accent rearing its ugly head. “How does dat even ‘appen?!”





Sitting closely next to Trixie, Starlight examined the interior of the castle’s banquet hall. Whitewashed wall and tapestries under a vaulted ceiling held together by thick rafters was exactly the kind of building she thought would fit the two former Pillars.

Looking into it more closely, it was no surprise Rockhoof and Meadowbrook would rather stay on Earth than go back to Equestria, even with the technology she could see peeking out from beneath carpets here and there. Earth was more in need of rough-but-effective figures like them than Equestria was.

Broceliande was a castle isolated in the middle of an enchanted forest. Most ponies would balk at the prospect of living there, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the likes of Rockhoof actually relished wrestling giant boars to the ground and whacking them with his shovel. He was in the right place there.

Meadowbrook… well, Starlight didn’t know quite as much about the notoriously elusive mare. She had barely known her personally, and she seemed more the type to collect herbs and components for her potion in the wilds and stay on the edge of civilization. Her being Rock’s husband… with how she kept a hoof over the bump on her belly and how close she hung to the large stallion, the combination of ingredients from an enchanted forest and having a family must have made her pretty content. Even that fawn Martin sitting with the two former Pillars on the dais that presided over the banquet hall brought a motherly grin to the blue Earth Pony mare’s muzzle.

A family… Starlight sighed dejectedly. Her eyes trailed away from the happy family, along the long table that was currently occupied by both the castle’s inhabitants and the airship’s crew before settling on her own plate which she’d barely touched.

A lone fork enveloped in the turquoise glow of her magic nudged one of the broccoli soaking in the creamy sauce. It wasn’t the cooking. She just… didn’t feel like eating.

Beside her, Trixie wrapped a hoof over her shoulder and offered her a sympathetic look.

“Do you want Trixie to help you eat? She couldn’t help but notice the absence of a smile on your muzzle.” She offered with a sly grin that didn’t quite match the look in her eyes. She was feeling down too, but the performer knew how to put up a facade. “Here...” Her own fork stabbed at the offending Broccoli and brought it up in front of Starlight’s eyes. “… it’s not cherries like the other time, but you take what you get, right?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, that had been some wild evening. Trixie managed to cheer her up for the rest of the evening, and altogether the food was good, the wine too, and the wayward Equestrians had seldom been this cheerful since discovering they couldn’t make it back to Equestria. Captain Moral Compass? The elderly pegasus was chatting with Rockhoof, a content smile adorning his muzzle. He was the quintessential Cloudsdale pegasus, and the chance that he might see the flying city again was enough to soothe the sour mood he’d been sporting for the past two months.

Around him, both his sailors and the Solar Guard detachment accompanying their expedition mirrored the attitude, listening intently to the conversation, one of them speaking up every so often to add a detail about their misadventures in the British Isles.

Starlight and Trixie had a conversation going too. With Miles. Soon after their arrival, the Lieutenant had gone to change out of her armor, coming back to the banquet hall with her shaggy purple fur (partly) brushed and clad in a weird mix of biking shorts with a makeshift hole for her tail and a garish lime green tracksuit vest that covered her barrel and wings, white mane tied up behind her ears with a scrunchie.

“Yeah I know.” Miles rolled her eyes. “Emeric commented on it too, but I’d rather not eat in the same suit of armor I traversed the forest in, and my poncho is in the wash.” She said, brushing a hoof over the garment.

Starlight’s eyes accidentally (or so she would claim) passed over the biking shorts hugging and she blushed. Well… the military pegasus sure was fit. Trixie didn’t miss the display, not with the glint in her eyes and the sly grin.

“Don’t see clothes like that often in Equestria for sure.” Starlight blurted out.

“Yeah… We don’t really have professional seamstresses around here, so we make do with refitted clothes. Armor too, though funnily enough it’s easier to adapt a gambeson for equine body types than a tracksuit. Cloth's thicker, more margin for error.” Miles explained as she sipped from a glass of wine she was balancing over her hoof.

She’d gotten better at handling stuff with hooves. Enough that she didn’t need to resort to using her wings' primaries most of the time. And no she wouldn’t start grabbing stuff in her mouth.

“Eh, thin materials rip easy. No surprise there.” Starlight shrugged. “Say I heard you were...”

“Male, yes.” Miles’ eyes flew up to the ceiling in exasperation. “Why is it always me that gets asked? There’s a third of the population affected, I can’t be the first you come across.”

“You aren’t, but Trixie heard you were trying to turn back. That’s what makes you different from most.” Trixie pointed out, jabbing a hoof in the pegasus’ direction while the other was still wrapped over Starlight. “Is there something wrong with...”

Miles made a cutting motion with her hoof.

“There isn’t. Believe me, I tried the mare side of affairs, and while I can’t deny there’s something pleasant in spreading your hind legs under a stallion, I was born male, and I’m of a mind that’s the way I’m supposed to be. And if honest-to-goodness Merlin is in the vicinity, then I’d think I actually have a chance. Why most would rather not bother… I dunno why. Laziness?”

She paused. There was an instant of silence while her brain processed what she had said and then her eyes widened. Trixie chuckled.

“More honest than you wanted it to come across as?”

“I’m sorry, that was out of plac-”

“It’s fine really.” Starlight reassured after casting her eyes around to make sure nopony was eavesdropping. Still, she put up a ward just in case. “Sometimes it’s good to let the words roll off the tongue, right?” She said, adding a wink.

“Trixie is curious, she’s never been a stallion, so how does it compare?”

Miles blushed so deeply the purple fur on her snout took on a darker tone while she looked down at the table.

“It’s uh… different. The weirdest thing is how my preferences were swapped around and… Let’s be honest, I experienced the male side as a human, not as a stallion, so take what I say with a grain of salt OK? But the gist of it is… you’re a lot less proactive as a mare. You just don’t realize how much of the work the stallion’s putting in believe me.”

“Trixie thinks it’s just you. Puh, not all mares take it like a starfish. Trixie is a performer!” She boasted, thumping a hoof on her chest and throwing her mane to the side.

“What really? I thought you swung the other way.” Miles quipped.

The jab at least had the desired effect. The illusionist across from her folded her ears against her head and blushed deeply, much to her companion’s amusement as Starlight struggled to hold back a fit of laughter.

“Trixie is a complicated mare of many a great talent...” She grumbled.

“Neither of us is a fillyfooler Miles.” Starlight then corrected. “Trixie and I just share a stallion, and we love each other enough to make an exception.” She added with a soft smile.

That made Miles blink in puzzlement.

“Share? What, like the two of you and?”

“There isn’t really a problem with that in Equestria. Sometimes couples pair with one stallion and a mare, sometimes it’s two. There just are too many mares where we’re from, though that depends on the country. Maretonia and the Crystal Empire are more 50-50 on the ratio, and Saddle Arabia is the worst off. I heard mares sometimes had to share a stallion with four others there since they’re so rare.”

Miles opened and closed her mouth a few times, her features blank.

“Oh...” She finally managed to say.

“We get that reaction a lot from foreigners, but it’s alright. Once Starswirl figures it out and Trixie and I get back, Sunburst is in for a treat. We’re gonna have a family. I mean… look at Meadow, look at the smile on her muzzle and how she holds herself.” Starlight said calmly. “I wanna feel that. I wanna be like that. To see little foals. That’s the whole point of life, no?”

“Life’s whatever you make it out to be.” Miles replied just as calmly. “But I get your point. Personally though? I know I’m meant to be a father, not a mother. Experimenting with the mare side of things is great, but I’m not here to stay.” She paused to sip from her wine. “It’s funny you know. You two and I, we’re both stuck in our plans waiting for Starswirl to solve our problems.” She raised her glass then. “To our resident wizard of legend finding a solution?”

Starlight snorted, but both she and Trixie lifted their glasses.

“To Starswirl!”

Past that point, the conversation died down and Starlight dropped her ward when Emeric, Miles’ fellow Lieutenant, came down from his radio station stuck between the rafters in the attic and they started some general chat about the region and Trecesson, the projects they had and what it was like being a guard there.

Then, when they started picking up the plates and cleaning up, Miles stood up and decided to show their visitors to their quarters, leading Trixie and Starlight to one of the usual medieval bedrooms the castle had: thick walls, plenty of cloth in the form of tapestries and carpets to retain heat, a large oaken four-poster bed, basic furniture, and a bathroom down the hallway she pointed out to them.

She didn’t linger. She had to maintain her gear, organize the night watch, and the lustful looks the two unicorn mares were trading implied 





	Roncevaux Pass was being blown in a whirlwind of chaos the likes of which it hadn’t seen since the battle that made it famous. Not even the minor Napoleonic skirmish waged there could compare to the fight Rodrigo was witnessing.

On one side was the Frankish rear guard. Well-organized, professional, they had assembled to form a defensive position along the line of wagons that were blocking the pass, each laden with archers, bows strung and arrows nocked. Just ahead of them, the infantry had lined up. A core of heavily-armored elite in the very center of the pass wearing a mix of chainmail and scale armor, tightly packed around the paladin leading them whose sword Rodrigo needed to steal. He had his bodyguards around him, plus a retinue of nobles ready to fight to their last breath. They had their round shields overlapped over head other, spears at the ready, shortswords kept sheathed for now.

The militia covering the flanks didn’t look so fierce. They lacked the armor of their elite peers, save for their Captains who were from the same elite guarding the center of the formation. Instead, the lucky ones could afford conical helmets and leather jerkins to go with their spear and shield. And only that. Most lacked backup weapons, and the few that did have one, were limited to mere hunting knives. A useful tool, yet a poor weapon for a field battle. Their performance would entirely be down to the Captains keeping them in line.

That fact would have meant the Frankish army’s flanks were brittle, were it not for the archers covering them from the wagons behind, and the cavalry on the outer edges of the pass. Now, these were not late-medieval knights. Frankish cavalry didn’t have stirrups and couldn’t do crouched spear charges or the like. Instead, a better comparison might have been dragoons. Cavaliers that used their horses mostly for mobility and to run off stragglers, but that otherwise fought on foot, hence why their equipment so closely resembled that of the elite in the center of the pass.

Their use would be limited in the relatively narrow pass, but the ability to flank around and back up the militia was not to be underestimated. In the mountain wind and under the glow of green magic that permeated the plateau and kept Rodrigo trapped there, they looked fierce, banners billowing in the wind, but...

Facing them was a veritable horde of angry Basques, their numbers beyond counting.

While not to the level of Frankish troops in training or equipment, the Basques were local folks. They knew the terrain, they were rough people acclimated to the hilly mountainous region… which the Frankish troops had just pillaged on their way back from Charlemagne’s iberian campaign.

And they were very angry, their shades’ ethereal forms thrumming with an angry red sheen, rearing to recreate the fight that had avenged their charred homeland eons before.

Of the several thousands present on the battlefield, only a few sported actual armor, leather at best, the others either eschewing it entirely in favor of simple tunics, or having patched together makeshift protection: artisans’ aprons turned into leather jerkins, hunting clothes with extra padding, maybe even a few pots used as helmets. They were a disorganized bunch, only held together by a few chiefs holding curtains-turned-standards to direct their troops.

Even their weapons were far worse than their foes: spears shared the battle line with forks and other tools like farming flails, axes and scythes. Accompanying that, hammers and knives were common in adorning the warriors’ belts, and there was even a bunch of hunters in the back line with their bows strung. In the front rows, javelins were held at the ready, little more than sharpened sticks in most cases.

And yet… even Rodrigo knew that: quantity has a quality all its own. The Franks were few. They were tired from a long campaign.

The Basques had their chances at revenge, and they knew it. So they charged. One huge ethereal wave of angry shades looking to swallow them up. 

It was about when the first line of Basques ran up to the Franks and started throwing javelins that Rodrigo realized the danger of his predicament. Up until then he’d been staring dumbfounded at them, stuck between the two armies… until a Frankish arrow glanced off his one remaining pauldron.

Had anyone not a shade seen him at the time, the way his eyes widened in realization would have been rather comical as a particularly drawn-out string of swear words filtered through his mind. He was in danger, and his goal of acquiring the paladin’s sword had just become that much harder.

As javelins and arrows alike started filling the air, Rodrigo burst into movement, tired muscles aching, yet the adrenaline was already giving the unicorn the second wind he needed. He quickly galloped away from the center of the battlefield, winding up on a flank where the Frankish cavalry was hard at work preventing gangs of Basque huntsmen from assailing the main line.

Ghastly howls started filling the air, bursts and pops of green magic that would occur whenever one of the shades was killed. The cavalry’s horses would neigh loudly, a mix of pain and fright as some were injured, falling to never rise again, their shades popping after a few seconds, leaving nothing behind but bright sparks.

Rodrigo… only now fully realized how much height he had lost when the Event changed him from human to unicorn form. The tall bipeds loomed above him as he slalomed between their legs, trying to make a dash and get behind the line of wagons to better sneak up on the paladin.

Unfortunately, the shades wouldn’t have it that way. Most were all too happy to hack away and stab at each other… but not all. More than a few times, groups of them would twist their heads and glare at him through hollow eye sockets before grouping up to attack the only living being of the battlefield.

‘BANG-BANG-BANG!’

And he would fight them off with his CETME… up until the old battle rifle saved him from being cleaved in half by a frankish cavalier’s axe. Held in his telekinesis, the rifle that had been keeping him alive (and steadily running out of ammunition between double-feeds) resisted at first, blocking the relentless assaults as Rodrigo used it to parry while he tried to unsheathe his knives.

Then, with a roar from the cavalier as he brandished the axe above his shoulders, the already bent weapon was shattered, finally giving out, its furnishings chipped and cracked and the chamber almost cut open. Rodrigo’s telekinetic grasp failed in a bright flash. He threw himself backwards just in time for the axe to miss gelding him, and the knives finally came free.

Both pieces of metal whistled through the air like giant arrows, and Rodrigo’s mind guided them to the shade’s unprotected neck. It was like taking giant scissors to flesh, and the head was cut clean off. It didn’t bleed. The Frank’s body just collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut off before disappearing in a pop.

Rodrigo sighed in relief. His K9 armor could withstand some stuff, but that axe would have had enough force behind it to break bone. That, and the leather and kevlar were showing wear. He was pretty sure that weight between his shoulders was the tip of a javelin, and he was probably bruised all over already.

No time to dwell on it however. Three Basque spearmen came to fill the cavalier’s place, and the fighting resumed.

Being small and fighting largely using telekinesis gave him quite the edge, and the armor softened most blows, so he managed to slay a great many foes over the course of the battle, though not without being worn down himself. Fatigue came and slowed his blows. Enemy attacks would slip past and graze him, nicking his armor and causing minor injuries, but he kept going.

He kept going when his knives shattered and he had to pick up ghostly weapons to fight back – which for some odd reason didn’t disappear when their wielders died-.

He kept going when a stray arrow hit him in the flank and pierced the armor, immobilizing one of his hind legs and forcing him to hop around on three limbs.

And steadily, Rodrigo drew ever closer to the line of wagons barring Roncevaux Pass and the main frontline where the paladin was fighting with the elite, a veritable ironclad whirlwind of metal that spelled the death of any Basque coming in range.

Unbeknownst to the equine Spaniard, the tide of battle was shifting too. The frankish line was buckling already. The cavalry covering for the militia had been massacred to the last man, each group isolated from the main army and then picked off, allowing archers and javeliners to pepper the main line with projectiles. The archers in the wagons had run out of ammunition. Some ran off into the mountains, others decided to join the main fight alongside the militia that, itself, was starting to waver.

Banners toppled and fell whenever one of their Captains died to the basque onslaught, and wherever that happened, disorganized militia shades would attempt to fight back only to be mowed down and massacred.

Still, in the center of the pass, proud as ever, though tired, the elite held, a homogeneous shield wall that moved like a well-oiled machine to fend off the Basques. They were slaying scores upon scores of them, but for every basque slain, four mores would take his place, and they were being whittled down.

Rodrigo finally reached the wagons. Exhausted. Injured. He rolled under one of them to take a brief pause, accidentally resting some weight on the arrow in his rump, which made him cry out in pain before he twisted himself and snapped the projectile at its base with his teeth.

He wasn’t dumb enough to rip it out. That would wait for later.

A drop of blood trickled from his injured horn to his eye. He wiped it with his forehoof, his telekinesis still holding onto a pair of shortswords retrieved mid-battle.

He had gotten far… but he wasn’t there just yet. Still needed to get the paladin’s sword, and he doubted he’d willingly part from it.

Off the edge of the battlefield, a green silhouette watched, a lone equine looking down at the fighters perched on a rocky protrusion.

All things accounted for… Rodrigo actually knew very little of what was going on.
> Chapter 98: Bitter Victory
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain had finally stopped and the skies were clearing up by the time Micha made it back to the refinery, bright shades of blue sky finally breaking up the dreary gray clouds she had used as camouflage earlier. Spreading her wings wide and letting herself glide in a circle around the refinery and the remains of the battle, she basked in the feeling of the sun warming her feathers as she took in the damage with her sharp eyesight.

Acrid smoke columns rose up from the burnt husks of the technicals the wolf-dogs had used in their assault. Not the Toyota’s you would see in a middle-eastern desert, but american pickup trucks instead. Dodges, Fords, Chevies, most of them reinforced with makeshift applique armor welded haphazardly along with swivels for heavy weapons.

They had all been destroyed by heavy gunfire from Amandine’s combat vehicles. Pit a CV90 against a Silverado if you want, but don’t be surprised when the Bofors gun rips the lighter truck apart like kindling. Each technical the IFV had set its sight on, you could recognize by the shattered cabin and the smoldering debris around the wreck.

Other than those, most had been knocked out by .50cal fire or plain grenades. Now, they littered the stretch of barren land Samuel’s militia maintained in front of the security perimeter. Between them lay the dead bodies of the roughly three dozen wolf-dogs and half that number in jaguar warriors that had tried to breach their defenses. Some lay face-down on the road to Coatzacoalcos, where the main attack force had come from. Others had bled out trying to hide in ditches and behind pieces of cover.

However, their failure to capture the refinery didn’t mean it had come out completely unscathed. Some of the tanks - as in: oil storage units, not combat vehicles- closest to the fence had been hit by stray RPG’s. The fence was bent and broken in places.One section more so than the rest, torn down and charred after the pickup used to ram it was destroyed and caught fire. In other places, the office building used as headquarters had lost quite a few windows to stray bullets, and the walls of the checkpoint building by the gates were covered in impact marks. One of the watchtowers had even collapsed, twisted metal lying halfway sunk in the mud.

Nearby, while the Piranhas had already retreated back to Amandine’s holds (one of which had to be towed back for repairs), the CV90 was still there, idling, ready to resume the fight if anything came up.

At the same time… the assault was over, and the cleanup was already in order. Outside the wire, a farming tractor with a bulldozer blade was pushing the technical wreck out of the way while a small team collected the bodies, most likely to burn or bury them. A medical tent stood next to the office building with Amandine’s ambulance on standby.

And if the ambulance was there, then it meant the casualties suffered among teams deployed in town had been recovered as well… and that Vadim most likely was back on the ship. Nguyen had been shot, so she suspected her mate would be tending to the injured cook right about then. She’d see how he was doing later. For now, she had heard her instructions, and she needed to report toheadquarters.

By the time Micha landed in front of the building, most heavy injuries had already been transferred to Rhine Forest’s clinic, leaving a hedgefog she recognized as Rhine’s nurse (the one Greet frequently slept with, or so the rumors said) to tend to the lesser injuries. Her paws splashed in a puddle of rainwater upon touching down, before she briskly padded over to the headquarters' lobby.

Around her, the much taller bipedal Abyssinians and D-Dogs were running around frantically from one office to another, trying to figure out how they’d go about repairing the damage and evaluating the extent of their losses. The locals were so busy with the stuff they almost failed to notice the shorter bald eagle/wildcat chimera as she twisted past them, bumping into several.

Really drives it home how much shorter you’re as a quadruped in a colony where bipeds are so prevalent. At least in Cuba there were hippogriffs, and in Savannah she, as a griffon, dwarfed ponies.

Here in Mexico? Staring at crotches and having her tail walked on. The offender received a primer in just how many ‘kurwas’ a purebred Pole could slip in the one sentence.

Talons clicking against the floor tiles, she quickly slipped in a meeting room off in the back of the lobby. Your average nondescript office room: fake ceiling tiles with a projector hanging off the ceiling, white walls, cheap furniture, water fountain, and a large oval table to sit around.

And some brown packing tape plugging the bullet holes in the windows… that one was a first.

“Second Officer Przemo, reporting.” She announced upon entering the room.

Heads turned to look at the newest arrival. Unsurprisingly, the leader of the refinery was there, that Carmelita border collie, busy pacing with her arms behind her back in a corner of the room. Her ‘forepup’ was absent, but she was accompanied by the chief of the militia, Samuel. The feline with the mottled fur was sitting down unlike her, exhausted from all the fighting, and Micha more than shared the sentiment. The Mexican marine’s uniform was covered in mud and small tears, his combat vest rested on the back of a chair behind him along with his rifle.

He was talking to Alejandro in Spanish, both looking at a map of the refinery while the cat kept a bloody rag pressed against his skull. His sharp hazel eyes bore down on Micha the moment she stepped inside the room, and she couldn’t help but shudder.

She’d seen him before and he was a pretty chill guy to hang around… but that look. Piss off a marine (regardless of the country) and kill some of his men? The moment they sorted this all out and he could organize, the wolf-dogs were in for a treat.

“Przemo, I take it your mission went well?” That was Dilip’s voice, she whipped her head around.

The Captain was parsing through documentation on the other end of the table, looking tired, if not physically, then mentally. He stood up with a grunt seeing her look in his direction.

“More than well sir. I did as ordered, so we got a bead on their base.”

“Really? I… to be fair I didn’t think you’d be able to tail them so easily. Were you seen?”

“As unseen as I was during the fighting. They don’t suspect a thing.” She stated, making a cutting motion with a forearm as she sat down on her haunches.

“Excellent work. Think you can locate it on a map?”

She could. Soon after Samuel and Alejandro pulled out a map of the region, she got down to drawing all she had seen. Foxholes, ambush points, hidden vehicles, the cave entrance, all were drawn and positioned near a village some 40km away from the refinery, in a remote area of the countryside south of Minatitlan.

With a note of finality, she put a cross on where she last remembered a squad of wolf-dogs were keeping an eye on the bridge before she set down her pencil.

“Will that be all, sir?” She inquired.

“For now?” The dog paused and scratched a spot of fur between his ears. “Aye. Many people today owe you their life, that was some outstanding job you did. Catch some rest. The Engineers and Lorelei will be keeping an eye out for us while you catch some rest and we… sort this out. Thank you.”

She didn’t reply. She just gave her superior her own casual version of the Polish two-fingered salute before she picked her FAL – the one with the kill notches- back up and left the meeting room. 

Dilip’s smile faded once she was gone. Not her fault, Micha was an exceptional Officer and navigator he was more than happy to have on his crew, and her antics with her adoptive child were always heartwarming to witness… but he had one sad mess in his lap to sort out.

They had won, yes, but the colony was in shambles. Samuel’s militia wasn’t in fighting shape from all the injuries suffered in the assault, and even though only a handful of his troops had died, it still meant they just couldn’t outright stage an assault on Los Lobos’base of operations.

Time would have to be set aside. To repair all the damage to infrastructure, defenses and vehicles. To let the wounded recover until enough could be mustered for an assault. Licking their wounds basically.

And so long that there was a whole group of cultists willing to openly attack them like that, they would be forced to limit the amount of work set aside for colonial development, to send out salvage team as though it was a warzone (which it technically was) and… Dilip held his head in his paws and sighed loudly.

Why was a victory just about the biggest setback suffered since they reappeared off the coast of Belgium? Even their (debatable) defeat in Gothenburg hadn’t been that bad! They’d be at it for weeks!

At least there were a few prices of consolation. No dead sailor or destroyed vehicles, only wounds and damage. All two ships were in pristine shape. Earlier messages also said the hacienda the locals used for housing and to grow food was unscathed… Dilip paused and reminded Alejandro the parrot needed to visit the place with Roberto for a proper colonial assessment.

And Los Lobos had certainly suffered a harder blow than they had.

Now to figure why those tourists they had repatriated and had said they were heading North to Mexico City had stopped telling them of their progress. They should have reached their destination by then, so why did the calls stop?





Managing the logistics of bringing things back in order after a battle like that was… taxing. That much Schmitt soon realized after taking the proverbial reins while Dilip and Alejandro were busy. Make sure all pieces of equipment are accounted for, revise all watch schedules, team rosters and whatnot for the foreseeable future, deviate some workforce towards the armory and vehicle bay to repair damaged gear. The dragoness was almost at a point where she’d rather rip her scales off one by one when the damaged Piranha was towed in the repair bay and the extent of the damage to the engine and drivetrain dawned on them.

Damn thing would be undergoing repairs for weeks. Hell, Tanya had brought her a list and the estimate was that they’d need to machine no less than sixty bolts of different sizes just to fix the applique armor.

Pity the damn fool who got assigned lathe duty.

And they still needed to keep the ship running and maintained with all that.

Hence, it was only after about thirty-six waking hours of running about making everything was smoothed down and enough Cuban-grade coffee mugs to kill an elephant that the orange dragoness managed to slip away in her cabin to catch some rest. Weirdly enough… she didn’t sleep well. At all.

The sheets were fresh from the wash. Her favorite which she had looted herself from a shop in Copenhagen, with quality pillows. Crucial in her line of work! When you can seldom have more than six hours of continued sleep, you make sure it goes well and years spent at sea had seen to it that she made an art of setting herself up for a good night.

Even when she tried to think about the feeling of all those gems and precious metals she kept stashed in her own storage space on the ship, her very own hoard, she still wound up tossing and turning for most of the night, sore from the tip of her tail to her snout. She didn’t find sleep until just before dawn.

And she woke what felt like an instant later but was actually eleven in the morning, as the alarm on her nightstand below the porthole was angrily blaring. Light was streaming in, showing a bright sunny sky which she looked at blearily, her blue eyes blinking in puzzlement as to where the night was gone.

She yawned and reached up with her claws to scratch the underside of her jaw. Not fully awake just yet despite the alarm. Balling her claw, she reached out to smack the alarm.

Instead of the intended loud amalgam of plastic and electronics, her claws hit the wall and instead accidentally drew three parallel streaks in the fake wood of the wall panels.

“The fuck?” She croaked out, looking down at the appendage in confusion. There was something weird with her voice.

Her focus only remained on her claw for an instant because she then noticed the rest. Her nightly t-shirt, usually loose and comfy, was stretched to its limits, barely reaching her hips now. More than that, her feet  and tail tip hung over the edge of her bed. On the edges of her visions, she recognized the pale – almost white- hues of her wings’ leathery skin… and they were considerably larger than the diminutive aerodynamics-defying limbs she remembered.

She needed to see Vadim. Stat.





The docks in Belem looked serviceable… if ugly. There were many of those, hugging the banks of the river the city was built along, along with one little ‘official’ seaport as their charts would have it. To Skinner’s trained eyes, it looked as though every single parcel that had a bit of shoreline in the metropolitan area of Belem had been bought by concurrent enterprises that then proceeded to raise their own terminal out of the muddy waters, creating a haphazard mix of jetties of dubious quality and artificial coves dug into the banks with excavators. Some terminals were (or had been rather) little more than a river bank with a couple stilts for river boats to moor at where they’d use planks as ramps to load cargo, others were more advanced with cranes and boat lifts to repair small tonnage vessels…

In other places, more organized enterprises prior to the Event had managed to lay concrete foundations and achieve a more professional outlook with the odd container stack here and there.

Those were wildly different outlooks on harbor development that had grown out of the shoreline much like tumors, their derelict abandoned structure layered with another depressing sight of sunken boats and barges in places where their owners hadn’t been on board at the right time to come back with a vehicle.

Canal entries also dotted the shoreline, shallow ditches filled with downright foul water that even from afar seemed to be swarming with more insects than they had even seen in the depths of the Dominican jungle.

It was a mess way too jumbled to make sense of at a glance. Some parcels even sported the hallmarks of derelict favelas: places where the original owner fell to bankruptcy and abandoned the premises, which then swelled up with makeshift housing made out of cinder blocks, sheet metal and cheap bricks held together more by willpower than solid cement. Others were different stories where but a few hundred meters away, parcels had been seized and rebuilt from the ground up with high rises and modern housing oftentimes surrounded by tall fences and barbed wire.

Belem might have had violence and crime issues in the past. With hardly anyone left on the planet? Problems like that hardly mattered. If anything, having easy access to guns made it easier to fight off monsters there than it would be in countries like the UK.

Still, with a landscape like that? Skinner wouldn’t get Fugro close to the quays before at least scouting out their goals by sending out a lifeboat, and they had their destinations: the main seaport (which, funnily enough, only occupied a tiny fraction of the shoreline near the CBD and the colonial district), an oil terminal to refuel Fugro’s tanks, and the naval station to get the spare Bofors guns they needed. All would have to be inspected carefully before they approached. Belem’s port was bad.

And it got a lot worse than just the dilapidated tentacular mess of a shoreline their intel said it was before the Event. A fact Fugro’s Captain had noticed when Mia called him up to the bridge, and that was becoming increasingly clearer the more the lifeboat he was on approached the quays.

Overgrowth was an issue most places had to deal with. It was, at this point, commonly accepted that magic sped up plant growth. By how much could vary a lot, sometimes because species like centaurs and Earth Ponies further increased the growth rate, but in most scenarios mostly due to the magic in the air.

In Narvik it was pretty benign, much like Cuba where magic seemed to have a limited effect on plants.

In Northern Ireland, way back when they stopped to repair their ships and used divine intervention to sort out the Troubles, ivy would climb facades at surprising speeds and the farm yields in the gardens around Belfast’s City Hall had been pretty impressive. Emerald island, quite literally.

They even knew of Brittany where there was an enchanted forest where it was cranked up to eleven.

Belem… the Amazon at large… they put even Broceliande to shame in terms of sheer overgrowth.

Buildings, short or tall, were covered in vines and leaves from top to bottom, thick growths that were using the concrete and steel structure as support to spread their bough ever higher, roots piercing the asphalt of the streets, wrapping around anything close-by for support be it parked cars, lamp posts or the pillars of a parking lot.

Those were the small ones. Between the ferns and shrubs that had now infested the streets, thick trunks seemingly burst out of the ground, rising, twisting around obstacles and towering above the buildings around them. It was still less than a year since magic came back… yet some of those trees, one of which Skinner could see had penetrated through a three-story building… and rose three more above the rooftops to spread its canopy and cast shade on the cityscape below.

A multitude of them grew like that, nearly obscuring the buildings around them in places with their branches. Six stories high, eight, ten, one they saw with a trunk so thick you could carve a highway tunnel through in the CBD had grown so quickly it rivaled the glass-and-steel skyscrapers it shared the skyline with, maybe thirty stories tall, using the buildings around it to spread its branches for extra support, vines hanging off of them and serving to shelter flocks of colorful birds that ate its cannonball-shaped fruits.

“I’ll be damned, and here I thought Roseau was one sorry mess...” Skinner heard Floyd comment from the back of the lifeboat where the thin kestrel griffon was steering, yanking the helm quickly to skim the orange semirigid past a group of river dolphins.

For an endangered species, they sure were swimming close to the city. Then again, Belem was far from the hub of river traffic it used to be. In fact many animals seemed to now occupy the overgrown buildings: macaws a plenty, marmosets climbing along vines and power lines alike, and probably far more in the form of escaped zoo animals, wild pigs, predators and whatnot.

Who said you couldn’t make urban warfare worse by combining it with a jungle?

“It’s messy alright, but intel says there are returnees in there, and the naval station has some guns we need.” Skinner reminded. “Let’s not be as naive as we were in Dominica and keep an eye out. I don’t feel like getting a repeat of being kidnapped by tribals.”

“Or eaten by monsters!” Floyd chirped cheerfully, earning himself a mildly annoyed glare from his superior. He chuckled.

“That too.” Skinner frowned before he sat back down and surveyed the team that would accompany him.

It was pretty much the same that had accompanied him in Dominica. He figured if they could pull off an escape through the jungle over mountainous terrain, then they couldn’t possibly be that bad. Lilian was there, the pink Irish dragon with fins and frills still stubbornly stuck to using only a Glock pistol.

The Chief Cook was there too, this time with a better loadout. The eclectus parrot had done away with unnecessary pieces of kit that would just weigh him down, and the same went for the accessories adorning his G36. He was necessary after all: they were in Brazil, and Marcos was Portuguese.

The last two on the team?

Floyd and Praveen. Praveen, Skinner knew he could reasonably trust the gray female Abyssinian’s prescience faculties, and she could pull through when backed into a corner.

As for Floyd… Skinner bit back a sigh. He wasn’t too fond of the griffon’s cheek, but the welder was there for more than just steering the lifeboat. He was ex-army, and Skinner felt one of those M249 they initially got from the Florida Keys would be a nice addition to the team.

Which led to the first objective of their stay in Belem. Just get to the seaport, look around and secure a spot so Fugro could pull in alongside safely.

Probably just a matter of closing this gate and that to keep out critters. Then they’d get around to looking for returnees. Carefully this time.

The quays were tall, a looming wall of cracked concrete with rusty ladders and damaged rubber fenders spaced out at regular intervals much like the simple cranes that were rusting away next to them. Vines and roots hung from them, with even the odd sapling having taken a liking to the artificial ‘cliffs’ and poking out at an angle from the tall structure. Beneath that, halfway sunk in the murky waters of the river, were cargo barges. Most had broken out of their mooring, spilling anything from gravel in bulk to miscellaneous containers and pallets in the water. The scattered pieces of timber and detritus banged against the semirigid as Floyd steered them closer.

Not too far away from that, a tugboat had capsized when rust finally gnawed through its hull, its design too obsolete to have been in active use prior to the Event. Most likely, the port authority had left it there unmanned, awaiting a tow to the nearest scrapyard.

Skinner didn’t dwell on those obstacles. There was still enough room along the quays for Fugro when they secured the perimeter, and at the very worst they’d have a clogged filter on the coolant system. They kept going, tying up the lifeboat at the bottom of a rusty ladder, and then he began climbing, Praveen following shortly after.

The rest of the team didn’t bother with the rusty ladder. All three casually flew up to the quay, which would have made Skinner jealous, but he could throw electric arcs around and turn into fog, so that was saying something.

“Okay Quinn, Skinner here, we’ve made it ashore. Give us a bit of time and we’ll have a mooring spot secured. Over.”

“Understood Captain. We’ll keep an eye out if we see something too. Out.”

	Skinner shoved his radio back in its pouch. Around him, his four subordinates had already taken positions and were awaiting orders.

Ahead? Rusting warehouses covered in layers of vines, leaves, and the sounds of jungle reaching his ears. Something rustled in the undergrowth, a capybara that ran away at the sight of the foreign creatures.

Ahead? Fun-fun times for sure.

“Spread out and keep your heads on a swivel. We’ll go along the quays, find the edge of the fence and start from there. Move!” The hedgefog barked his orders loudly, chambering a round in his G36.





	In Trecesson, what followed after the arrival of the stranded Equestrians and their airship was… not much actually. Sure there was the novelty that always came with new arrivals to the village and the Canterlot Courier drew the attention of a few that came to Captain Moral Compass and asked if they could visit the airship, but overall things were pretty quiet.

Most of that was owed to the fact everything was held up by the research that needed to be finished.

Logistics problems? Wait for Starswirl to figure out how to make spells stick. Sure there was an airship landed right there in the field, but the technology to make lift gases and the propulsion to make their own airship was beyond the little workshop the village had. Though they did use Canterlot Courier for a few trips back and forth between there and Trecesson, as well as salvaging a few houses in Paimpont for construction materials. A little help, but not the long-term solution they needed.

Miles’ need to turn into a stallion? See section: making spells stick.

And they had Morgane’s help, mind! It didn’t entirely hinge on Starswirl. The recluse fay in her cave would frequently send back scrolls containing her own conclusions whenever a guard was dispatched to bring her food and supplies.

Getting the Equestrians back to their dimension? Same thing, held up by research, both in aligning the teleportation spell correctly, and in powering the ritual. 

On the other side of things, Rockhoof had proved diligent in handling the situation with Comper castle and Lady Vivian’s followers. The stallion would much rather his future in Broceliande be as quiet and bereft of politics as possible, so soon after Trixie and Starlight’s arrival, he went back to the other castle with a map so they’d draw borders and establish ties. He wasn’t particularly fond of the fervor with which Paladin Catherine referred to the Lady of the Lake, but at the same time it seemed unlikely it would ever result in a fight.

Cernunnos after all, would never allow such a thing to occur within Broceliande.

It wasn’t even that hard a deal to seal. He held a brief thing with the other inhabitants of Trecesson about what they wanted before he set off with Miles and a few guards, and by nightfall he was back with a rolled-up map and some notes about the arrangement. Paimpont, the ruined village with the abbey in the very center of the forest, was on the very edge of that border. Anything to the south along an imaginary line that extended from one edge of the forest to the other, was to fall under Trecesson’s purview. Anything north, under Comper’s. As for Paimpont itself, it being right on the border, the salvage and construction of any building or infrastructure there would have to be agreed upon by both parties before being carried out.

And there was a little added note that both settlements would ensure a pathway be maintained from their own castle to the abbey in Paimpont for the sake of trade opportunities.

As for the artifacts Starswirl had guessed were abandoned inside the abbey… Catherine from Comper had promised she’d send one of her Knights and Rockhoof one of his Lieutenants to explore the site and then split the loot between both settlements.

Simple. Succinct. And it shouldn’t hinder them in the future. With the border drawn as such, the Golden Tree was still securely within their territory so there was no fear they’d not be able to keep an eye on Concord and the Elements, and they also got a few nifty sites like a quarry and the overgrown remains of the military academy Miles and Emeric had come from.

All in all? A pretty good deal. There was even a clause set aside for Morgane’s territory, it being represented as a thick red border on the map around the Vale of No Return.

“Rock even said they were planning to build a mint over in Comper, so we really could get some trade going with them. It’s a bit far off, he said they have as hard a time as we have collecting construction materials.” Meadowbrook added as a last note whilst she stirred her cauldron, a wooden beaked mask covering her muzzle.

Three quarters of a turn counterclockwise, swirl the ladle in a ‘s’ (you only swirl in a ‘g’ between the winter solstice and the spring equinox after all) and add the powdered birch bark. The thick liquid shifted to an amber color and stopped bubbling.

Good. The concoction was stable. She lifted up her mask with a satisfied smile and turned off the electric stove she’d been using. Give it a few hours to cool down like that, and the endurance potion would be ready for bottling. Rockhoof’s guard would surely find use for it patrolling the forest.

Taking a pause to hang her mask on one of the racks hanging off the basement’s vaulted brick ceiling, she sauntered (more like waddled, but she wasn’t ready to admit her pregnancy was affecting her gait just yet) over to Martin, finding the young fawn busy in his own little section of the potion lab with a mortar and pestle.

She had him work on ingredient preparation and study plant properties. He still was too young to trust with anything more complicated than rhubarb syrup… that said syrup was always useful. Some of Meadow’s concoctions could hardly be considered palatable.

“Trixie’s surprised to hear Rockhoof is that...” The blue unicorn sitting on her haunches by the door trailed off, looking for words.

“Clever?”

“Trixie’s sorry Miss Meadow! She meant...” The mare quickly raised her forehooves.

“Oh shush, think nothing of it.” Meadow waved it off. “I know the kind of thoughts my husband attracts. The non-naughty one I mean.” She added the second sentence with a wink.

The blush on Trixie was obvious. Unaware of the conversation, Martin continued his work, dutifully mincing, slicing, crushing anything his adoptive mother had told him to that day. And once he was done… he could leave the cold lab in the basement and go play in the forest!

“I know many ponies think Rockhoof isn’t that bright just because he’s a big stallion – in more ways than one- with big muscles and a habit of getting boisterous when he tells his stories. Honestly I think the latter is rather charming, kids love it. And he’s certainly an outdoors pony... but he has his bookish side you know? The castle’s library, it’s probably his favorite place here. He’s always had a thing for history, and the Castellan that preceded us here has a genuinely impressive history on human history.” Meadow explained.

“Wait, you mean?”

“I find him there often before we go to bed. He picks a book from the medieval collection, grabs himself a bottle of chouchen since Lionel started making some, and then you really have to tear him out of it.” He always looked so comfy in there, his large back hunched over the human books, handling them with the tip of his hooves like they were the most delicate things in the world.

And he’d tell her about it later in bed, all starry-eyed and eager to learn about the history of Brittany and how as a peninsula they retained a cultural identity very distinct from wider France. She couldn’t help but imagine him telling the same stories to their foals when she gave birth in spring.

She stopped her daydreaming before she got to how they might look like when they grew up. Darn pregnancy was getting to her, she still needed to tidy up the lab and make sure Martin hadn’t messed up his work. She knew how the fawn was eager to get back in the forest…

“Martin dear, careful with the chopping knife, it’s sharp. Don’t go too fast.”

“Je sais m’man.” He replied in French, raising a cloven hoof to show the knife perfectly balanced on it. In front of him, a set of mushrooms lay, perfectly minced into tiny blocks.

Both Trixie and Meadow blinked. Kid was a natural for sure. The blade twirled and he pushed the mushrooms in a jar with the flat of the blade before sealing it with a bit of cork.

“Good job. You’re learning fast.”

And she’d have to bump her teachings up a notch if he kept up at that speed. Maybe she should start teaching him how important stellar and seasonal cycles were in ingredient collection and potion making? If Starswirl started up with astronomy that might work.

Still… for a fawn that had showed up at the gates half-starved and wearing a rag of a Spider-man T-shirt, he was… actually no. Not too surprising. He was the bearer of the Element of Sorcery after all. Meadowbrook instructed him on where to put the ingredients he had prepped for her in the various alcoves and drawers of the medicine cabinets that lined the walls of the former dungeon/wine cellar before she let him off with a wave. Martin happily sauntered away from the lab, the clip-clop of his cloven hooves echoing around the vaulted ceiling as he made his way back out the dungeons and up the stairs, most likely off to play in the forest.

“He’s a bright kid.” Trixie commented.

“I know right? It’s like… anything Starswirl and I throw at him, he swallows up like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I was worried we would overburden him with all our teachings but he just takes it in stride.”

“Like a Twilight?”

Meadow frowned.

“No… not quite at least.” She tapped a hoof against her muzzle. “Or maybe he’s not that age yet and got too much energy in him for that. He’ll spend his time inside reading up for sure, but that’s only because Rockhoof and I tell him to be back by nightfall otherwise he always seems to prefer being out in the forest. Not with other fawns and colts, mind. He wanders around with the animals.”

“Don’t you worry he might grow up to be a bit socially awkward if he keeps that up?”

“We keep him schooled in the mornings. He’s above the rest, but it’s best to have him stick with kids his age for a bit at least. The afternoons he spends with me and Starswirl, and when he’s done, he can go play in the forest like he wants.”

“Isn’t it dangerous though?”

Meadowbrook laughed out loud at that.

“To you and me? Of course it is. But not for him. The White Stag makes sure no critter ever dares touch Cernunnos’ little protege. He’s fine, and he’s a deer. They never get lost in a forest. They can see stuff ponies like us miss at a glance.”

Trixie quieted down a bit after that, taking the opportunity to look around the potions lab while Meadow settled her affairs there for the day. The pregnant mare knew she couldn’t spend entire days down below for the sake of her foals, and she was steadily growing too wide to keep working more than a few hours at a time. Even then, the bump on her belly tented the edges of her usual pleated dress ever so slightly.

The cold that permeated the dungeons with the end of summer, the humidity, even the fumes… Emeric, ever the tinkering Lieutenant, had seen to add heaters and extractor fans to combat the conditions in the former wine cellar, but she still suspected she might have to relinquish her potion making by the time the first frost rolled in, though she’d have to make an exception for the winter solstice. It wasn’t the kind of event you sweep under the rug.

So she was making up for the span of time where she’d be out of the workforce: various vials and jars filled with potions and unguents of all kinds already occupied the medicine cabins she’d had installed in the lab, ready to fulfil the needs of Trecesson’s inhabitants. Healing salves. Fortifying powders to mix in one’s canteen. Even some herbal infusions to soothe a mare’s attitude during heat and prevent unwanted foals and fillies.

Plus the obvious blend of potions to facilitate childbirth. One large glowing wine bottle filled with the potion, ready to be used when her and Rock’s foals finally decided to greet the world with their presence. She rubbed her growing belly with pride.

“Trixie’s been wondering… How does it feel?”

Meadowbrook grinned. Some mares felt terrible and nauseous during their first pregnancy. She? She had the knowledge and potions to make it the most wholesome and fulfilling time a mare could experience.





	Roncevaux Pass was emptying itself ever so slowly. The sepulcral howls and pops of slain shades had decreased in pitch as the battlefield ran out of troops the more of the frankish rear guard was slain. At this point, most of the militia spearmen on the flanks had fallen, hacked apart by the relentless assault of the more numerous Basques. No corpse lay where they fell, only the swirling magic and echoes of the high pitched battle that had taken place, left behind as the fight drew closer to the center of the pass and towards the line of wagons.

Those few Franks left alive still? Archers that had run out of ammunition long ago and were holding off the Basques at the gaps between the wagons with whatever weapons they had picked up, and the core elite, or what remained of it. In the short span of time Rodrigo had taken to catch his breath, more of them had fallen, leaving but a thin line of fierce warriors along with the Paladin and his retinue of bodyguards and nobles.

If Rodrigo wanted to get that sword, he’d have to be quick, because now only the fiercest warriors remained, and the Basques wanted to get to the enemy leader. Already a group of tall mountaineers, men large enough to strangle a bear and carrying huge hammers and woodcutter’s axes were vectoring towards them. The tallest, he saw rip off an arrow that had embedded itself in his leather jerkin to shove it in the eye socket of the nearest Frank.

No time to waste then. With a groan, Rodrigo stood up on his hooves, still not having regained movement in his injured hind leg. His horn sparked a bit, but his stolen shortswords lifted up nevertheless. He’d have to be quick.

Casually dispatching one archer that had taken note of the tiny equine slipping behind the frontline with a swipe of one sword, he sneaked around and behind them. More of the elite died, and as he crawled under a wagon to finally reach the Paladin, he got a proper look at the last stand.

Most of the Basques had the Franks surrounded now, keeping a healthy distance between them and their foes, a raging tide of angered shades that yet… waited. Roiling, hissing and spitting, but advancing no further. Ahead of their army, the Chiefs were gathering for the last assault, huge, rough men that had little trouble turning their tools into weapons of war.

On the other side, the Paladin’s shoulders heaved. Exhausted, out of breath, but there was the glint of defiance in his ghostly translucent eyes. The beast of a man stood slightly hunched, cloak billowing in the mountain wind, ragged. His scale armor was chipped, missing a few pieces that had fallen over the course of the battle. His shield was gone, broken by one blow too many, as was his helmet, revealing his features for the world to see in their ethereal glory. Square-jawed, handsome, his nose had been broken and his face slashed, tracing one long streak from cheek to brow that, instead of seeping blood, released wisps of greenish magic. Yet, despite the grim situation, the wounds, his stance and gaze was severe, resolute. One hand held his sword in a guard stance in front of him. The other, an oliphant horn, which he was slowly raising to his lips.

Rodrigo couldn’t help but stare at the sword, its power radiating off the iridescent blade with the glowing yellow runes carefully drawn along its edges. The blade was tapered, with two pairs of serrated teeth at its base before a thick, plain brass crossguard with a horseshoe stamped on it. Red leather warped around a hilt held tightly in the paladin’s hand before the weapon ended with a ring for its pommel, wrapped around a single piece of transparent crystal that reflected the eerie light cast by the green magic flicking this way and that around the plateau.

It wasn’t big by human standards. Just a one-handed sword meant to be used either from horseback or in combination with a shield. From Rodrigo’s perspective of a smaller equine that barely reached a human’s hips? It might as well have been a zweihander. Planted in the ground, it would still have been about as tall as the quadruped, horn included.

It was, also, material, unlike all the ghosts and shades presently fighting.

Then the oliphant horn reached the paladin’s ghostly lips and a long, sepulchral blast rang out around the whole plateau. This was the very end of the battle and, with a warcry, the remaining Franks sallied to make their last stand. While his subordinates charged, the paladin stayed, regal, surveying the crowd of Basque chiefs, daring them to challenge him.

He turned around, facing Rodrigo, sword raised challengingly. The words flew to the forefront of the Spaniard’s mind.

Sir Roland of Roncevaux, First of Charlemagne’s Twelve Paladins, Prefect of the March of Brittany, was challenging him to a duel. 
> Chapter 99: A growth spurt? I'm 42!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No actually it’s fairly normal.” Vadim shook his head.

“What do you mean it’s normal?!” Schmitt gestured wildly at herself with her claw. “I’m huge!”

The grey falcon griffon pinched his beak between two talons and bit back an annoyed growl. He very much wanted to get back to his cabin and home-schooling Andy, but the Chief Engineer had banged on his and Micha’s office door shortly before noon claiming it was absolutely necessary.

So he’d taken the orange dragoness to the infirmary and sat her down for a chat. He even took her vitals, if only to calm her down and give himself some time to formulate an explanation. Not like a dragon’s vitals weren’t weird to begin with.  

Had to, given it was actually healthy for the bloody reptiles to walk around with their body temperature above seventy degrees. Celsius. And depending on how active they were, their fire, and their nutrition, it could reach much higher than that.

He spun around on his stool, one decently thick plastic-bound book in his talons. Dragon anatomy. Both the stuff they’d obtained from the Equestrian relief team in Copenhagen, and what he and other medics in the fleet had learned overtime.

“Dragons like you are supposed to keep growing like that.” He sighed, quickly flipping to a scanned gravure that showed dragons at different stages of their life. “Last I checked, the likes of you and Artyom certainly weren’t adults. Human-sized? Yes. But that’s early teens for a dragon. Barely past puberty.”

“Growing up doesn’t happen overnight!” She insisted, standing up from the medical bed the Medical Officer in a huff, thin plumes of smoke escaping her nostrils.

Oh, she certainly did grow up. One of the first things Vadim had done after the vitals was to take her weight and measurements.

As numbers went, the dragoness standing in front of him had breached the two-meters mark in height and gained roughly forty kilos in the span of a few hours. Her new height may not have been the tallest on board just yet (that title went to one minotaur called Angelo), but that didn’t mean she wasn’t impressive with her new bulk.

She was now taller than any Abyssinian or Diamond-dog, and the only species for which she wouldn’t have to look down were female Ornithians (the lithe parrots being actually pretty darn tall), and minotaurs where bulls grew to 2.2 meters in height (horns not included), and 2.5 for cows.

And adult members of any of the two species known to grow throughout their entire lives of course. Not that they had any actual adult sphinxes and dragons on hand.

They probably wouldn’t fit within the ship’s passageways anyway.

That said… he could understand Schmitt’s shock. He had her file close-by. Human height before the Event? Just over 1m80. After the Event? She had shrunk a bit and gone down to 1m76.

“Dragons do, in fact, grow up overnight. Provided certain circumstances are met.” Vadim calmly enunciated. He brushed a talon against a paragraph he had underlined in the text. “Premature hoarding syndrome, they call it. It doesn’t even look like it’s acute in your case, no biggie.”

Schmitt’s maw parted slightly in confusion, her blue eyes staring straight ahead.

“Waat.” She blurted dumbly after a few seconds.

Vadim rolled his eyes.

“Okay, KISS principle then. Dragons at your age aren’t really supposed to start a hoard. You don’t have to bother with that until your age hits the three digits, and even then you’ve got a while to get started before the lack of hoard impacts you negatively. Your uh… dragon magic, is prone to tie itself to a hoard and use it as a battery of sorts, to boost its own power. Like getting interest from your savings. You Chief? You started…” He trailed off, quickly checking her human age on the file. 42. “... more than half a century early.”

Without accounting for a youthening factor when she transformed… but he wasn’t quite to the point where he’d gauge the age of a dragon at a glance. It’s easier to tell someone’s been youthened in extreme cases like Captain Lorelei’s.

He craned up his neck and looked the orange dragoness in the eye.

“Congrats, you overloaded yourself. Your body is just using the excess power to grow up faster and adjust to a size matching the output of your hoard.”

“How do you even know I have a hoard?” She replied quickly in a defensive tone.

Greedy griffons trying to steal her gems and touch her hoar-

She caught that train of thought in its tracks, eyes going wide in surprise. She sat down on the hospital bed behind her and held her head in her claws.

Judging by Vadim’s look, he knew exactly what had just gone through her mind.

“Instincts are a powerful thing, aren’t they?” His beak creased in a smirk, but the griffon’s eyes were sympathetic. “And no, I do not want your gems. I have a treasure of my own, and it’s a mate that loves me dearly and a cub to care for. And before you think about it… Yes, separating yourself from the hoard might shrink you back to your previous size, but again: instincts. You are no more able to separate yourself from your hoard than I am from my mate, and if you care enough to look inside yourself, you know you’d hardly be able to attempt it.”

He flipped through the dragon anatomy book and stopped at a page showing a picture of a fifteen-meters-tall green and purple dragon rampaging through a village.

“I have a case-study of a dragon going through an acute version of your syndrome… There’s an erudite that wrote it, a pony called Twilight Sparkle. She does raise some good points, but the method they used -more by luck of her own admission- is way too finicky and reliant on tiny factors compounding each other to be feasible in your case.”

“So I’m stuck like that?” Schmitt’s now not-so-diminutive wings sagged. Her wingspan was probably three to four times her height now, and yet the pale orange leathery material folded cleanly against her back.

“There was a lot of mental baggage that helped the dragon make the decision of relinquishing the hoard willingly in Sparkle’s case study. You don’t have that, and us taking away the hoard…” The griffon uttering the sentence made her clench her claws. “... would only make you go berserk. Sorry.”

“Shit… I don’t want to keep growing.”

“On the bright side… provided you restrict yourself to only adding to your hoard when it’s absolutely necessary, you won’t experience growth spurts like that. But you will still grow up. Forever. That’s just how dragons are. You won’t always be small enough to go inside ships and buildings. In fact I have accounts of dragons more than ten centuries old in this book, so you gotta live with the fact that by the time I will be long dead and my descendants will have forgotten my name, you’ll still be growing up.”

Schmitt looked down into her lap. She never really liked to think about that part. She liked to think she was still humans in her head… humans never think that far ahead. Hell… ten centuries… that made the ten millenia it would take for everyone to return not seem that bad.

She sighed. Those were the kinds of thoughts she liked to push aside. Not like keeping Amandine running as Chief Engineer didn’t offer more than enough opportunities to keep her mind busy. Schmitt stood up, one claw brushing against her now prominent hips at the motion.

She turned her head towards Vadim with a look of resigned annoyance.

“And that?”

“You were in the equivalent of your early teens before you went and started yourself a hoard. If that helps, according to the book, you’re shaping up to be a healthy dragoness. Nothing abnormal. Biggest difference is you could lay eggs before, but now with that width it should be easier.”

She glared. The griffon raised his talons apologetically. He was only saying that as a Medical Officer. Nothing pervy behind that: he was mated already, and griffons only ever love the one hen. Nogriff else.

Nogriff? Uh. Might keep that one.

Still… Schmitt bemoaned the loss of her somewhat human and plain appearance of the day prior, without those curves and everything that came with them. It was easier to dive in the drudgery of work-coffee-work with a body she could imagine as that of a human male if she closed her eyes and ignored the extra (and missing) appendages.

Now though?

When she had gotten up and hurried to Vadim’s cabin earlier, she’d quickly squeezed in whatever set of clothes still fit. That meant some thermal underwear that rode up mid-calf and looked as though it was painted on, uncomfortably squeezing the base of her tail, and a previously loose grey t-shirt, normally for sport, that now displayed her midriff.

Making it real hard to ignore the change.

She had ‘filled in’ for certain, partly blossoming towards the dragoness she was inevitably doomed to become by the time she grew up to be an actual adult dragoness. Late teens would now be her equivalent in dragon years. What had been narrow hips had bloomed into a rump and hips wide enough to force her to adjust her gait and which her claws kept brushing against, along with a significant increase to the diameter of her tail.

With a rear like that, you wouldn’t mistake her for a drake.

Fortunately that was only the most obvious sign. She’d seen in the mirror how her maw had prolonged into a smoother, narrow curve atop a thin sinuous neck and narrow shoulders. Unlike Artyom, hers would never grow very broad, and though she lacked breasts (thank God for small mercies), her ribs met at a sharper angle on her chest than on a drake’s. Even her voice had changed a bit. Raspier. Huskier. Subtle signs, yet telling.

Compared to that, her previous form may have been a bit ungainly… yet she missed its utilitarian nature.

It didn’t stop at that. Other things signaled how she might grow up, like how her bronze-colored spikes, ridges and horns were shaping up to frame the sides of her head, along with what might shape up to be a set of quill-like spikes sprouting like hair off the back of her skull and neck. The sharp ridges along her spine and tail were a bit more prominent too, particularly those at the tip of her tail.

Eh, maybe she’d have a thagomizer when she grew up to be a full-sized adult?

“I feel I need to warn you though.” Vadim said.

“Something wrong?”

“Physically? No. It’s the mental I’m keeping an eye out for.” Dilip’s order. The Captain liked himself as one to prize the mental well-being of his subordinates as much as the physical, so he made sure to tell Vadim to keep an eye out for mental issues. “Tell me, do you know how dragons grow up to be?”

“Vadim please. No circling the subject like a vulture. Swoop in and out with it.”

“Fine, fine.” He raised a claw. “Just trying to be tactful. The species we come back as, are very varied, as you know. Some are bipedal. Some, like me, quadrupedal. Dragons, like D-dogs and Abyssinians, lie somewhere in between.”

“You lost me there.”

He ignored the remark and continued.

“The dogs, you’ve seen the size of their arms?”

She nodded. Male or female, D-dog arms were always impressively beefy, and oddly proportioned.

“Consider it a bit of an issue. We were humans before, and in many places we still think as such. Turns out, D-dogs aren’t fully bipedal. They’re...” He wrung his talons, searching for words. “Intermediary, for a lack of a better word. Think gorilla. That’s the way they’re supposed to walk, but will any of them do it?” He scoffed. “Of course not. Not like I didn’t warn them, but pride is too important to bother with possible hip and lower back problems, long term at least. None of them would ever use their arms to help them walk, let alone the Captain.”

Yeah. She couldn’t really imagine Dilip walking around using those big bulky arms of his to support his weight. Not those paws she knew were routinely used to hold teacups.

“Abyssinians?” She asked, getting a feeling of where he was going with dragons.

“Intermediary too, but in another manner entirely. Their hip and shoulder structure is intended for them to transition from quadruped to biped on a whim. Need to scamper away? Run off all fours like a regular cat. Again: none will do it out of human pride. Not like there’s any shame in being a quadruped.” Vadim explained. “Still, I doubt any former human would resort to that. We’ll only see that in future generations, probably. I mean, not even the jaguar warriors ran around on all four, and we’ve all seen them fight.”

“Okay so… dragons are like them? The cats and the dogs?”

“Have you paid attention to your limbs today?” He pointed out.

She had. Her usual digitigrade stance felt a bit higher on the ball of her feet. Her hips, more than just wider, felt connected a bit differently, a different range of motion.

Her claws bent differently too, and the… ‘hand’ so to speak had grown longer, rougher.

She stood a bit hunched too.

“You don’t mean...”

“As dragons grow older and draw closer to maturity, they’ll shift away from a bipedal stance to one that favors a quadrupedal stance. You’ve ever been to a natural history museum? The end result works a bit like an iguanodon. They move around on all fours, but they can still go bipedal without trouble, and for dragons, use their claws to manipulate objects. The older you grow, the closer you’ll draw to that stage.” He told her, shuffling through the pages in his book before he showed her several pictures of house-sized adult dragons sitting, walking, flying…

“Verdammt...” She swore in her own tongue.

“Sorry Chief, that’s just the way it is. Now… it’s not that I’m too busy, but I got a kid to take care of you know? And cheer up. You dragons get plenty of time to process those changes, so just make sure you don’t loot too much jewelry unless you want to buy a new wardrobe every other year.”

And on that note, the griffon left her on her own inside the infirmary, handing the dragon anatomy book over to her. It looked oddly small in her enlarged claws.

Schmitt flipped through, absently. Some pages showed various kinds of gravures, some more modern scans done by Vadim and Doctor Delacroix, others more ancient sketches showing skeletons of drakes and dragonesses, charts on healthy scale thickness… She barely paid attention, her focus mostly lingering on adult dragonesses and details on the reproductive system.

Funny really. Officially, her name was still Pierre. She had yet to change it.

It was just so common where she was from everybody called her by her last name.





“So what are these things again?” Floyd dropped his binoculars.

He did have a scope on his M249. It’s just generally considered rude to point a belt-fed machine gun at something you’re not positively certain needs to die.

“Pukwudgies.” Skinner filled in. “Bestiary says they’re monsters.”

The whole team could see them. While they were walking around the edge of the seaport trying to find gaps in the fence they’d have to repair before Fugro could be brought alongside safely (and there was a fair number of them, thanks to the local vegetation accidentally toppling parts of the concrete wall that separated the seaport from the city). It wasn’t that long of a walk since the area was pretty small, only big enough to fit a grain terminal with silos, some container stacks, a fair few narrow warehouses, and the obligatory checkpoint with the customs office.

The latter was where they encountered the little monsters, right by the gates. It was Praveen who spotted them, stopping the whole group just in time before they were noticed and getting them to take cover and stack up behind a dumpster between two warehouses. The vegetation and the tall grass provided nigh-perfect concealment.

As for the pukwudgies? Those little monsters had reclaimed the customs office and set up their own furniture already. From a decrepit ruin of an office, they had used vines, twigs and palm leaves to add their own little platforms and ladders. Not so much materials the primitive creatures had shaped to fit their needs as much as branches that just so happened to be the general shape they wanted it.

In practice, it was as though an extremely unskilled scout troop had raised miniature buildings around and inside the customs. Dull colors garnished the structures much like graffiti, pigments that consisted of slathering mud and squashed fruits all over the walls, in addition to stray macaw feathers and anything colorful picked up in the ruins of Belem.

Overall? They behaved like neanderthals with the urges of a magpie.

“They look cute though.” Lilian quipped.

“Pull up your binos and look twice.” Floyd squawked back.

The pink dragoness complied, intently looking at the little creatures busying themselves around a firepit with a spit-roasted capybara.

“Oh...” The disappointment in her voice was palpable. “Nevermind they aren’t.”

That was pretty much how it was with pukwudgies. From a distance they were colorful little creatures the size of a garden gnome waddling around in their primitive little huts, little pastel blotches against an overwhelmingly green, brown and gray background.

A closer look would reveal beady eyes that gleamed with a disturbing red glint, a round wrinkled face with pale skin and a protruding lower jaw with needle-like teeth. Their paws had three long digits, lacking opposing thumbs. Each digit ended in sharp little claws meant to strip flesh off prey, and they coiled them around their own quills which they liked to pluck off their backs to use as tools.

Unlike how it was with hedgefogs where their quills worked as foci for electric magic and actually were rather supple and only covered head and neck much like a mane,  the pukwudgies’ quills were sharp. Wickedly so, as the bestiary carried several warnings about their ability to fire them like weapons and their propensity to roll in baths of poisonous oils to coat their quills before setting off on hunts. They were covered from head to toe in them, leaving only their eerie faces exposed.

The bestiary had tales of how their little red eyes would glint like rubies in those dark nights where entire clans would sally out on hunts. Traveler beware: few ponies had the skills to calm down monsters such as those without resorting to violence, several of which were on the Mane Six.

“The what?” Floyd interrupted Skinner’s explanation.

“Shut your gob and keep an eye on the buggers. I’m reading.” Skinner growled. “The Mane Six are a group of heroes in Equestria. All mares, all ponies. ‘least that’s the way the books put it.”

For the common mortal that couldn’t get them to stand down? Do not underestimate their craftiness. Pukwudgies love their traps and ambushes, and their preferred construction materials make them that much harder to detect.

“Can confirm. Tripwires in the brush.” Praveen noted, the Abyssinian waving a paw at a few twine lines visible in the underbrush.

“So what do we do?” Marcos inquired.

Up on his perch where Floyd had set up the M249, the kestrel griffon turned to look at the parrot with a ‘are you fucking serious?’ look on his beak. Skinner’s expression wasn’t that far off either.

“Eh, just making sure is all.” Marcos shrugged before twisting his head to look at the still unaware pukwudgies. “So how do we go ‘bout it, Cap’n?”

“Floyd, you got a good shot there or you need a better position?” Skinner asked the griffon.

“I could open up from here, but if we want to finish properly I’ll need to move the ‘249 to that container stack over yonder...” He pointed with a talon. “Or maybe the roof of that warehouse.”

“Aight. Stay here for now. The rest...” He looked at the buildings surrounding them. “Praveen, you’re with Marcos. You stay here and take Floyd’s spot when he leaves. Stay off the ground and don’t advance on them. Too many traps. Lilian, you’re with me. We’re climbing on those containers to the south. If we need to close in, we’ll do it. I can shift to fog and your scales can take the hit. Everyone got that?”

There was a chorus of muted ‘aye’s before they set the ambush into motion. Skinner quickly shifted to fog form and slipped through the tall grass that surrounded the customs, Lilian following a few steps behind as her immaterial superior pointed out the traps. They walked in a wide circle, keeping a healthy distance between them and the monsters before they were out of sight again and rose up from their kneeling position, hidden behind some containers. Then, Lilian opened her wings and flapped once to propel herself just high enough to grab the edge of the lower stack and hoist herself up before helping her superior up.

They were in position. Both groups positioned north and south around the customs, and then Floyd would move to the west to flush out the stragglers and get them out of the seaport. Skinner took hold of his radio and gave the order.

Tracer fire lit up the overgrown city and peppered their targets like supersonic hail.

Of all the shots fired, only those of the ‘249 could be called decent, and that was because Floyd was a vet. Otherwise… Skinner turned out to be more of an ‘accuracy by volume’ type as he only hit a pukwudgie every ten shots or so. The others were hardly better, and at that range Lilian didn’t even bother firing her pistol. She just watched his back as he laid fire into the tiny monsters.

Tiny enough that 5.56 was more than enough to blow them off their feet and send the whole clan into a panic. They tried to fire their quills at random, unable to detect their attackers fast enough, to little effect. One of them even went into a frenzy and accidentally charged in its own traps, some springed plate contraption that sent it flying off into the sunset with a little shrill scream of rage.

Kinda sad really. Yes, they were devious little carnivores willing to eat anything and anyone they could throw their quills at, and monsters brought to hamper any attempts at reestablishing civilization courtesy of the Four Horses, but being ambushed like that and outright massacred could hardly evoke anything other than pity regardless of how bad the victim was.

Little bodies fell off their makeshift primitive platforms and in the overgrown ruins below, squealing, their organs perforated by light gunfire. In their attempts to fight back and then, to escape, one of them even knocked down the roasting capybara in the center of the camp, spilling embers in the ruined customs office and setting fire to what little paperwork remained, which the little monsters had been using as kindling.

A grand entrance into Belem. If there was anyone intelligent in the overgrown city, then they’d have heard the gunfire, seen the rising smoke. And if the first shots weren’t enough, Floyd complemented them with one long burst of his 249 when he relocated and finished the last group standing, five small pukwudgies assembled around a larger one wearing a coif. That was the last of them.

Skinner stood up from his prone position atop the container, the look on the hedgefog’s snout was stern as he ejected his third spent mag and reloaded his G36. After a failure like Dominica, there would be no more messing around naively.

“Alright people, good job. The aiming could use some work, but it gets the job done.” He called aloud, brushing bits of moss off his coveralls. That’s what going prone gets you. “Now let’s secur-”

He didn’t finish his sentence before he was interrupted by a bellowing roar, so loud Skinner could swear he saw some hanging vines shake in the overgrown city. Off in the distance, a car alarm sputtered weakly from what little electricity remained in an abandoned battery, in tune with the sound of glass being crushed and debris being pushed aside.

Predators far deadlier than mere pukwudgies resided in Belem now. The ground shook.

“Everyone in position! Gun line, on the customs office! Now!” Skinner barked.

This would not be a failure like Dominica. He grabbed his radio.

“Fugro, Skinner here. Got a big ‘un comin’ for us. Grab tae otha’ lifeboa’ an’ send in a fiddy cal. Out!” He called.

And there was the Scottish accent rearing its ugly head. The pukwudgies hadn’t gotten to his nerves. That? It did. The monster drew closer.





	Rodrigo backpedaled quickly. Sir Roland’s sword cut through the air in a flash of iridescent steel a fraction of a second later, shaving a few hairs off the pony’s tail. Roland’s shade was fast. Inhumanely so. Either the sword powered him up like no one’s business, or Charlemagne’s Paladins really were that powerful. He needed to put some distance between him and the larger warrior.

Nearby, a Basque chief swung his woodcutter axe down at one of the remaining Franks hiding behind his round shield. But instead of delivering a powerful blow with the tool to shatter his opponent’s guard, naked knuckles brushed against the shield, making him look at his palms in confusion.

A second later, the axe floating in Rodrigo’s telekinetic grasp chopped his head off before the unicorn threw it at Roland, hoping to distract him, wound him if he was lucky.

It wasn’t as clever as he’d imagined. Or effective for that matter.

The paladin did a pirouette and deflected the incoming axe into yet another Basque who receptioned it with his forehead. The circle of angry locals was tightening around them as more Franks died by the second. Rodrigo gritted his teeth. Not only were the warriors periodically interrupting their duel, but the lack of breathing room was hurting his fighting ability more than it did Sir Roland’s: with telekinesis he needed some space. And his injured hind leg wasn’t helping either. The entire limb with the arrowhead still embedded in it near his rump felt numb.

He’d really have to take a look at it once it was over. If he survived.

On the edge of the battlefield, the green pony remained. Observing. Rodrigo met his gaze for an instant.

The lapse in attention cost him. He clumsily rolled away from a sword strike as Roland feinted and got past his shortswords. A Basque warrior stumbled between them the next moment, only to get promptly bisected by Roland’s sword, earning Rodrigo a fraction of a second to get his hooves under him.

Not fast enough unfortunately.

His teeth were introduced to the taste of Roland’s ghostly sandals and he was sent sprawling on his back, seeing stars and tasting copper in his mouth.

“Not quite knightly then?” Rodrigo chuckled darkly. His stolen ethereal shortswords twirled in the air around him, retaking a more defensive position. “Guess we’re too far into the battle for that.”

His opponent didn’t reply. The shades on the battlefield were mute as far as Rodrigo witnessed, and a dead frankish paladin from over thirteen-hundred years ago wouldn’t know modern Spanish either way.

“Really have no idea why I’m fighting you to begin with...” He paused and spat some blood to the side. “… but at this point I’m too far into following a hunch to begin questioning it. Nothing personal to that.”

No reply either, but the paladin waited until he stood up on his hooves before resuming the onslaught. He twirled his enchanted blade expertly, swiping down at the white unicorn who raised both his swords to block.

One of Rodrigo’s blades snapped with a light metallic sound that hung in the air for a few seconds, longer than it took for the broken ethereal weapon to dissipate into green wisps of magic. The Spaniard's eyes widened, and he swung his one remaining blade in a desperate counterattack to buy time. Maybe steal a weapon.

But Roland was unfazed. The iridescent blade cut through the air once more, casually deflecting the next blow, and then the Paladin kept on with his momentum, ducked under Rodrigo’s blade and retaliated by delivering a solid blow in his temple with the pommel of his sword, so hard that his vision went blurry for a fraction of a second, a tremor of pain going through his horn and earning a gasp out of the stallion.

His vision went back into focus just in time to parry the consecutive strike that would have beheaded him. Both blades ground against each other in a shower of sparks and magic, and then he once again retreated at a safer distance. Or he would have, but Roland had the stamina advantage and was willing to use it. He didn’t stop, and Rodrigo, forced to rely on the one weapon by then, found himself slowly driven back, towards the line of Basque warriors that had formed a circle around them.

Weirdly enough, they had stopped bothering either of them. Of the entire frankish rear guard, Sir Roland was now the last one standing in Roncevaux Pass, and it looked like some of the Basques had moved on to pillaging the wagons, no longer hindering their duel.

The swords would clang against one another repeatedly, though forced on the defensive and with little hope of replenishing his weapons, Rodrigo found himself having to be mindful. He didn’t block outright, trying to deflect and redirect the paladin’s blows (which, even though his telekinetic grip, felt strong enough to blow a grown man off his feet) to avoid breaking his one remaining weapon. Balancing on three hooves, he hopped and danced around the blows, ducking under one sweep he couldn’t block in time, rolling, and overall trying to pull his opponent into a circle instead of letting him push him into the crowd of observing Basques.

Sweat soaked his fur. His makeshift K9 armor was probably beyond repairs now. His lungs burned from exertion, muscles strained beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Wounds, accumulated over the course of the whole battle, weighed him down like a leaded cloak. He was tired. Exhausted even. His horn sputtered weakly, his magic only good enough to hold his shortsword close to himself, a mere arm’s length away.

The Paladin went for another assault, but he was starting to recognize a pattern now. He twirled his blade and started an overhead strike. Rodrigo recognized how he put his left foot forward. The right one would come about… now!

Before Sir Roland could put his right foot down, Rodrigo used his telekinesis. Nothing grand of course. He was far too exhausted for that. Instead, his horn flashed weakly and sent out a shockwave, a shove sent in one general direction with the sole goal of throwing off the paladin’s balance.

And it did.

Rodrigo pushed on his hooves to attack and try to regain the offensive, swing the duel in his favor.

He didn’t see Roland’s armored knuckles on the edge of his vision. The punch reopened the wound at the base of his horn and sent him sprawling. Fur and mane above his eyes soaked with bloodthat flowed down into his eye, blinding him on the right side. On the left side, he reached up to touch his cheek. The tip of Roland’s sword had grazed him, cutting deep through flesh and fur.

A grunt. He looked up, finding the shade’s eyes boring into him from behind his sword, poised to finish him.

“No you fucking don’t!” Rodrigo grunted out hoarsely, kicking out with as much strength as he could muster in his uninjured hind leg.

It caught Roland in the ankle. Rodrigo felt the bone break, and the paladin fell down to his knee.

Never underestimate how hard ponies buck. Even unicorns.

Rodrigo rolled away, but now he realized that in his fall, he had released the telekinetic grasp he had on his ethereal shortsword. Lacking any wielder, it had dissipated into thin air, leaving behind only wisps of magic.

Shit.

He threw his head around, looking for a Basque from whom he could steal a weapon or something… but the warriors were gone, oddly. The circle of magic, the dome that had formed around the pass and twisted the land, kept him there to witness the battle, everything was closing in around him.

The warriors were dissipating. The wagons were gone. The clock was ticking, he needed to finish this now, and without a weapon at that.

On one side, the war-weary shade of a paladin wielding an enchanted sword, his ankle broken, his scale armor chipped.

On the other, an equally exhausted white unicorn stallion. Soaked in his own sweat and blood. One of his hind legs hanging limply.

Rodrigo glared across the short distance that separated them. He bent his head down, as if his horn was actually a worthy weapon. He pawed at the ground.

Sir Roland went into a guard stance, the shade resting his weight on his unbroken ankle.

The magic was about to pop. Rodrigo’s ears buzzed.His horn sputtered. He breathed in. The air smelled like ozone and copper. Magic and blood. There was a tingling in his flanks, centered around either side of his rump, one that made his soul feel as though the strands of fate were coming together towards a crossroads.

“¡Ahora o nunca!” Rodrigo bellowed as his horn mustered what little magic he still had and he pumped his hooves, throwing himself in a wild charge.

To an outside observer, his eyes started glowing green. The air shimmered and formed a shield around him, with an extra prong in the shape of a lance centered around his crouched horn. Before reaching the paladin, he leaped.

Sir Roland tried to parry, a clumsy move in reaction to the surprising speed of the charge. To his credit, the enchanted blade was potent enough to pierce Rodrigo’s shield and slice a long, shallow cut along the unicorn’s entire flank, easily cutting through the armor.

Rodrigo did better. There was a chink in Roland’s armor he’d been eyeing since the beginning of the duel, and that was what he went for. He collided with Roland, the extended prong of magic, a lance that speared through the paladin, a perfect hit, right through the heart.

There was a moment of blissful elation in Rodrigo’s heart at the realization of his victory… and then gravity reasserted itself, his entire side lanced with the searing pain from his wound, and both he and Roland fell side by side, facing each other.

Surprisingly, the paladin had a wry smile parting his scarred face. He looked...oddly satisfied as his ethereal body slowly began to turn to wisps carried off in the mountain wind. Weakly, his strength fading, he offered his weapon to Rodrigo.

Not feeling like questioning the paladin, the pony just reached out with his hoof. When it collided with the sword’s pommel, the rest of Roland’s body faded away, leaving behind nothing but the sword and its scabbard. Then the circle finally closed in around Rodrigo, and the magic faded completely. Roncevaux Pass was still changed, the magic had done its work warping the land there, but the battling armies of shades, Roland, the Franks, the Basques, were all gone.

His wounds? Not so much. The cut in his side was still bleeding profusely and he was feeling cold. But he’d claimed his sword. The green flicker, the nudge that had been pulling him was sated. The sword, no… Durandal. He was its rightful wielder now. He’d won.

As his vision turned dark and wounds and fatigue claimed him, he saw a green hoof step in on the edge of his vision.

Then… darkness.





When Rodrigo awoke, it was dark. Hold on… no. He wasn’t awake. More like… dreaming? He felt like he was swimming in tar, not seeing anything. Then the darkness lit up, slightly. He could see some sort of little cloud next to a tree. Little pillars of various colors raised around it, and one that drew his attention. The green one.

The little cloud flickered.

Rodrigo ignored it. Still looking at the pillar with the green glowing gem. Why did it feel so important to him? If anything it was a more powerful feeling than the one that drew him to Roncevaux Pass.

Another form joined the little cloud. It was a unicorn mare, except with wings and… kind of a ghost? She didn’t look like the shades he’d just fought, she was purple instead, translucent, and shimmering as though covered in glitter.

Still not interesting enough to draw him away from the green pillar. What was the deal with that thing?

The mare seemed to converse with the little cloud for a while, gesturing with her hooves to instruct it. The cloud flickered too, and bobbed up and down as if to nod. It turned towards Rodrigo and flashed.

Information flowed into his brain. A place, far off to the North. Brittany? A forest in Brittany. He needed to go there, but why? Why… The cloud flashed one more time. The Elements of Concord? Or was that the cloud’s name? Apparently Rodrigo was important with the whole deal. Seven Elements. Seven Artifacts.

And they were needed to…

The cloud flashed again.

To combat evil! What evil? Two evils. Two demons. Charybdis and Scylla. Okay so that meant… Rodrigo slowly pieced it all together as more information was pushed into his mind by that thing… Concord. The spirit in the Golden Tree.

He was an Element Bearer. Integrity. The green one. Which explained the pull he’d been feeling and that had made him leave Madrid. One of a team of seven, as of yet uncompleted. The sword he had claimed, Durandal, wasthe artifact tied to his element.

But it wasn’t all fulfilled just yet. Something about fate, destiny and Element magic. Damn, the little cloud wasn’t being very clear.

Another flash. An apology. Concord was young. Not even a year old actually. Yeah that explained a lot. Concord wanted him to meet him and get in touch with his Element all the way North in Brittany?

Guess that was his next goal then. His mind was settled. Apparently, that was enough to satisfy Concord. The spirit wished him luck. Behind him, the mare spoke a few words. The little cloud went still, focusing.

One last brighter flash. That one came not in the form of raw information, but words spoken in a tinny, childlike voice. Concord’s.

“By the way, Harmony says congrats on getting your Cutie Mark! See you soon!”

Rodrigo’s mind immediately conjured the memory of his wild charge against Roland. The feeling in his rump.

Well that explains it then.





	With the ongoing repairs around the refinery and some of Amandine’s vehicles stuck in repairs for the foreseeable future, there wasn’t a whole lot to be done while the fleet licked their metaphorical wounds. Even on Rhine Forest, where the damage to material and personnel was relatively limited (bar a few bullet holes in one of the torpedo escorts), crews were working overtime in the hydroponic gardens and lab to make extra potions and help the medical effort. Samuel’s militia needed to be brought back to fighting shape ASAP.

That didn’t mean it was completely gloomy however. The sailors weren’t alien to hard work, and they still could manage well enough to keep some free time. Rhine’s Cadets could still get together for their roleplaying (the nerdy kind) sessions, some couples could still date and get into roleplay (the not nerdy kind this time), and even Micha and Vadim managed to put together some family time with Andy between juggling Officer duties and squeezing in some homeschooling for the young griffon cub.

And while all of that was going on, one of Amandine’s unimogs was seen leaving the refinery. In the truck’s cab were three creatures: one dragon, an Ornithian, and an Abyssinian. Respectively: Artyom, Alejandro and Roberto.

Their goal wasn’t to cruise around at random however, because they joined up with a little convoy consisting of a bus and a pair of heavily armed trucks. None other than the daily commute for refinery workers because, after all, few people want to live on a refinery, secure or not.

When the three sailors saw the place they were sleeping at, they couldn’t fault the reasoning. It wasn’t very far, maybe a quarter of an hour away, off in the countryside. The first sight they got of the place was when the jungle and marshlands cleared up to make room for an oddly clear land clear of overgrowth. Meadows where cow herds grazed, lazily looking at the small convoy as they drove past.

Then came the fields: grain, orchards, vegetables, arrayed in a circle within the meadows around the settlement, which itself sat comfortably nested atop a short hill. It was a hacienda, a large farming estate with bright white buildings and red roof tiles all grouped up in a vague square pattern around a courtyard with tall walls. Up in a little tower with a bell, a sharpshooter watched them approach, casually waving at them before he focused back on the wider perimeter.

Pretty well-defended for a farmstead. The hacienda was entirely walled off,with extra barbed wires atop the outer walls out of caution, along with machine gun nests and grates blocking off the outer windows. Guards were keeping a tight eye on the gates, though they showed little concern when the three sailors in the unimog were allowed inside. They knew they were coming already.

The convoy stopped in the middle of the courtyard between stacked crates and trailers filled with produce before the bus’ doors hissed and disgorged the refinery workers. Those who had formed families and tightly-knit friend circles ran towards their companions. Near a small house, a D-Dog bitch wearing oil-stained coveralls wrapped her boyfriend – a short Xolo dog, hairless and all- in a hug and spun him effortlessly in the air with a laugh. After the assault, most were happy to see their loved ones again.

On the other end of the courtyard, a group huddled around an Abyssinian to ask about how the wounded were faring. Grim, but nothing that would warrant a burial. There were, thankfully, very few dead after the assault… all of them locals however.

Roberto averted his gaze when an Abyssinian fell down on his knees crying in grief. Not an easy thing to shut out when you’re an empath. He decided to focus on the buildings. Evaluate the state of the settlement. Colonial stuff.

Beyond obvious post-Event additions to the place like water tanks, generators and weapon emplacements to defend the settlement, the feline also got his first introduction on just how good D-dogs could be at burrowing. A bitch wearing nothing but dirty suspenders, an entrenching tool and a sports bra -and her own air of importance- presented herself as the head farmer and took it upon herself to show them the underbelly of the hacienda.

Warrens basically, but clean ones, and elaborate. When it came to digging, D-dogs had an intuitive understanding of the job, and they’d used it to expand the hacienda, not outwards, but downwards. That’s what the vent masts poking out of the ground in the courtyard were for. Across the hacienda were multiple stairways going down into an intricate network of burrows, tunnels and chambers. All of them were decently roomy, their round walls covered in terracotta panels the locals were still painting and the ceiling held up with freshly cut timber.

The intuitive knowledge of D-dogs was made all the more obvious by the cool air inside and the constant breeze circulating air through the tunnel. According to the head farmer, they had designed the system to pump air and cool it down against the aquifer which they used for freshwater. Add a few devices to dry off the now cold air, and the burrows soon became a shelter against the sweltering tropical heat outside.

And in case power failed, rainwater barrels above the surface could be released into the aquifer below, the height difference enough to run an alternator for emergency power for a short while. Pretty darn clever actually.

Overall, the burrows were designed with four main tunnels that spiraled down under the hacienda until they reached a main chamber just above the aquifer. All along were lesser chambers, ‘burrows’ used to provide lodgings for inhabitants. Then were the defensive tunnels, collapsible tunnels that reached out to provide firing positions camouflaged in the fields around the hacienda in case of siege. Lastly, utility and evacuation tunnels allowed for quick escapes, as well as letting wires and piping through, in addition to some auxiliary utilities like cargo lifts.

And the head farmer led them down into the main chamber. La Madriguera. A huge two-story tall chamber with intricate skull paintings all over, recessed LED lighting, pool tables, and right in the middle of that, where grates had been set to show off the cold waters of the aquifer (themselves hiding more LED’s), a fighting ring. Already, workers from the refinery had lined up at the bar, cats and dogs in greasy coveralls rejoicing after successfully defending the refinery or toasting to the rapid recovery of their friends. Glasses were already clinking and cheers resounding around the chamber when the three sailors and the head farmer came in.

“So we’re here to discuss what can be improved I suppose?”She asked rhetorically once all four were sitting down around a quaint round table on the quiet side of the bar. “You lads care to wet your lips first?”

“Beer on the tap?” Alejandro proposed.

“On the tap, aye.” She nodded with a smirk before raising her hand. She hollered a waiter over, and not a minute later the three sailors were introduced to the odd creation that was artisanal Mexican beer.

Artyom tuned out rather quickly. He was mostly there to provide security that clearly wasn’t necessary.

The fighting ring however, the dragon was eyeing with interest. Already a pair of Abyssinians had rolled up their sleeves and were about to hop in the ring. His draconic eyes also caught the sheen of gems, likely retrieved from jewelry stores in the region. The D-dogs were snacking on the smaller ones like peanuts, but the big ones…

Oh neat, a betting pool.
> Chapter 100: Empires Physical and Mental
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Time was passing by in Brittany. Slowly.Too slowly, or at least that was Starlight’s opinion. She had hoped their return to Equus would come soon after reaching Brittany… and she had been wrong. Oh so wrong.

Instead of Starswirl casually teleporting all of them back to Ponyville, countless hours had been poured into research in order to get them across the dimensional rift since their arrival, countless hours spent in the eerie realm of floating islands Starswirl had created within his tower. 

Each day was more or less the same. She would be given a part of the ritual to figure out, pore over the topic for a good while in the library and assemble some notes. Then she’d move to one of the smaller floating islands and she would draw a ritual circle. Look up more details. Correct a mistake. Look it up again. Go back to a book she’d been using the week prior and then redraw the whole ritual circle from scratch.

It felt like… no actually, she was going in circles.

Sunburst was just… so much better at all this brainy stuff than she was. She was a hooves-on mage, not a mare meant to spend three hours laying on flagstones drawing ritual circles with enchanted chalk! 

Her being ill-suited for this task then became rather obvious whenever she would realize the chalk she’d been using was mixed with the wrong kind of salt and that the silver nitrate needed to be nineteen degrees to the right of Faust’s thirty fourth glyph of stabilization. Not seven degrees to the left of the Sphigyptian analytic geomancy array, because then it would block the oh-so-crucial adaptation runes. So obvious a filly could do it blindfolded. Starlight gritted her teeth, horn sparking in frustration.

It wasn’t even noon yet.

“Easy girl…” She grumbled to herself, doing breathing exercises to calm down. “It’s not hopeless. Just… frustrating enough to make you want to scream, but you got this, right?” She told herself.

Though it said more about her current state of mind if she was starting to steal Trixie’s speaking patterns.

But really… their situation was far from hopeless. Unlike her, neither Trixie nor Starswirl seemed to have much difficulty with the more academic side of research they were doing, and Starswirl’s nature as having a connection to Equestria meant letters could be sent back and forth.

All of their friends missed them, obviously, but it warmed a pony’s heart to finally have news. Everypony in Equestria was all over themselves when Starswirl explained the nature of their disappearance, and Twilight had immediately mobilized all available resources to do whatever they could to get them back to Equestria.

She’d even pulled some political strings to get creatures like gargoyle archmages in the Infernal Lands and ancient sphinxes from Sphigypt to look at the issue.

Meanwhile… just getting news from their friends and the state of the school helped soothe their nerves. If what Sunburst said was true, he had the situation under control, though found it tiring to both manage it all on his own and get in contact with academic connections to help the research effort along. Though… what had been written in invisible ink in his last letter had been enough to make both Trixie and Starlight blush. Sunburst certainly would see to it that they celebrate their return the right way, and their parents wouldn’t be complaining about a lack of foals for much longer, let it be said.

In fact the whole situation was making the headlines in Equestrian news. While not quite as famous as the Mane Six, Trixie and Starlight weren’t unknown figures in Equestria, and even Canterlot Courier’s Captain was sort of a local celebrity in Cloudsdale.

Of course ponies would take interest.

“Everything alright Miss Glimmer?” Starswirl asked behind her.

He was in material form here, looking exactly like he did in Equestria… though only thanks to the enchantments that kept his little realm together. Outside, he was no fleshier than a ghost with the ability to go back and forth between human and pony.

“It’s fine. Bit of a frustration is all.” She replied, glumly erasing her mistake on the ritual circle.

At least she kept herself from blasting it away with magic. Four times in a week would have been a bit much, bad temper or not.

“I understand. Still, if progress keeps up, this part of the ritual will be finished in no time. I get it, it's not simple, but remember...”

“It’s but one cog in a much bigger arcane machine.” She repeated, tiredly rubbing a hoof over her muzzle. “I know, I know… I just never was much good at it.”

“To each his own specialty, such is the way for us ponies.”The wizard smiled. “The only issue is that here on Earth, we’re not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?”

“Unfortunately. So what does it do?”

“Cog in a machine as I said. Your creation here is basically the third anchoring point for the whole ritual that will bring you back. With the sensors and safeties plugged into it, of course.”

“Third?”

“It’s a network, Miss Glimmer.” Starswirl told. “One anchor with most of the arrays will be set here on Earth wherever we need the ritual to take place. Another awaits on Equus. Most likely your own school. The last one, Princess Sparkle’s idea, shall be drawn in Canterlot High.” He rubbed a hoof through his beard. “Ingenious I must admit. The proximity between Equus and Canterlot High will allow for a more solid connection and ought to prevent any catastrophic disconnection while your group’s traveling between dimensions once the ritual begins.”

“And it reduces the amount of work we need to do here.”

“That’s a correct guess as well. Not that we couldn’t do it, but with the amount of projects I need to get through, I’d rather keep my workload light.”

“Still busy with Miles?”

“Among other things, yes. It’s no simple matter, but mine and Morgane’s hopes are to create a… a prefix if you will, in the spell matrices we use. One that would provide a stopgap measure against returnees shrugging off magic. Once it’s done, then most of our issues should be solved.”

“But what about potions? Won’t they shrug off the effects too?”

“Given most are medicinal and non-intrusive, no. And for those that aren’t, don’t forget Meadowbrook is an expert in her own right. Many ritual reagents I use, she makes in her lab. I wouldn’t be surprised if she figures out a method of integrating that ‘prefix’ in her own potion making. In fact she’s always been able to integrate spell matrices in her own potions, so I doubt it would pose much trouble.”

Starlight was envious, almost. The wizard could be so casual about what amounted to groundbreaking research that would qualify most ponies for hefty grants and a cushy life living off patents. Yet here on Earth, things had simplified to such a state that it was just a matter of ‘need it, make it’.

Really, the whole planet was refreshingly devoid of paper-pushing… which Starlight would inevitably have to face again once she returned to Equestria and resumed her tenure as headmare. Those elite Canterlot academics despised the continued existence of the School of Friendship and would no doubt attempt to use this whole fiasco against her.

“So how long do you reckon we’ll need to finish this?” Starlight waved a hoof at the ritual circle.

“Really depends. Could be a smooth ride from here on and take us two weeks. Or we could hit a roadblock in the research when we combine all parts of our research and lose two months. Hard to gauge. And then you have the issue of powering the ritual which...”

“TRIXIE FOUND IT!!”A blue unicorn mare flashed into existence right between the two, standing on her hind legs, cloak billowing, proudly balancing a thick tome on one hoof.

Starswirl took the display nonchalantly. Poor old frazzled Starlight, her nerves short after spending the entire day meticulously drawing rituals, didn’t. She sprang up on her hind hooves with a loud neigh of surprise, lost her balance and started backpedaling, trampling the chalk symbols on the flagstones that made up the floating island… and then fell off the edge with a scream.

“Somepony needs a break, looks like.” Starswirl calmly remarked.

Trixie smiled sheepishly.

A few seconds later, the air hummed and Starlight floated up to the edge of the floating island, her form held in the magic glow of the safety system Starswirl had installed for that specific purpose. The automatic spell released its grip with a fizz, and Starlight plopped down on her rump, forehooves crossed, grumpy.

“Trixie’s sorry?” The illusionist offered.

“’s nothing...” Starlight sighed, though in her mind she partly regretted teaching a pony as flamboyant as Trixie something like teleportation. That was just heart attack material. “You found something?”

“Y-yes!” She straightened up, eager to switch topics. “The power source. Trixie has pored over tomes and parchments of old, seeking artifacts or ruins that may suit our purpose...” She waved a hoof grandly. “… and such an item, she’s finally unearthed! West of us, in Carnac, lies the solution to powering our ritual.”

“Carnac? Weird name.” Her friend grumbled, but next to her, Starswirl’s features lit up and the old wizard smacked himself with his hoof in realization.

“Carnac, of course! The druids were always so touchy about approaching the site, but it might actually work. Yes.” He nodded firmly. “I remember theorizing on its applications back in my youth when I was but a neophyte.”

“Oh, the place is older than stone then?” Starlight snarked.

He ignored the jab. The mare had yet to realize she’d just trampled her own ritual circle.

“Older than me, yes. As of now, some of the stones in Carnac should be about...” He paused. “Six thousand years old? Give or take. Funny, there are some fools that propagated a story that it was a Roman legion I turned to stone. Foolish. I mean, have you seen the size of...”

“Starswirl, what is Carnac?” Starlight interrupted.

The wizard threw her an annoyed look. This was a good story. Nevertheless… He sighed.

“Remember that time Princess Sparkle made a thaumic accelerator based on my old notes?”

“So that’s the original.” Trixie noted. “Trixie remembers the air in Canterlot smelled like ozone for a week after that.”

“And that was a fairly weak gem thrown in an accelerator that fit within a single tower. Carnac is… Several rows of menhirs, all enchanted last I checked, across multiple fields. Druids had raised them in ages past to boost the powers of their seasonal and astral rituals.”

“Multiple… fields...” Starlight’s eyes widened. “How big?”

“I reckon, a couple thousand stones over… ah…” He rapped a hoof against the size of his head. “Sorry. Converting old distances is finicky sometimes. A little short of four kilometers. But the accelerator doesn’t loop, it’s one way in, one way out. Power magnification is… Nevermind, can’t rely on my old estimates.”

“Why?”

“Simple.” He laughed, already turning away. “Magic disappeared for a long time here on Earth, and without it, there was no reason to stay interested in old stones like Carnac’s. Without magic and without power, I doubt the order of druids that used to keep the place running stuck together. They already had a hard time managing things when Rome started pushing their own magic instead of local variants. So… it probably still works, but you have to add fifteen hundred years of neglect and absolute lack of maintenance, if not outright vandalism.”

“Oh horseapples.” Trixie swore.

“It’s fine Miss Lulamoon. I’m sure all it will need is a bit of patching up and the magnification factor will be enough for what we’re planning. We don’t want to send you halfway across the aether after all. Now if you don’t mind, Martin’s lessons are right about now and it’s high time my apprentice learns the art of the bubble shield.”





“Where the fuck is our .50cal?” Skinner barked, warily looking down the road where the monster was threatening to turn up anytime soon.

“They’re packing it in a lifeboat and looking for a tripod!” Marcos replied, the cook now just pocketing his radio. “Fifteen minutes Quinn says.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Skinner swore. “Fine! Everyone get some height while we can. I don’t think 5.56 will cut it, so we’ll have to stall. Stay off the ground unless you feel like a snack.”

“Way ahead of you.” Floyd quipped.

The thin griffon had already relocated his M249 to the roof of a warehouse facing the customs office. A flash of brass and light clinking later, a new ammo band was ready to be sent downrange.

A roar shook the streets again, and a poor ol’ Twingo flew through the air across an intersection. The little car landed in a storefront, shattering glass and spreading debris across the street.

“Yeesh, someone’s hungry.” Floyd’s eyes widened as he looked through his scope and saw the bite marks on the car. That thing’s maw must have been as wide as the hood!

That ‘thing’ then came into sight, claws skidding on what was left of the roads and kicking up fallen leaves and soil. That ‘thing’ was nothing less than a Cipactli, or at least Skinner was reasonably certain that’s what the bestiary called it. The pony who wrote the entry used a moniker called Daring Do, so maybe he ought to consider it with a pinch of salt.

As for the beast itself, it came to an abrupt halt glaring at them from the intersection. It was downright gigantic, its body at least the size of a large van, made all the more imposing by the long limbs it stood on, each ending in a set of steely claws. It was somewhat of a cross between an alligator and a frog: its rotund body sported elastic, pale green skin on the underside, and darker green scales with rows of yellowish spikes along its backside. Though it didn’t have a neck, the way it turned and twisted to face them at the intersection meant that its cartoonish proportions were not to take lightly. This was a fast monster, and the longer strides its size provided meant it wasn’t any slower on the ground than it was in the water.

Huge blue eyes filled with malice stared at the team, its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth at the sight, catching between two of the huge fangs that protruded out of its jaw. Oddly enough, there was a pattern of blue scales along its sides that matched the color of its eyes.

It roared, maw opening out so wide it would have put snakes to shame and displaying two rows of curved fangs ready to entrap its prey. And then it surprised the whole team by divulging its one ace in the sleeve out of sheer gluttony.

The capybara the pukwudgies had been planning to eat had been left abandoned. Not for long. Much like a frog, the cipactli lashed out with its tongue and grabbed the leftover morsel, pulling it whole inside of its belly. It didn’t even bother to swallow, it just took it all in and released a loud burp after that.

Most eyes on the team were round as platters after witnessing the display… but it didn’t last for Skinner. The hedgefog’s eyes with their telltale blue sclera narrowed. He had a plan, and to execute that, he hopped right off his perch and strode on towards the enormous monster.

“Captain?” Floyd questioned over the radio.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll just play the bait.” Was his superior’s reply.

Funnily enough, he heard the usual beep of the push-to-talk being pressed on his radio, but the griffon came up short for an answer. Yeah. The fog form.

As if he’d complain to a Captain putting his head on the chopping block for a change.

And so the cipactli rushed out towards them. It leaped up in the air a short distance in front of the customs office where Skinner was standing before its humongous body came down on the Captain with a thundering crash, mouth wide open to swallow the hedgefog whole.

It was, understandably, surprised when the foggy form of Skinner stepped aside, entirely unfazed. He shifted back to material form, only long enough to dump his entire mag in the beast’s tender belly before going fog again, right in time to let a wet pink tongue pass through.

Impressive as it was, the small caliber did little but drive tiny pinpricks in the rubbery flesh. 5.56 would wound and knock humans out of action. It would reliably kill small stuff like pukwudgies.

A cipactli the size of a van was, however, a bit of a tall order. In fact, even the sheer volume coming from the M249 did little but annoy it and make it attack Skinner faster.

Worse, was that he couldn’t just keep dodging and letting attacks pass through him. Their generous use of firepower on the pukwudgies meant they started the fight low on ammo, and he could only keep shifting back and forth for so long before fatigue overwhelmed him. Add to that that hedgefogs were not meant to be frontline fighters and that all his inbuilt fight-or-flight instincts were screaming at him to run away and find the nearest hole to hide in…

The .50cal would come too late.

“We might need to run.” He grunted out in his radio in the little span of time between a swipe of the monster’s claws and a tongue attack.

But to where? It’s not like they could go back to the lifeboat. A cipactli mixes traits found in frogs and crocodiles. Shifting the theatre of battle to the water would be… ill-advised, to put it in polite terms. And trying to figure out where was not something he had the luxury to dwell on. The monster was fast, and relentless.

And resourceful, turns out. One second he dropped into material form to catch his breath, fully expecting the monster to shift its legs for balance and give him just enough time… except this time it twisted around abruptly. Skinner saw the tail just in time not to be hit in the head, but he felt his ribs crack nonetheless. The blow took the wind out of him and sent him flying across the overgrown intersection in front of the customs. He bounced like a ragdoll on the mix of leaves, soil and damaged asphalt before coming to a stop next to a tilted roadway sign. Mercifully, he’d been thorough in securing his gear, so nothing detached itself from his combat vest.

Sure, the optics on his G36 were probably fucked, but it beat losing his gear in the urban jungle.

He blinked.

“Why am I only thinking of this pun now?” He mumbled.

Vision still swimming from the impact, he tried to push himself up. He winced. Damn, that was probably two broken fingers right there. Could he still shoot with his pinky? Probably not. He swore under his breath and spat to the side. Blood. Uh, that can’t be good.

He had to close one eye to see straight. Further away, a rain of green tracers ricocheted off the cipactli’s armored back like sparks as Floyd tried to divert its attention away from the Captain. It worked, in a fashion, because instead of the well-positioned griffon who wanted its attention, the monster’s sharp blue eyes zeroed in on Marcos. It licked its chops.

Seriously, what’s with the cook’s luck? First it’s Taino cultists wanting to turn him into a broodmother. Now it’s a monster wondering if cooks taste as good as what they make.

Best not let it figure it out.

“Don’t touch my fucking cook.” Skinner wheezed out, his uninjured paw extended towards the monster, one of his quills held between two fingers.

The second tool in an hedgefog’s arsenal. Electric magic from their quills. His white mane of quills lit up with blue electric arcs, a last show of force. They raced up his arm with a crackle, wrapped around the quill, and lanced out towards the cipactli.

It looked more impressive in his imagination. Skinner was no thunder mage, and his little attack fizzed pitifully against the tough monster… but on the bright side it did draw his attention. It turned towards him with the nastiest glare it could possibly muster. Given the size of its maw, it was pretty damn terrifying.

And it lashed out with its tongue at the injured Captain. The wet sticky appendage connected, with enough force behind it to match a large dog running full-speed… but surprisingly it didn’t retract to draw him into the bowels of the monstrous beast. No, instead it went on, showering him in a spray of warm blood.

What seconds prior had been a deadly tool in the cipactli’s arsenal was now just a sliced up piece of elastic flesh in Skinner’s lap.

“Da hell?”

Then he took in the rest of the scenery, the sharp squawks and wild bravado being uttered in Portuguese just a few meters away from him. That at least was a language he could recognize. And the creature who was speaking it?

An Ornithian, now standing between him and the monster in a fencing stance, one gleaming saber held up between him and the monster. With that odd yellowish gleam and its apparent ability to effortlessly cleave through flesh, it was rather obvious the basket-hilted weapon was enchanted.

Its wielder was… gaudy, as was often the case with parrots. He was a scarlet macaw, one that seemed to take meticulous care of his feathers, what with how they practically shone in the sunlight. Like most males of his species, he was on the short side of the spectrum, though also slightly less stocky than the average. A nimble fencer then.

As for clothing, this one particular parrot seemed to have taken a liking to 19th century fashion, because he looked the part of a Napoleonic Officer: crisp straight white pants with a single red stripe along each leg, a tight navy blue shirt with rich golden embroidering and epaulettes coupled with a red sash to which he had attached the sheath for his saber, and lastly a bicorn hat through which it seemed he had made a hole to let his crest feathers through, all flared in a flashy plume that bobbed in the breeze. On his offhand side, a shoulder cape, blue and red, was an almost perfect match for his tail feathers, subtly hiding a large caliber revolver.

This peculiar parrot, apparently powerful enough to interpose himself between Skinner and the cipactli in the nick of time, then proceeded to squawk out a challenge at the monster, confident. He held himself straight, shoulders tilted back, and enunciated each and every syllable in a regal, commanding tone.

“Marcos, what’s he saying?” Skinner quickly asked over the radio.

“Sounds like a lunatic, sir.” His Chief Cook replied.

“Really?” Well, he was wearing clothing at least a century out of date, and Skinner doubted Belem was in the mood for reenactors at the moment, so…

“And now he’s just called himself Pedro III, new Emperor of Brazil, and he’ll rebuild his proud nation slaying foul beasts one at a time if it calls for it.” Marcos elaborated.

Skinner’s maw hung halfway open at the sheer lunacy.

Before he had time to comment on it, the cipactli shook off the daze caused by the loss of its tongue. Enraged, it jumped at ‘Pedro’, claws out to rip apart the feeble bird that had dared hurt it… but the Ornithian moved like the wind. Saber in hand, he deftly twisted under a swipe of its claws, the gleaming blade hissed in the air… and the monster found itself short a limb.

The wannabe emperor didn’t stop there. Casually getting out of the way of the spraying blood to avoid staining his uniform, he sprung up in the air, transforming one of his arms into a wing as his species sometimes did to extend the height of his jump. For a fraction of a second, he hovered midair, right in front of the cipactli’s eyes.

His saber swung once more, and a bloody streak appeared in the cipactli’s skull, a straight line from one line to the other, just deep enough to strike the brain after effortlessly piercing through its thick skull.

In three blows, the human-sized Ornithian had felled a saurian the size of a van. The beast’s humongous body fell to the ground, shaking the whole intersection and stirring the vegetation… but it didn’t stand up. The blows had been precise, powerful…

So he spoke like a lunatic, yet was skilled enough to defeat large monsters in melee. In other words: he wasn’t crazy, he was eccentric. Skinner’s mind was made quickly, he and his crew best not garner the wannabe emperor’s ire. As the hedgefog struggled to stand up from both fatigue and wounds, he saw his savior utter a few words before wiping his blade on the cipactli’s body. Then he slid the saber back in its sheath with a practiced movement. There wasn’t even a sound of steel grinding against the edge of the sheath.

“Thanks for saving me. I guess I owe you big time then. The name’s Skinner, Captain Edgar Skinner.” He grunted out in a single breath, extending a paw.

‘Pedro III’ just looked at him quizzically, not understanding.

“I’m a Captain.” He repeated, tracing a digit against his ranks on his shoulder. “Ca-pi-tan.” He enunciated.

No wait, wrong language. That was Spanish. Yet a flicker of recognition dawned on the Ornithian’s beak. Close enough then?

“Bem-vindo a Belèm, capitão. É um grande inimigo que derrotamos hoje. Parabéns.” He proclaimed loudly, greeting Skinner and congratulating him for their victory, vigorously shaking the proffered paw.

A good Scot as he was, Skinner didn’t understand a word of it. He turned towards the nearby customs office, where his subordinates could be seen slowly walking over to them.

“Oï Marcos! Get yer arse over ‘ere, I need mah translator!” He hollered to the Chief Cook. “And you too Lilian!”

With the cracked ribs and broken fingers, he felt like using one more of their limited stock of health potions was warranted. All four of his subordinates hurried over, with the pink dragon that served as their medic quickly passing him a glowing pink vial he was all too happy to gulp down in one go. First-aid variant potions like that worked wonders in fixing lighter injuries, and already the searing pain in his fingers was turning into nothing more than a numb throbbing.

It would probably need either a splint for a short while or an injection of healthcare variant potion to fix completely, and it sapped him of a significant portion of his remaining energy, but with a bit of coffee he’d get through the rest of the day. Not in a good mood, but he would.

“Thanks Lilian.” He grunted before he pivoted on his heels to face Pedro once more.

The parrot was standing regally with his shoulders back, one talon lazily caressing the hilt of his saber as Marcos launched himself into a brief explanation on who they were. The existence of a group of sailors wandering around the planet seemed to garner his interest, and thus he extended an invitation towards Skinner. To ‘tour his domain and confer over the status of the world’, or so Marcos translated it.

“Well… guess that’s about what we wanted to find here.” Skinner sighed. Unfortunately, he didn’t expect to encounter one quite as eccentric as a wannabe emperor of an overgrown city. “Marcos, please extend our thanks to the… ahem… emperor, for saving my life and rescuing us from this monster. You’re coming with me of course.”

“Captain?” Floyd tilted his head, bemused. Was he really just trusting the odd parrot like that?

His superior stared right back. No. He wasn’t. But when you come across a powerful lunatic like Pedro, you play nice and avoid pissing him off. That said, maybe he could use a bit of prescience to avoid a catastrophe? He shifted to face Praveen. Up until then the female Abyssinian had been satisfied just keeping an eye on the cityscape around them, G36 hanging off its sling on her hip.

“Praveen, you’re coming too. I need you to watch my back while we entertain Pedro here. Floyd, Lilian, you two keep an eye on the customs office and wait for Quinn to turn up with the .50cal. He should be here in about five minutes. Anything goes bad, you two can fly away.” He barked sharply. “Understood?”

“What do we tell Quinn, sir?”

“That I’m doing diplomacy and he needs to take over securing the seaport. Keep the main access open with a team on overwatch. The rest, ask MacClelland.” He was reasonably sure the unicorn mare occupying the position of Chief Engineer had enough materials stored up around the ship to plug the holes in the perimeter. If only because they machined a lot of parts on board when they needed to fix stuff.

And if she didn’t, he knew her to be crafty enough to cobble something together with whatever she found in the warehouses around the seaport. Skinner was pretty sure he’d spotted some rolls of garden wire mesh.

“And ask someone to grab a bestiary! I have no idea what we can do with the remains of pukwudgies, but I swear I saw a footnote about cipactli leather and bone having its uses.”

Beyond supplying them with enough meat to fill the freezer for half a year, mind.

Leaving the customs behind to follow ‘Imperador Pedro III’, Skinner then ventured deeper into the city, headed in a general southerly direction. Their guide said that they were on the very edge of his domain from which he intended to reclaim Brazil and instigate a sense of national pride and patriotism his countrymen had ‘lost since Dom Pedro II folded like a stack of cards’.

Well, Skinner didn’t know Brazilian history so he was no one to judge. Instead of the past, he decided to focus on what was around him, determined to assess the state of the city… or what it was supposed to be before being swarmed with monsters and enough foliage to make a vegan salivate.

Most buildings in the direct vicinity around the seaport spoke or a decently rich area with most of the tech companies and entertainment. The high rises towering above the group as Pedro guided them through and past sinkholes and ruins were almost as high as those of the CBD, sometimes sharing the horizon with wider buildings like a former hospital, a shopping center with a gaping hole in its roof, a cinema laying half-collapsed in a drainage canal. There even was a parking building in which a tree had grown and caused a few levels to collapse onto one another, spilling abandoned cars on the nearest intersection where all the spilled oil gave the mud iridescent tones.

That quarter however, while on the edge of Pedro’s territory, wasn’t where he was leading them. It seemed the eccentric Ornithian, favoring ancient architecture, had preferred to settle within the colonial district.

It gave off a different vibe entirely. The buildings were much shorter, rarely if ever exceeding three stories, shorter than most of the vegetation which had grown there so fast. Their colors, at one point bright and cheery, were now faded, the paint cracked, though there was a warm air to them as leaves spilled out of hollow windows and vines wrapped around the mess of overhanging telephone poles and cables. Beneath their feet, narrow rails pushed out of the ground by roots implied tramways had passed through at some point, and the cracked asphalt revealed old pavement beneath it. The place had existed long before the first skyscraper, which was why the streets were narrow enough for vines and vegetation to grow between buildings like a forest’s canopy, putting them in penumbral shade.

Pedro led them through, sometimes passing through a building to avoid a patch of dangerous vegetation or an area that was blocked off outright… but monsters didn’t bother them. Skinner saw a couple – Belem really had an infestation issue-, but it seemed as though they were afraid of the wannabe Emperor. The animals however, either ignored him or seemed to have taken a liking to him. While they were passing through the remains of a marketplace with rotting, overturned stalls and spilled goods everywhere, a flock of macaws started flying circles around him before one landed on his shoulder.

On the other, a little marmoset landed, chittering happily after it jumped off the wreckage of some river fishing boat. They were near a little square dock at that point, a fishing haven dug into the shoreline that would have provided the marketplace they’d just left with fresh fish. Now, mud and silt hugged the flanks of those wooden boats, some tilted to the side, masts entangled in one another’s. Pedro had set down a few planks to get across quickly from one wreck to another, passing through a trawler’s wheelhouse to get onto a destroyed paddle steamer’s deck. A sad sight to see, Skinner could imagine the little two-decker sail out into the Amazon at one point, carrying curious tourists and enthusiastic scientists. No longer. Now, hordes of insects called it home and it was nothing but a rickety shortcut through the colonial district.

And past that rickety shortcut, Pedro’s ‘base’ stood. It was an old fort, likely erected shortly after the city was founded centuries ago. The lack of overgrowth and vegetation sprouting from the masonry made it clash sharply with its surroundings, which only heightened when their guide led them over the shallow trench surrounding the wall and past the narrow gates dug into the main bastion. Inside, crisp lawn greeted the sailors with palm trees arrayed into neat rows around clean – if decrepit- square buildings with tiled roofs. Headquarters, powder store, barracks with a flagpole bearing the imperial Brazilian flag.

The guns were rusty, sure, but the lack of overgrowth alone was telling. There was a small patch of garden next to the headquarters, currently tended to by a young Abyssinian child, but except for that it hardly seemed like Pedro produced much in the way of food. Despite that, several crates of produce could be found by the entrance where a tall Ornithian hen greeted them. A sentinel in civilian clothes with a simple bolt-action rifle clutched in her claws.

It hardly seemed like there were more than half a dozen people living there. Ornithians and Abyssinians.

Lastly, a small postern opposite the main gates led to a tiny pier to which a corvette had been moored. V24. Solimões. It wasn’t very big, nor particularly well-armed, and the way it sat in the water probably meant there wasn’t much more that could be gained from it than using the engines as generators and its one bow gun as a supplement to the fort’s arsenal… but it was something. Up atop its wheelhouse, a lone sentinel waved at them before returning to his duty.

Fugro hadn’t seen it on the radar. The corvette was moored behind a piece of land to hide it from radar… but it couldn’t see their own ship either.

Pedro then led them inside his headquarters, where a wide desk with a bust of Dom Pedro II and a few flags around the corners occupied the back of the room. Crates of salvaged gear and miscellaneous supplies lined the walls, and there was a small incubator with a pair of mottled, colorful eggs. Their guide unlatched his shoulder cape and hung it on a peg by the entrance before he unlatched his saber and revolver from his belt, both taking their place on either side of a lavish desk chair in which he sat down regally.

Crossing his arms, he rested his large macaw beak on his talons and looked at all three sailors expectantly.

“So tell me, Captain, what brings a ragtag crew like yours in this fair wretched city?”





Alejandro only watched the fights out of the corner of his eye. A referee wearing a yellow shirt had interposed himself between the two Abyssinians of the first fight and was reciting the rules out loud while both felines wrapped jute around their paws. He sounded rather strict about it. No claws, beak or fangs. One offense and you’re out.

Then they started going at it.

Unfortunately for the Spaniard, his focus was on the head farmer. She had finally put down her bucket of a beer mug, wiping some foam off her muzzle with a grin.

“So you mind if we get this thing over quick? I’d rather watch the fights.” She asked him. “Not that I mind looking into the future for the hacienda, but let’s be fair and admit this place just plays second fiddle to the refinery. I mean, how advanced can that get?” She snorted derisively.

Alejandro shared a look with Roberto.

“Quite complicated, though I agree on watching rather than chatting. You’d be surprised by all the things we saw around the world. So it’s all farming here?”

“We have two purposes.” She extended two fingers. “One is to provide a decent place to live for refinery workers… and I think this bar shows how nicely we got that covered. The other is providing food, and it’s simpler than you’d think. There aren’t that many of us. We got a decent herd of cattle, vegetables and stuff, and with the improved growth we make so much grain we can make our own beer.”

“That there, that’s the stuff we want to hear.” Alejandro grinned.

“¿Como?”

“Sorry, maybe that wasn’t too clear. As you already know, it’s likely the refinery will start exporting fuel. Fertilizer too, if there’s enough manpower to process natural gas. Now you tell me you have a surplus and you make beer, so what else do you have extra?” He told her.

“Oookay, that’s what you mean. Well, we Mexicans are pretty good at making beer so I guess we could export a few kegs. I mean, I heard from someone there’s a colony or two in Ireland so I think they’d be interested? Worst case scenario there’s bound to be a brewery somewhere to get some.”

“That’s the spirit! What else?”

She scrunched up her muzzle in thought.

“Well… so hear me out. I got a couple crews rotating around the region salvaging stuff, but that’s bound  to end at some point so I’ll have more farmers to make more stuff. Carmelita at the refinery suggested we make more corn because apparently the starch can make plastics or… it’s chemistry I couldn’t care less about. But it got me thinking. Most folks make food anyway and except for those guys you mentioned in Cuba with the cannery, it ain’t easy to export. Ya follow me?”

“Mostly. Your point?”

“We’re lucky here. We got a whole family doing clothing, seamstress and all you know? They refitted me my sports bra, see?” She tugged at the strap visible below her suspenders. “And I think… we’re all different, but clothes are always a thing? So maybe we could make textiles. Dunno about cotton because I heard it’s a bitch to irrigate and grow, but flax I think we could manage. You can tell that to your friend there?”

He did. Roberto seemed eager to look into it deeper, and as far as Alej’ knew him the cat would probably do a whole lot more research into textiles but it seemed to satisfy his need to ‘evaluate’ the hacienda. Either way, beer or flax, setting it up properly would need additional tools and equipment, and figuring out where to find the stuff was right up his alley. He immediately pulled out a tablet, tapping and typing ideas… which left Alejandro free to enjoy the venue.

He rather liked it. The fresh air here underneath the earth was a nice change from the humid tropical heat, and the fighters in the ring below were a nice spectacle too. Now if only he could find a nice hen to share the evening with he’d be right set, but Ornithians seemed unfortunately rare here, compared to the cats and dogs that made up the bulk of the population. The few he could see were already taken.

In passing, his eyes drifted over to a little alcove lit up with candles. There were pictures hanging on the wall there. Humans.

“Say...” He nudged the head farmer who had already turned her chair around to watch the fights. “What’s the deal with the alcove over there?”

“That? Uh… how do I put it? You know Día de Los Muertos?”

“The local tradition? That’s… I dunno, one month from now?”

“Yeah. That one is related in a way. We ain’t all sure what to name it or when to do it yet, but it’ll probably be Día de Los Desaparecidos. It’s a contrast to the older tradition. One for remembering the dead and those we lost. The other to remember those we wish will come back soon. And… magic’s real. With some luck if we wish it really hard, they’ll come back that day. One can dream.”

“Personal loss?”

“Me?” The head farmer laughed. “Nah, it ain’t about me. Family’s already on the altar for Dia de Los Muertos. I had a sweetheart, but you looked at me?” She grabbed her breasts and hefted them up, letting the non-negligible bosom drop with a jiggle. “She ain’t taking me back even if she could recognize me. I’m a bigger lass than she ever was, and actually I rather like it.”

“You don’t know, she could come back as a pup.” Alejandro shrugged between two swigs of his beer.

“It’s a one-in-six chance for a couple to come back both swapped, and that’s disregarding the possibility we wouldn’t be the same species. Nah, I’m not sad. Life is a bitch, but as a bitch? So long I’m careful with the heat, I could up and grab the pup I want in a bridal carry and have the night I want. It’s good.” She raised her arm and flexed her biceps. “I mean, Christ, I never was a wimp but we bitches got it good in the strength department.”

Not like the pups were lacking in strength either, D-dogs as a whole certainly didn’t have issues with it. The bitches just tended to attract more attention.

Weird, but then again Alej’ was pretty sure Dilip got down to it with Carmelita and the Indian wasn’t complaining about things working the other way around for his species.

In the span of time it had taken for the brief conversation to occur, Artyom had made his way over to the center of the underground chamber, closer to the ring. The dragon found himself leaning on the railing watching the two female dogs that had replaced the Abyssinians who went first in the ring. Instead of the agile felines, now he was watching a more sluggish yet powerful exchange between strong fighters. One of the two, a German Shepherd, drew back her fist and delivered a punch so powerful the cords around the ring shook and her opponent tumbled back, dazed. She pressed on and ended the fight with a knee to the gut.

Around the fight, the crowd whooped and more gems were passed around as wagers changed. But there was no ill will between fighters. The loser of the last fight – a golden retriever- was helped up to her paws by her opponent from a few seconds prior and the two went to get themselves a well-earned beer at the bar, arms over one another’s shoulders.

It seemed like both fighters earned a share of the bets. Gems that looked both like enticing snacks and the beginning of a hoard to a young dragon like Artyom.

So yes, maybe sometimes he was a bit impulsive. And maybe that time it manifested itself in him jumping in front of the wagers table and announcing loudly he challenged anyone to defeat him after slamming his VDV beret on the table.

Seeing this, Alejandro slammed his talons against his beak. Roberto looked up from his tablet, saw the display, and immediately burst out laughing.

“There it goes!” The cat chortled. “Let the fun begin!”
> Chapter 101: Actual Acts of Gods
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rodrigo’s return to the waking world was not greeted by the sight of a desolate mountain pass and frigid winds, but instead by warmth and comfiness. He could still feel the weight of all the injuries accrued over the course of the battle, and he was sore, but they felt numb rather than painful. The stallion’s nostrils expanded, filling with a fresh herbal scent.

He was in bed, his form tucked neatly under the sheets as a fire warmed up the room close by. Right above him, he could hear the mountain winds howling, slipping through tiny gaps in the ceiling with a whistle as they went through the rafters, paired with the rustle of loose shingles on the roof. 

The building looked ancient, and small. A quick look through the tiny window above his bed soon revealed that he still was in Roncevaux Pass: it was the tiny shepherd’s cottage he had seen when magic warped the land. The construction was sturdy, but only held a singular room in which his bed and the fireplace were.Both his armor and Durandal lay dismantled on a short table by the door, next to a set of tools covered in an oily canvas.

In the fireplace, a little cauldron had been left to simmer. Rodrigo tried to peer at its contents, but his body was quick to remind him why he was in bed in the first place. Adrenaline had kept him going for a while, but now the arrow injury in his hind leg was coming back with a vengeance.

He pried the bedsheets away with his forehoof. Yes, there it was. Tightly bandaged under layers of linen and smelling sharply of herbal unguents, the limb was kept solidly immobilized and folded against his hindquarters to avoid making the injury worse.

Question was: who did that?

In his little dream, Concord had strongly implied he’d received help, and there was that green hoof he’d seen on the edge of his vision before blacking out, but he’d rather meet his savior in person than keep wondering about him.

He didn’t have to wait long to see that particular wish granted.

Rodrigo twisted his head to the side, hearing someone unlatch the door.

It was a green Earth Pony stallion, making a theatrical entrance as the mountain winds yanked the door open with a bang of its hinges, the change in lighting so sudden Rodrigo had to raise a hoof over his eyes while the new arrival struggle to grab the knob in his teeth and shut the door, the wind doing its best to keep it open.

He did manage to shut it, slamming the iron lock shut with a grunt before he finally turned around.

Then he noticed Rodrigo was staring and his eyes widened.

Come to think of it, he was actually the first Earth Pony the Spaniard saw with his own eyes. Up until then, most equines he had seen were unicorns. There had been a relief team from that other planet in Madrid, but there were only unicorns and pegasi on the team, even though they claimed there were more ‘pony tribes’ than just that.

Well, there was his proof. The one standing by the door was green, with a single white stripe running along his spine from the base of his tail to the tip of his muzzle. His white mane was kept in a tidy braid, much like his short tail.  Body-wise, he was just like the books described Earth Ponies: slightly taller than the other tribes with a stocky build. One knowledgeable in medieval equine types would have identified him as more of the rouncey type.

As it stood, he was decently muscular, and about as tall as Rodrigo if the unicorn cheated and counted his horn. Adorning his flanks was an intricate Cutie Mark: a Celtic triskelion layered over a large travel pack with tools attached to the sides.

Rodrigo studied his features. The stallion was bad at hiding his surprise upon seeing him awake. Large gray eyes – the same color as Rodrigo’s- beheld him beneath white bristly brows. As a last feature, he had a shaggy goatee on the underside of his muzzle, its color the same white as his mane. Again, a detail that matched Rodrigo’s features, oddly enough. Goatees and beards were possible among stallions, but rare.

He was also, like the Equestrians from the relief team Rodrigo remembered meeting in Madrid, naked. Seems like some-pony thought fur was enough for decency.

Rodrigo, like most former humans, didn’t.

“Encantado.” The Spaniard finally greeted after an awkward minute of looking at each other in silence.

Or attempted to rather. His voice, unsurprisingly, came out hoarse and dry, turning the words into an incomprehensible wheeze. If such a thing was possible, the stallion’s eyes widened more and he rushed over to him, dropping a bundle of plants by the door.

“I’m so sorry, let me get you some water!” The as-of-yet unnamed stallion said, his accent a weird mix of… French and German? Weird given he was speaking Spanish with perfect grammar. He grabbed a clay pitcher from underneath Rodrigo’s bed between his hooves and helped his… ‘patient’ drink to his heart’s content.

Try as he might, Rodrigo felt too tired to even attempt using telekinesis. His magic reserves were probably still exhausted and the bandages pressing around his head told the wound near his horn was all too real. Best not try that.

Lukewarm liquid washed down his throat and soothed the dryness he felt down there. He couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh after he set down the pitcher in front of him, deciding to stay belly down for now. His bandaged leg wouldn’t let him sit on his haunches comfortably.

“Gracias. I take it you’re the one who saved me?”

“Yes!” The stallion cheerfully replied, taking position by his bedside. “That’s my role. I brought you in and patched you up. You’ve been out for...” He rubbed a hoof against his little goatee. “One day, more or less? Guess you were really tired from the battle. You fought well.”

“I did, didn't I?”

“Eeyup.” He nodded repeatedly. “A true knight.”

“I’m no knight.” Rodrigo corrected.

“Nu-uh, you are! The Cutie Mark says it all.Plus if you weren’t, then my Master’s shade wouldn’t have let you duel it and claim the sword.”

“Your Master?” Rodrigo raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry if I was rude but… who are you?”

“I’m Veillantif!” He smiled brightly. “I used to be Sir Roland’s destrier, but now that you claimed the sword I’m yours.”

And he said all that with a straight face. Rodrigo blinked once and opened his mouth. No that would probably be rude. He closed his mouth, shook his head vigorously and decided to rephrase it.

“Hold on there… you’re saying that you.”He jabbed a forehoof in the green stallion’s chest. “Used to stroll around with Roland on your back?”

“Eeyup.”

“The Paladin?”

“The First of Charlemagne’s Twelve!” He nodded eagerly, eyes closed with a proud smile. He’d traveled with the best and been a good mount!

“Over a thousand years ago?”

“Yep.” He nodded again, then stopped mid-motion, eyes opening wide. “Uh… espera, ¿qué?”

“So you don’t really know what’s going on.” Rodrigo stated calmly.

“W-wait, I do! Just... not the whole details it seems?” He chuckled, sheepishly rubbing a hoof over his neck.

“Oookay, I’m confused, you’re confused, so what if you start over from the beginning and we figure out what led up to this?” Rodrigo offered sympathetically.

He was still trying to fully comprehend the mess of things that had happened and the whole deal with Durandal, Integrity and Concord. It wasn’t like he could blame this stallion for not understanding what was happening.

“Well you know, I wasn’t always like this.” Veillantif waved a hoof at himself.

“Neither was I.”

“But you were human weren’t you? I was just a regular horse born in a stable near Aachen. Well, not really regular. I’m descended from Epona. Her great grandson, so there’s that.”

Rodrigo didn’t know who this Epona was, but questions could wait for later.

“I guess that didn’t make me quite the demigod of legend, but I still was rather healthy. Healthy enough to be bought by a noble and earn a reputation. I… I was too young and my memories from that time are a bit hazy, but I guess he couldn’t afford me so I was sold off to a larger noble house. Roland’s. He wasn’t a paladin yet at the time, and he didn’t have Durandal either...” His eyes drifted to the magic sword lying in its scabbard with Rodrigo’s damaged armor. “... but that’s when I earned my role as his trusty destrier, always by his side on whatever campaign and adventure he dragged us into. He got actual warhorses later, highborn breeds, but I remained his favorite. Always.” He smiled wistfully.

“Then there’s the end to it.”

	Veillantif’s ears drooped and he sighed.

“Unfortunately. You know, I’m pretty sure Roland knew how it would end the moment we set foot in Spain, but we were riding with the Emperor. You can’t tell Charlemagne he shouldn’t put those villages to the torch, and Roland, everything he was, he owed it to Charlemagne. He was… a good man, trapped by his own allegiances.”

“What happened then?”

“You must have seen me – the old me, the shade on the battlefield- when he rode in, right? I had been with him for so long, and he knew how it would end, so he decided to set me free. But I didn’t leave. I stayed on the edge of the battle. I saw it with my own eyes. His real death I mean, not how you defeated his shade, which to be fair was rather impressive too. What killed the real Roland was when six Basque chiefs attacked him at once.” He shuddered. “I… Magic is bizarre sometimes. As he was dying he saw me, and I guess he couldn’t stand that I be captured anymore than he could picture his sword in enemy hands because next thing I know he stabs it in the ground and proclaims only a worthy adversary could claim us.”

“So you’ve been stuck for all that time?”

“I… I guess? It doesn’t feel like it happened yesterday, but my concept of time is all twisted up. I remember floating in limbo for most of that time, but then there’s a huge wave of magic and it got confusing. Great-grandmother summoned me to her realm for a little while and she turned me into...” He waved a hoof over himself. “Said my role as a destrier would be different now, but that I would still be needed. It’s weird. I never ever spoke a word prior to that, but now I know four languages, I’m pretty sure I’m literate, and I know a lot of stuff I’m certain I never learned on my own. Weird right?”

Rodrigo blinked. Yeah. Weird. Sounds about right to call it that.“So… by claiming the sword?”

“You have claimed me as your destrier, yes!” He smiled widely. “I’m pretty sure now that means I’ll do most of what a squire would usually do, so I’ll always have your back and patch you up when needed! I hope I didn’t do a bad job? It was my first time sewing up a wound.”

If pony eyes could imitate saucers, right then was about as good an example as you’d get. Before his… ‘destrier’ had the time to protest, Rodrigo had already peeled most of the bandages around his hind leg with his teeth, disregarding any searing pain the limb was sending him in protest. And…

He had actually done a damn good job of it. The place where a broadhead arrow had gone through his armor and been jostled so much the wound was a right mess… looked in good shape and on its way to a full recovery. The flesh around the wound was a healthy color, safely protected from infection by some kind of herbal unguent that spread a sharp smell around the little cottage.

“Oh right, I guess I should change the bandages then? Nice Cutie Mark by the way, do you want to make it your heraldry?”

	Rodrigo’s eyes went back to his flank… which up until then had been blank. And yes, he had met Equestrian relief teams. He knew the implication at his age. Now though? Replacing the gray fur that previously occupied this area of his body, was a heather shield superposed above a knightly lance.

“Well that’s new.”

“You probably earned it after the battle. Anyway, I found some nettles outside, so do you want some soup before I oil your sword and fix your armor?”





It was a bit harder than Artyom anticipated getting the locals to let him participate in their underground fighting ring. He didn’t have any gems on claw to wager after all, so it required a bit more finesse to get in all thanks to him looking mean and Alejandro hyping him up in Spanish.

He’d have to thank the Chief Officer later. The hyacinth macaw had stood up on a table, arms turned into wings for the extra flourish, and then boisterously proclaimed…

Well, it wasn’t like Artyom could understand a single word of Spanish, but judging by the reaction of the crowd and the interested looks the little pitch earned the blue dragon, it had its effect. Some Abyssinians were kneading the railing in front of him, and more than one D-dog bitch were flexing their muscles in anticipation.

Yet he didn’t just flare his wings and hop into the ring. There remained the matter of the wager. He couldn’t help but let out a plume of acrid black smoke from his nostrils when Alejandro told him to wait. He could see the gems on the referee's table! He wanted them for his hoard!

Uh… might want to keep those instincts in check. Last thing he wanted was to waste resources on a change of wardrobe because he got a growth spurt like Schmitt’s.

Just a few gems then?

Small ones for snacks, and a big one or two to hide under his bed couldn’t possibly hurt. Yeah that should suffice.

To Alej’s credit, it only took a minute and a slight intervention by Roberto before they actually got a deal. Not a very lucrative one, and no wager on the first match, but for every fight he won Artyom would get a small share of the betting pool.

The blue dragon smiled predatorily. Music to his ears. They passed him some jute wrappings and had Alejandro tell him the rules… which remained simple. No using claws or talons. No fire breath. No maiming, eye gouge or any such.

You’re out once you leave the ring, if you can’t get up after ten seconds, or if you’re pinned for the same time. As classic as it got. He repeated the rules to Alejandro who then nodded to the referee. Good to go. 

After peeling off both flak jacket and safety shoes, he proceeded to take off the top of his coveralls and tied it around his waist, showing off the lighter shade of blue on the scales that covered his chest and stomach. Compact muscles rippled underneath as he stretched, rolling his shoulders and cracking his wing joints.

If that wasn’t enough to tell the locals the VDV beret wasn’t just for show...

Artyom hopped over the ropes and made for his corner of the ring. Below him, he could see the aquifer through the gratings, lit up with LED’s. Best not fall too hard on that, those were no training mats. Alejandro was already in his corner, and he vaguely heard the hyacinth macaw repeat the same point the two went over every time they sparred in Amandine’s gym.

Keep your wings behind your back unless you’re using them to strike or actively want to be grappled. Watch the tail. Protect your core. Pay attention to each species’ reach – you’re not the biggest dragon-.

	And use your endurance. The one thing to remember. He was a dragon. He was durable. The longer a match went, the more it favored him.

His first opponent was an Abyssinian. A short jittery ginger cat with white stripes all over. He was bouncing up and down on the ball of his paws the moment he stepped into his own corner of the ring, bearing a smug smile and throwing look up at some of his friends every so often.

A punk wanting to show off. Easy.

Artyom went into a guard stance and waited, unmoving. He didn’t move when the bell rang on the wagers table, nor when his opponent started circling and shifting stances energetically, punctuating each move with a little cry.

Is this guy fucking serious?

Well at least he knew he could end this quick, and he did. When his adversary finally stopped the energetic posturing and went in for an actual punch, he reacted. From an outside view, the dragon might as well have turned into a blue blur with ominous red eyes as he deftly leaned out of the punch and caught the cat’s paw between his claws.

Okay, so he’s not even a prescient.

Why an empath-type Abyssinian would even want to go and fight like that was beyond him. Maybe he thought himself good enough of an empath to read his mind and anticipate his moves. Reality didn’t see it like that.

Artyom was rather gleeful when, for a fraction of a second, he saw the feline’s blue eyes go from narrow slits to dumbfounded round pupils at the realization of his fuckup.

Then came the shoulder throw combo. One the dragon had practiced several times over with Alejandro. He tossed the feline over his shoulder, spun around and delivered a powerful tail strike – mindful not to stab him with the spikes- in his flank. He landed a distance away with a breathless grunt, the impact shaking the gratings that made up the ring, the wind driven out of him. But Artyom wasn’t done.

Legs, arms, tail, wings, dragons were rather gifted in the limbs department, and training with a BJJ aficionado in the form of Alej’ meant he had gotten plenty of experience in grappling. Three seconds later, his opponent was completely immobilized, a draconic tail wrapped around his midsection, wings keeping the shoulders in check and leaving Artyom with one claw to repeatedly punch him in the kidney.

He yielded two seconds in.

“Well that was quick.” Was Alejandro’s comment when he went back to his corner of the ring. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m just keeping it brief. Don’t want to tip my claw too soon or blow it all on the first fight.” Artyom replied, surveying the crowd.

There had been some mild clapping and interested looks, but most of his attention went to the gamblers looking down at the ring from next to the bar, on the upper side of the underground chamber. Some were chatting discreetly, others making prognostics, trying to assess who would challenge the dragon next.

Because this was just the appetizer. No wager. Just a sample to make them salivate.

“Opinion, coach? You got a better ear over the crowd than I do.” Artyom joked.

Alejandro smiled conspiratorially. One of the parrot’s ears twitched slightly.

“You have their attention. Get their interest and the gems will start flowing pal.”

Artyom’s maw parted in a smile so wide his fangs glistened.

“Keep the hype flowing, I’ll make sure to deliver.”

“You got it pal.”

And as the Chief Officer launched himself in a loud tirade on the dragon that was now known throughout Georgia as the scourge of bandits that made the fiercest ex-con shiver in fright, a new opponent entered the ring. A male Diamond-dog, rather muscular.

He was one of those hairless xolo dogs, with bluish-gray skin that made him stand out starkly against his  hairier companions. He was a farm hand, with a muddy t-shirt and thick cotton pants, though he went barefoot… or paw. Modern vernacular had yet to catch up with post-Event physiology.

And as a farm hand, he lumbered and punched with the sheer force of a life spent doing blue-collar jobs, made all the more powerful by the thick arms all D-dogs sported.

It didn’t take more than two hits blocked before Artyom decided dodging the lumbering brute was better. He was smaller, faster… and more durable too. A young dragon.

The fight lasted all of the three minutes it took for the Russian to wither him with kicks and punches before an opening in his guard allowed the dragon to deliver a nauseating kick in his belly. The dog went down on his knees and yielded after that, and Artyom helped him up to his paws before leading him to the edge of the ring.

On the wagers table, a small pile of snack-sized gems appeared. His earnings.

He raised a balled claw and roared a challenge to the crowd around the chamber. Send the next one, the night was still young.





“It’s booooring.” Andy complained in Polish, the little chick sagging in her chair, pencil clattering on the floor below. “Why can’t I go play?” She half-pleaded, turning glistening eyes towards Micha across the table.

Her adoptive mother bit back a sigh and forced herself to look at her sternly. Darn kid just knew how cute she could make her pouty face to get herself out of trouble. She’d used it on Vadim already to get away from her studies because she knew how mellow he could be at times.

Well too bad young lady, you’d best learn it doesn’t work all the time.

	Not like she wasn’t affected herself, but Micha could weather the cuteness onslaught.

“You must finish your work Andy, math is important.”

“But it’s all numbers, numbers and no play!” She pointed at her plush dolphin set on a shelf by the door. “I wanna go play with Sammy!”

“Andy sweetie, it’s not because there is no school on the ship that you don’t have to study.” Micha pushed on her own chair – the planning for the next fire drill was only due next week- and went around the table to look at the chick’s sheet. “Daddy and I – did she really unironically refer to Vadim as ‘daddy’?- did a lot of effort so you still learn. You like reading with daddy, no?”

“Yeeesss...” Andy looked down at her sheet.

Basics really. Additions, subtractions, multiplication and division. Andy was just a chick after all.

“Well it can’t always be story time to learn, can it? Sometimes it’s a bit boring, but you’ll see it’s very important when you’re my age.”

	Really, however mellow he could be, Vadim was damn good at teaching her. Subtle too. He somehow managed to both teach her reading and writing skills by having her hold a journal, but he also repeatedly sneaked lessons in the stories. Basic history. Biology. Sometimes stuff kids her age shouldn’t be able to fully grasp, but he could coax the best out of her. And she loved every second of it.

Unlike Micha, sadly enough. It looked like she didn’t have the teaching fiber in her.

“But playing?”

“Playing?” Micha smiled. “Oh sweetie, do you want to know something cool? Kids that go to school, they have it boring.”

“Really mommy?”

“Really really.” The older griffon bent down to be head level with the chick, ignoring her budding headache. “When they go to school, they’re stuck. They stay the whole day. But you? If you work good, if you do it fast without a mistake, then you’re not stuck. You can go play.”

“I can? I can?!” Andy fluttered her wings eagerly.

“But only once it’s all done.” Her mother raised a talon sagely. “Then maybe you can go help Rahul with the cooking. Nguyen-”

“Kittycat!” Andy interrupted.

“Yes, Nguyen the Kittycat.” She laughed. “He’s… in bed.” Still injured, but he’d make a full recovery eventually. “So Rahul, he could use your help, no? But for that, and if you want to play, you need to do your math.”

That seemed to do the trick. There wasn’t any ill-will behind Andy’s behavior, just a bored kid faced with a boring lesson. Micha could relate. The little chick quickly retrieved her fallen pencil and resumed her work, sometimes interrupting her mother’s work to ask a question, which she was all too eager to help with by providing those quick mental calculation tricks you usually learn at school.

How her adoptive child would compare in the long run to other kids, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like there was any standardized education system anymore on the planet, just stray teachers willing to show parents the ropes in how to homeschool. Those were the kind of guidelines Micha and Vadim were following, provided by that fella ‘Mister Pauline’ in Brittany. She had her coordinates on claw.

All in all, it went decently well. Andy did her part before practically shoving her completed math under her mother’s beak with a proud look on her own. And she corrected it, and the chick had done a good job with the lesson.

The only issue was her headache had gotten worse and it made it hard to focus. She had to catch herself a few times because her attention kept slipping. Still, she finished checking and filed Andy’s math in a little cabinet in a corner of the office.

Gotta track her progress and whatnot.

“You did good Andy, that’s all for today. Wanna go play?”

	The happy squawk of a cheerful griffon chick was her reply. She smiled, tugging at the collar of her coveralls with a talon. Nomex and griffon fur in the tropical heat of Mexico… that’s just a poor combination. Maybe she should wear her hunting clothes more? Those were always lighter if… more revealing. Comfortable as she was with having mated with Vadim, the Pole still used to be a dude before the Event.

That said… she loved the looks her mate gave her whenever she put on those tighter-fitting midriff-revealing hunting clothes. He wasn’t too bad himself. Vadim really packed it compactly in the muscle department, but he trained, and she liked their foreplay, always surprising her with what lay beneath the fur… she caught herself purring at the thought.

Vadim and Micha’s quarters, made up of two Officer-sized cabins, consisted of the office she was just leaving adjacent to a tiny living room with a couch and TV… and some forgotten toys courtesy of Andy. Those occupied roughly half of the deck space renovated for the couple and their adoptive kid.

The other half, linked to the living room with a little door next to the couch, led to a little passageway with doors to the bathroom, the parents’ room and the smaller kid’s room in which she let Andy go and enjoy her free time. Micha’s gaze lingered on the decorations as the chick practically dove into her toy box, wondering how many kids she and Vadim would have and the eternal question for a griffon: egg or pregnancy?

She wasn’t even sure herself.

Hold on a second…

	Headache? Check.

Soreness? Check.

Short attention span? Check.

Baby thoughts and perving over her mate? Check.

Feeling hot even though the A/C is on full blast? Check. Vadim was only supposed to help Angelo fix it later in the afternoon.

	It was only concerns about now worrying Andy too much that prevented her from bolting out of the room and slamming the door. As calmly as she could (which at the moment wasn’t saying much), she padded over to the bathroom and basically fell down on her belly in front of the bin. The smell emanating from it confirmed more of her doubts.

See, she’d been feeling rather enthusiastic after the end of the battle and had proceeded to basically drag Vadim by his tail into the marital bedroom the moment he was back and cleared of medical duties for a night the likes of which the two seldom had.

Still, they used protection. The principle was easy to understand: unprotected sex for griffons leads to estrus. She’d only experienced it once, and keeping her talons off her mate way back then had been hard enough.

The aftermath of the night prior lay in the bin, still thoroughly coated in both her own secretions and Vadim’s semen.

One of the condoms though, as she picked it in her talons, bore a distinct tear along its length.

That was about when she felt the first trickle in her nether regions as an aching heat started to build up there.

“Kurwa.” The word left her beak in an irritated squawk.

She… needed to keep away from Vadim. No. Want to mate. Need the mate. Must make chicks. Gah, and there were the instincts, filling her mind with images, wondering how it may feel to carry eggs, a clutch of chicks. What would they-

“Goddammit no!” She growled to herself under her breath.

Great. Now she was rubbing herself against the floor like a cat in heat and was cradling the broken condom against her nether regions.

She had an inkling her previous managing to ride out her heat was more owed to luck than actual willpower. Maybe Tanya and Boris accidentally conceiving two eggs shortly after mating wasn’t all that surprising.

Gotta stay away from Vadim. Get help. Help… Aleksei! Maybe the fertility cleric could help her. She didn’t even need to cancel the estrus. Just… a quick contraception cantrip would do. In a daze, Micha hobbled into her bedroom, though only after rubbing her sides against every piece of furniture from there to the bathroom.

She almost blinked blearily at the interphone on her nightstand. She was squeezing a pillow between her thighs then. That warmth in her nether regions was getting unbearable… and the pillowcase most likely ruined.

Bedsheets too. She was kneading the mattress with her claws out. Darn it.

So where would Aleksei be now? She was uh… right! Vehicle bay. Her talons clicked against the buttons and composed the number. Then the line beeped. And it beeped. For all of two minutes.





In another plane of existence entirely, a large mare goddess looked down into her scrying pond with a small smile. For good or for ill, Amandine’s sailors were something Epona was observing with increasing frequency. Mostly because her first cleric in this age sailed alongside them – and that was one slow-burn gambit in its own right-, but also because there was something genuinely interesting in their wandering around the world.

Though… Maybe these sailors were a bit too good at contraception and the whole concept of safe sex. Only one couple had slipped and procreated by accident, and the rest were just having at it.

She couldn’t even blame her cleric for that. Few of her shipmates came to Aleksei asking for magic contraception.

Still, Epona was one to think there’s a purpose to sex beyond mindless fun. So when those two griffons Aleksei was friends with did a minor mistake… well, it could use a little nudge in the right direction. Nothing much. Just delay the interphone call long enough that Aleksei would be gone by the time the call went through.





“Sorry Micha, you missed her by a minute. She should be back tomorrow in the morning. Recce mission, understand? No nothing big, they’re just getting farming equipment. Yeah, have a nice day.” Greet’s voice came with an apologetic tone over the phone.

Micha bit back a frustrated scream and slammed the interphone back in its place. One. Fucking. Minute.

Her hind legs squeezed around the now soaked pillow. This was going to be a long day.





Part one. But it takes two to tango and griffons only ever love their mate. However… Epona could see him with the scrying pond. Somewhere lower in the bowels of Amandine, overhauling the ventilation.

Another little nudge would do.

Olfactory factors are all too often underestimated. 





In that aspect? The male griffon typically doesn’t suffer from estrus the same way his mate would… but scent is such a big thing. A single whiff can get them riled up like no one’s business, and if anything the moment their nostrils catch that alluring scent, and with how powerful their instincts can get…

In reasonable circumstances Micha would have just told Vadim to avoid her for the rest of the day and they would have stood a chance.

With Epona at play and having caught an interest in the couple… 

Poor Vadim had been working on the ventilation when, thanks to divine intervention, the scent of Micha just so happened to filter all the way through to him. The effects were clear. First he started daydreaming about his mate.

Then he found himself with the most raging hard-on he’d had in a week.

And the rest of the symptoms came in. Faster heartbeat. Short attention span. Feeling so hot he was tempted to just rip off his coveralls, tail lashing from side to side.

He’d been working with Angelo at the time, but the minotaur, though he noticed, didn’t put the pieces together quick enough. By the time he did, Vadim had already slipped away, lured by the sweet scent of his hen in heat.





Epona smiled. With how they were caring for their adopted chick, it wasn’t like these two couldn’t handle a few kids more.





In Starswirl’s tower, the mechanical arms of his device clicked and clanged as they drew the requisite spell matrices. Progress had been made, and now was the time to put it to the test. In the middle of the slab, standing awkwardly as the arms contorted around her to draw with chalk and spread salts wherever needed, was Miles, naked.

Not that it was much of a problem with ponies, but you tell that to a former human. Her armor and camouflaged poncho lay in a pile next to the staircase.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” She inquired.

“If by that you mean ‘better than the last attempts’, then yes.” Starswirl looked up from his grimoire after selecting an array of scanning and measurement spells.

“So what’s different this time?” Starlight asked him.

Yes, there was a bit of an… audience in a fashion. Rockhoof had come to see, mostly because if he managed to make the spell last long enough then that would make flying carriages viable to travel over Broceliande. Emeric was there too, her fellow lieutenant present both out of curiosity and concern for her.

Trixie and Starlight were there too, both in the process of researching the Carnac lined stones and what they might need to do to repair them.

And lastly, Meadow had come with Martin. Both sat on their haunches next to Rockhoof, Meadow quietly telling her adoptive son about how some plants could be turned into effective antiseptics.

“The difference resides in how the spell is woven. A normal hex would be in one ‘piece’ with the duration and other specificity interwoven into it. Since your human magic and Equestrian magic conflict and disrupt it, that has been replaced with a prefix that should ahem… scramble both is the simplest way to put it.” Starswirl explained. “It’s like putting a fuse on the spell matrix that you weave yourself. The core of it doesn’t change much and remains mostly the same, but instead of putting more magic into it to have it last longer, you need to lengthen the prefix spell matrix. As time goes on, both your magics will unravel the prefix until it’s worn out and the core matrix is hit. Then, the hex dissolves itself and the effects fade.”

“In theory?” Miles quirked her head.

“In theory, yes. At least it’s a method I know can be relatively easily done on the field and shouldn’t require ritual circles.”

“So why am I standing in the middle of your slab?”

“That would be because I can’t cast twelve different spells at once.” He told her. “The hex is one thing, but I also need my scans to know if it worked as I expected. If it does do that, then I should have a means of making a more permanent version to keep you a stallion, understand?”

Miles was silent for a few seconds, looking over her own body, shaggy purple fur and all. For once that she went around naked, her thundercloud Cutie Mark was laid bare for the world to see. She fluffed up her wings, trying to hide herself a bit behind the primaries.

“Yeah. Is it ready?”

The last brass arm came down and drew a salt circle around her before dropping three gems at hundred-and-twenty degrees intervals each.

“Now it is.” Starswirl’s stare turned more serious.

She nodded sharply. He activated the spell.

The atmosphere in the room flared up at once with a feeling of electricity that made her fur stand on end as all the ritual circles beneath her came aglow with various shades of the rainbow, some particles even floating up in the air as the reagents started channeling the magic.

It shone so much she had to close her eyes and lose track of the room around her. Then there was a lurch, a strange one, as if something violently tugged at her whole being but she remained firmly in place.

And that was it. Miles opened his eyes to survey the room. A burnt smell mixed with the lingering scent of spell reagents and ozone permeated his nostrils, but beyond the burned out ritual circles around him, everything was alright. Starswirl had shifted to Merlin form, the old human wizard busy flicking through his grimoire and nodding appreciatively at the data his spells had collected.

The others were staring at him with round eyes. Finally, he looked down.

As a mare, Miles had already been pretty tall. Now, it looked like that had increased some more, making him a rather lanky pegasus stallion, still with his shaggy purple fur that had now lengthened into feathering around his fetlocks. His wings had gained a moderate amount of wingspan to compensate for the growth, making the proportion remain mostly the same, and even his tail was much the same.

His muzzle however had gained the angular traits stallions usually bore, and his flanks didn’t widen into a mare-ish rump anymore, being more taut and lightly muscled, as would be expected of a pegasus. His mane was a bit shorter too, which only served to further highlight how spikey the ivory hair could be.

Good progress already. The transformation lasted long enough that he could inspect the results.

Disregarding those around him, he bent his head and looked between his hind legs. His heart filled with relief. There it was. Okay it wasn’t really the human deal, what with being tucked in a sheath, but he’d rather have that and the balls behind between his legs than a slit and a pair of teats.

Mare sex was fun, but he was male at heart.

“It worked! It finally worked!” He jumped up in the air with his wings spread and pumped a forehoof, hearing some mild clapping (well, clop-ping, everyone made do with hooves) around the room.

“That it did. Satisfied?” Merlin asked, confidently folding his arms across his chest.

“Y-yes! Absolutely!” Miles landed.

“Excellent. Now...” The wizard leaned on his enormous grimoire. “For the more serious aspect of this change. The way I set the prefix, the spell should hold up for three days. Keep an eye on the clock, because we need to know how much of a difference there is between theory and reality.”

“It can last longer than that?”

Merlin shook his head.

“I’d be surprised if it did. In all likelihood and with what my first scans spotted, it probably will be shorter than that.  A few hours, a whole day, I can’t tell just yet. But once you turn back into a mare, come to me and I’ll set you up with something better.”

“Alright mister Merlin! See you in a while!” Miles mock-saluted with his wing before he dashed out of the room, grabbing his now too-small set of armor in passing.

“Well, there’s one good thing done.” Merlin smiled, slamming his grimoire shut before shifting back to pony form. “Now if the spell holds even a third of the length it should, then it means I can give your subordinates wings, Rockhoof. And that’s our logistics solved.”

And while most of the occupants in the room were left to plan how to deploy flying carriages around Broceliande, send an expedition to Carnac or plainly teach a fawn magic… Emeric sat on his haunches in a corner, an unreadable look on his muzzle. The bronze-furred unicorn just wasn’t sure what to make of his emotions at the moment.

Weird to see a mare you’ve slept and heard moan turn into a stallion and rejoice about it.

With a sigh, he stood up and shook himself like a wet dog. He’d have all the time he wanted to mull it over. Miles was the lieutenant to manage patrols and venture into the forest. He was the tech ell-tee managing the fortifications. Except for training the guards and ensuring the villagers were alright, he was mostly left to his own devices in his office in the castle’s attic with the radio station.

Still… that was Miles’ choice. If she… er, he preferred to be a stallion, who was he to complain? Plenty of mares left to date. Plenty of does, too. Ponies had no issue reproducing with Everfree Deer, a fact more understood than mentioned.
> Chapter 102: Demonic Stirrings
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner watched Pedro recline in his seat, silent after the Captain had finished his little pitch on the WSU and what they were doing in Belem, finding colonies and salvaging specific equipment. A parrot hen had come in as Marcos was translating, and judging by the embrace she gave Pedro, that was his wife, clad in an equally ancient 19th century dress complete with frills and a lace apron. She was a scarlet macaw like him, but she didn’t address the sailors directly, just opting to leave the room and bring back some wine before she went to look at the eggs in the incubator Skinner could see in a corner of the room.

He had to give it to the eccentric parrot, he’d managed to land himself a pretty statuesque hen as wife, and they’d conceived successfully apparently.

She didn’t stay long however. When Praveen stood up to go and catch a breath of fresh air, the hen followed Skinner’s subordinate outside, to keep the guest company most likely. He couldn’t fault Praveen, the headquarters were pretty stuffy and the feline’s fur was thick.

Pedro didn’t mind, just rubbing beaks with his wife before she sauntered out of the office after Praveen.

“Ah… how lucky I am to have her by my side. This venture would be so much harder without her company, but let’s not distractourselves from the topic at claw. You make a compelling argument Skinner...” Pedro paused politely to let Marcos do the translation, swirling his wine in his glass. The eclectus parrot seemed to have a few difficulties with the accent and properly conveying the right degree of speech. “… and I do believe your organization has the right train of thought. Belem would benefit a lot from trading with the wider world. There is just...” His eyes took a more careful edge. “You do understand that my interests lie with Brazil first and foremost, correct? I’m willing to rely on trade, but you should expect me to implement protectionist measures as soon as civilization is sufficiently implemented that it would benefit my people.”

“I could never blame a leader for having the interests of his people at heart, quite the contrary.” Skinner said diplomatically. “But in all honesty, I do not see the use in thinking that far in the long term just yet, don’t you agree? How long would it be before a single set of colonies – a proto-country really- could have enough industries, enough people, to sustain itself without imports and exports? Five years? Ten years? The whole point of the WSU is to help civilization not regress in the meantime.”

“You are right, I just felt the warning was necessary.”

“And I thank you for telling us ahead of time. Now, as for what we can do in the now, I did tell you we also needed to retrieve equipment in addition to helping locals. Would you have an issue with us doing this?”

That made the Ornithian pause. As regal as ever, he set down his wine glass and looked at the bust of Dom Pedro II decorating his desk, claws drumming against the arm of his chair. Skinner looked on expectantly.

“What kind of salvage are we talking about?”

“Multiple kinds. For one, we need to recycle fuel from the shore tanks at the oil terminal. The technology for oil recycling can be provided to you and any other colonies in the region so that you may be able to use spoiled fuels for power. Additional, clean oil likely will be available through import at an ulterior date.” Pedro threw him a look. “Other ships in the fleet, currently helping repair a refinery. In Mexico.” The parrot nodded in understanding.

“Deal. Take however much oil you want so long that you refuel the tanks of the Solimoes in front of the fort. She’s no good for sailing anymore, but she has her uses. We use her to store fuel for our generators, and the gun battery is worth something as well. I’ll want the blueprints for the oil recycler too. What else?”

“Parts and materials are always useful on a ship where something can break down any instant. Our food stores are in no need of an urgent resupply -though fresh food is always welcome- and my sailors always like to scour the remains of shops and shopping centers for personal knick-knacks...”

“To the point, please?” Pedro waved his talons.

Now how to say they wanted art pieces to sell the HPI without revealing their existence… Skinner’s grip around his broken fingers tightened, the pain making his heart beat faster. This would need a bit more rest and potions to fix.

“We are always on the lookout for pieces of art for the sake of preservation. Many museums have been left derelict and their galleries, left abandoned, could lose decades of human culture which must be protected. In addition, our intel attests to the presence of military installations in the city which we are interested in for the sake of ordnance and heavy weapons.”

“Why, aren’t you merchants?”

“The sea has become a dangerous place. I do not know whether you are aware, but sea monsters roam the depths and pirates backed by demons prowl the waves. Recently, a pirate warship which we now suspect to be in West Africa has attacked and caused serious damage and loss of life to a budding colony in Sao Paulo.”

“They DARE attack Brazil?!” Pedro squawked out loudly. “This affront cannot stand! These ruffians must be sunk and hung to the last soul!!”

Bold claim, expecting a demonic pirate to have an intact soul. But Skinner decided to remain silent and let the wannabe emperor work out his rage. Eventually, the parrot stopped his monologue on Brazil being beset by enemies within and without and sat back down, still fuming. The hedgefog watched the wannabe Emperor open a drawer on his desk and pull out a thin cigarette.

“Please, excuse my outburst. The matter is… Brazil as a country has so much potential, but has for decades on end proven… imperfect. Since Dom Pedro II was evicted in fact. I do not blame my predecessor, he was a good Emperor, he fought for our cause for decades on end. But he shouldn’t have given up and refused to stand up to the revolutionists when they came knocking.”

“I must admit… I’m not familiar with your country’s history.” Skinner admitted. “Violence and corruption issues, I’m aware of, but not what you’re claiming is the cause.” He shrugged honestly, though curious as to the motives behind the exuberant leader.

Again, Marcos translated for them and Pedro reclined in his seat, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Believe it or not, but I am of the opinion date back to my predecessor’s attempts to abolish slavery, because it highlights a key element in this country. The upper class were those who fought Pedro II when he tried to free the slaves, and they’re the same ones who mustered a revolution to evict him in his late years. They, the ex-slaves, created the Republic and wormed their way inside its institutions.” The parrot sneered. “People willing to put fellow human beings in chains for the sake of profit, then turned to corruption to fill their pockets. I understand the Republic had some good in it, and there are many names in the last century to prove that, folks that tried to better our country… but the root of our evil was never removed. Nor curtailed. Without an Imperial family to keep it in check, it opened the doors to agents of violence and poverty, demoralizing our nation and letting their countrymen wallow in filth and grow cynical about ever solving the situation. That is why the Empire is needed, because no matter what happens, these people will come back and we need an Emperor to keep them in check.”

He paused briefly, squashing his cigarette in an ashtray by Pedro II’s bust.

“So believe me, this situation is hard enough to tackle on its own. To hear budding colonies in this country are under attack and that external causes could bring any progress we make back down to zero… is outright enraging. Brazil does not need that.”

“I understand.” Skinner nodded calmly. “Pardon my detachment, but such a threat must be gauged with a calm mind. We will share all the data we have on these pirates and the demons they serve and we’ll even give you the coordinates to call the remains of the colony in Sao Paulo. I read somewhere that Captain Cordeira had relocated inland, away from Santos, they’re fine. Can we get back to the art and weapons?”

“Very well.” Pedro leaned forward. “Hear this: provided you help us retrieve our share, the second pick of art and first pick of weapons shall be yours to claim. I will also require of you that you help us set the means to avoid a Sao Paulo-level incident. By which I mean, defensive positions and – if such can be achieved- a patrol fleet to control the river delta and possibly evacuate in case of assault.”

“That is a deal I can agree with.” Skinner nodded sagely. “Armament for our ships and your colony. By the way, may I learn more about the current situation in Belem?”

In all fairness, the city wasn’t as deserted as its overgrown status would have you believe, at least so Pedro claimed. There were a couple raider gangs he was frequently contending with and were the main reason he had chosen the fort as his base, though the main threat in the city remained monsters and the usual jungle-related troubles.

Either were something the parrot could deal with handily and would bring under his heel soon enough.

Local survivors, according to him, preferred to stick to a nomadic lifestyle of scavenging and foraging for fruits and berries that grew at an impressive pace from the vegetation, which made them generally hard to track down and hard to convince to join his colony. With the difficulties related to farming because the jungle grew so quick, most hardly saw a point in staying in one place and preferred to hop from one safehouse to another to make it harder for raiders to track them down.

With one notable exception.

“I’ll lead you to them. I figure if we can figure out an industry around here, they’re the right folks to ask.”

“Who?”

The Amazon Institute of Botanical Sciences. O Instituto as the locals called it. Academics and researchers that had grouped up in the ruins of the botanical gardens, fortified them with bizarre vegetation and advanced tech and then gone into isolation. Their teams could sometimes be seen exploring the jungle and taking samples, but otherwise they preferred to stick to their compound and trade with the odd scavenger that passed nearby.

Skinner blinked.

“Pedro, were there any airships passing through this summer? Aliens maybe? Ponies that described themselves as relief teams?”

“No such thing. That can happen?”

“It could at one point. I… I haven’t met any personally, but some Captains I know, have. And these aliens passed on seeds and indications to plant what would qualify as ‘bizarre vegetation’, among other things like data on the species we turned into… which if you don’t have it I’ll have to leave you a copy of.”

“What for?”

“Potions. Lilian, could you pass me some first-aid grade? Yes, thank you.” He accepted the little glowing vial with a paraffin cover. “This is what you could say is the most common potion my acquaintances make. Healing potion, first-aid grade. There exists another, advanced healthcare variant, but it’s far more costly and time-consuming to make. We only have a short supply. Either type is extremely useful.” He explained, drinking up the whole vial to soothe his wounds from the fight with the cipactli.

“So they could have met a relief team and obtained seeds?” Pedro rubbed a talon against the underside of his beak. “Makes sense. Shall we organize an expedition to go and ask them?”

“In due time. For now, I think we’ve talked long enough. I need to see that my ship is moored around a secure perimeter. May I get your coordinates? Satellite phone number? The services are still working, I’m sure you’d like to visit my ship too.”

And now he needed to report to the rest of the fleet. At least for now it was going better than Dominica. His ribs throbbed, reminding him of his wounds.

Marginally better.





	If there was one thing Artyom couldn’t complain about, it was the locals rising up to his challenge and taking their turn to have a go at the Russian that was putting their comrades on their back on after another. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Most of the victories he’d accrued so far were just laying punks and the odd farm hand on their back, so the wagers were low and his share slim.

But when he took a pause to let some other fighters have a go at it while he himself catched a breather (and a beer), then he noticed the bets pile on. He straightened up his beret with his claw, a grin forming on his maw to reveal glistening fangs.

“You know, now I understand why people think you’re scary when you’re happy.” Roberto joked at the display.

“Their loss.” Artyom chuckled in the hoarse manner dragons usually did, counting his earnings so far, a little pile of gleaming gems. He popped a penny-sized ruby in his mouth, savoring the spicy tang. “You done your business with the head farmer?”

“Yeah we have. It’s all good.” Alejandro confirmed. “Rest of the evening we can stay here if you like the atmosphere.”

“I like? Pal I’m on a roll! Haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

“Eh, no worries with that, we’re here all night if you keep up the fighting.” Roberto smiled as a female abyssinian sauntered over to give him a beer.

He ignored her. He was already taken, and empath as he was the Italian could read between the lines. Nothing he wanted to be involved in.

The beer was good though. Local and on the tap? Sign him up.

Artyom’s little pause soon ended and the fights began anew in earnest. Now that the random punks knew better, he was actually getting to fight the worthwhile combatants, with the first in line being an off-duty militia trooper, an abyssinian with a knack for fighting dirty that he showed by trying to knee the Russian in the balls.

The cheap shot landed. Artyom was unfazed.

“It’s all internals on dragons, dumbass.” He growled, decking the flabbergasted trouble and laying him flat on his back. “Can’t hit a drake in the balls if it's protected behind scales.”

And on that note he pinned the feline and scored another win.

To be fair… it was an unintuitive detail you had to know of and he himself had been rather shocked on the first day of his transformation when the only thing he saw there was a slit spilling the smooth light blue scales that went from his throat to the underside of his tail. Personal inspection and experience, however, revealed that his penis was kept sheathed beneath those scales and that if he wanted he could coax it out by shoving a claw in there.

The testicles? Diagrams from the Equestrian relief teams they met in Copenhagen and further medical scans told they were kept safely protected behind a layer of muscle, with a fat cushion for protection. Draconic anatomy was meant to be durable.

A tried and true technique like the kick in the balls was thus more than useless on dragons. You’d have better luck going for the wings. Those were vulnerable skin, however leathery the texture was.

Too bad for his opponent, and a welcome addition to his earnings this evening.

Next up was the first D-dog bitch of the evening, and not a genderswap either. She entered the ring with a short-sleeved shirt and knee-length khakis, actually looking rather confident as she put the jute wrappings around her paws. Confidence that wasn’t entirely unwarranted because she did pack a wallop and had a decent amount of speed to back up her punches and kicks. As much as he wanted to just dodge instead of weathering the blows, she didn’t let him and pushed his draconic resilience to its limit in her unrelenting assault.

She was strong.

She was fast.

She had good form.

She didn’t manage her stamina, overeager.

Her blows slowed down eventually, much in the same fashion that Artyom knew he could beat Alejandro when they sparred just through sheer endurance. The large canine in front of him had her maw open, tongue hanging out and panting as she struggled to keep up.

“Sorry lass, better luck next time.” The dragon’s red eyes glinted with mirth as he ducked inside her guard for the finishing blow.

A solid boob punch sent her reeling with a loud yelp as she backpedaled, opening her up for a flurry of kicks and punches that pushed her towards the edge of the ring. Still moving to get away from the dragon, her eyes widened, realizing he was aiming for a ring out and she shifted her weight in hopes of bringing herself back towards the center of the ring.

It worked in that it killed Artyom’s strategy… but only by handing him an easier solution. Her footing was off, and a tail sweep later her back was hitting the ground with a resounding crash. Exhausted, she tapped out before he could move in for the pin.

“Nice fight.” He commented, offering her his hand.

She took it begrudgingly and stood up, still panting and mumbling under her breath in Spanish as she left the ring and more gems joined Artyom’s earnings.

Two more bitches took their turn and failed as well. Both part of Samuel’s militia, though only the second one was an ex-mil. The first Artyom defeated by exploiting bad footwork to sweep her off her legs every time she tried to stand up.

The other, a German shepherd bitch with a greasy tank top and faded camo pants, was more complicated and gave him quite a few bruises under his scales. She was obviously skilled in melee and knew most of the tricks you’d learn in the military. She did her best to back him into a corner of the ring with a series of elbow punches and knee kicks that kept her guard compact and hard to penetrate.

So he improvised. It was Mexico after all, so why not mimic a luchador?

By that he meant he clambered on top of the nearest ring post, opened his wings halfway and somersaulted above her, wrapping his arms around her neck to put her in a chokehold, tail around her waist and wings doing their best to hamper her sight and keep her arms in check.

It worked and he won, but at a cost. Trying to dislodge him, the bitch had let herself drop to the ground on her back and knocked the wind out of him, in addition to painfully jarring his wing sockets from the impact. But he stayed latched onto her neck, smaller, as she elbowed him to get him off. It didn’t work, and her oxygen reserves depleting, she gave up. That victory actually earned him genuine cheers from the crowd after his little stunt, a larger share of gems than usual joining his pile.

Unfortunately, that fight wore him down a bit too much.

When the next pair of fighters entered the ring, he still hadn’t recovered fully to face that duo of abyssinians. Siblings, both Siamese cats with identical fur patterns clad in matching wrestling shorts. The only difference between the two was the headband the male wore as counterpart to his sis’ sport bra. Abyssinian not varying a lot in size from male to female, both shared the same general stature.

And they were a dynamic duo for sure. Artyom widened his guard and lashed with tail and wings to keep them at bay, but they were fast, swerving and ducking below his blows as they went from hopping forward to backward to dance in and out of his reach. They were cats. If he could have landed a solid blow, it would have been decisive, but they didn’t let him. His punches would brush against their fur but did little more than graze the agile fighters.

At that point he was pretty damn sure the two of them were prescients, the manner in which they dodged was too purposeful, too eerie.

To his credit, they had to keep up their stamina and couldn’t keep up the attack all the time. One had to hop on the backfoot to catch his breath while the other sibling kept him busy. That alone was the main reason  why the fight wore on past the ten minutes mark.

But he was already at his limits and his stamina finally failed him. He saw the two nod to each other, tail brushing against the other’s in what he assumed to be a silent communication before they both went for it. The sis came in first and he just about managed to block her, only to discover the diversion when her brother slid between her legs and delivered an upward kick in his stomach. He stumbled back, belching acrid smoke and boiling-hot spittle that sizzled against the ring’s grates.

They weren’t done.

Elegantly, the brother had rolled forward to his knees and allowed his sister to run up his back and use him as a springboard. Front flipping through the air, she planted both legs on Artyom’s chest, muscles coiled. Then she bounced off, and he was catapulted out of the ring while she landed on her brother’s shoulder with a flourish addressed to the crowd.

He stared blankly for a few seconds, taking a few seconds to catch his breath as Roberto and Alejandro rushed over, then he couldn’t help but laugh when they stood him up.

“That was amazing!” He commented, reaching the edge of the ring to shake paws. “You two really are fantastic, that was a fun fight!” He told the two Mexicans.

“You fight good too, Russia man.” The sister of the duo complimented him after a short pause. Her accent was thick, she wasn’t a fluent speaker.

“Artyom. My name is Artyom.” The dragon pointed at himself.

“Anamaria.” She replied. “And my brother, Javier.” She added, pointing a digit at her brother who came to shake hands. Unlike her, he didn’t speak a single word of English, but the tone he used when he spoke to Artyom sounded positive.

“Well Anamaria, I don’t know about you, but if my ship stays in Mexico long enough then I’d be eager to have a rematch.” He said, trying to keep his pronunciation clear. “To fight again.” He added after seeing her furrow her brows, not understanding.

He spent the rest of the evening before they drove back to the refinery drinking with Roberto and Alejandro, counting his hefty earnings as the dynamic duo fought on in the ring below. They sure were entertaining to watch when you weren’t in the ring, jumping and backflipping all over the place in a very theatrical, coordinated manner.

His display in the ring had also attracted some interest as a few cats and dogs dropped by at his table to congratulate him and comment on a particularly good move in rudimentary English for those who didn’t ask Alejandro to do the translation.

Eventually though, they had to make it back to the surface of the hacienda to join the convoy headed to replace the night shift.

As good an evening as they get.





The next day...

Vadim awoke feeling numb and sluggish, still tired. The consequence of griffon sex as he’d come to learn. Sure the whole species wasn’t exactly into rough sex, but the way it fired up every last nerve in your body with small, minute movements still burned through a surprising amount of energy. You didn’t feel sore waking up, but there was this lingering numbness and tingling in all your limbs, the exhaustion. Not a bad feeling, but not one that encouraged you to get out of bed either, much less when considering Vadim had his wings lovingly wrapped around Micha’s still snoozing form.

His beak creased in a soft smile and he nuzzled her neck feathers, soft white pillowy down…

And then his mind rebooted fully and he pieced together what had happened. The smile faded away and he lifted his head.

Their bedroom was a complete mess of discarded clothes – some shredded by needy talons-, stains, bedsheets kicked aside, talon marks and… no, he didn’t see a single condom in there.

Oh no…

He felt his mate’s breathing quicken. She was waking up, those green highlights around her eyes parting to reveal raptor orbs he could lose himself into forever. He was a griffon, mated, he couldn’t not love his mate with his whole being and found himself clutching her tighter, nostrils practically inhaling her scent… forever interlaced with his through their mating.

That in turn woke Micha up fully and she automatically went to wrap his tail around her own… and then she noticed the look on his features. The process was the same, she raised her head, looked around crestfallen at the mess caused by them fucking all night like the proverbial rabbits, and then her eyes widened some more when she saw what was missing.

“Kurwa.” She growled under her breath, a sinking feeling in her gut. Instinctively, she stroked her belly with her talons, letting herself sink in Vadim’s embrace.

She liked when he did that. There wasn’t much of size difference between male and female griffons, they fell in the same weight class, but the mass was split differently. For males like him, the mass that would have gone into making a hen’s rump wider and giving her a larger wingspan, instead bestowed them with a broader chest she liked sinking herself into, with bulkier forelegs that were so comforting to have wrapped around her.

“That about sums it up, right?” He replied quietly in Polish. “How did this happen?”

“Broken condom.” She sulked. “I only realized too late. Tried to call Aleksei but she was...”

“On a mission. And I was working on the ventilation.” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “That’s some serious bad luck don’t you think? You’re not angry at me I hope?”

“Come on Vad’, I remember this. You had as little control over your urges as I had. We both have a claw in this.” She comforted him.

It takes two to tango, and two to take responsibility.

“Is there some kind of course correction we still have?” She asked… almost rhetorically in fact.

Because no, there wasn’t. Human morning-after pills weren’t tailored for their species. Condom worked off course, they were a mechanical barrier… until they broke.

As for magic and potions… asking for a solution most likely went against Aleksei’s duties as a fertility cleric, and Vadim was damn certain Rhine Forest didn’t have ingredients or potions for that in their hydroponics.

“So… we’re going to be parents.” Vadim concluded his explanation.

She had already pieced together by then, but why did her gut tighten with this sinking feeling when she heard his words? Maybe… maybe she’d hoped since he was the Medical Officer he’d know something she didn’t… In contrast to the sinking feeling, her wilder instincts crowed out in success, for now kept isolated in a corner of her mind.

If anything her instincts’ reaction only solidified the fact that she was indeed fertilized.

“Technically we already are.” She whispered.

Oh God, Andy! Did the kid hear any of their wild fucking or… oh that was so embarassing.

“Reminds me someone’s gonna be happy she’ll have siblings soon… and that we’re due telling her about the birds and bees I’m afraid.” He couldn’t help but wince at the prospect.

“Don’t remind me.” Her beak twisted, mimicking his wince. “How long did we even go at it? I’m starving!”

“All evening and all night I believe. It’s eleven in the morning.” Which also meant they’d better hope someone noticed what was happening and that they were not just skimming on their duties. The verbal lashing would still be there but at least they had an excuse and… okay, that was rather likely actually. Someone had slipped a note under their door. He’d have to read it later, first they needed to do some serious talking. “You want to talk about...”

“I’m not sure.” Micha looked off to the side, still a bit shocked at the amount of chaos two rutting griffons could unleash upon a single bedroom. “We already agreed that we wanted more kids in the future but I was hoping we would be in a more stable situation before it happened. You know, we wanted to have a headquarters, some ashore before it happened.”

Books said griffons conceived in clutches of two, much like Tanya had when she laid her eggs. Raising and homeschooling one cub was already enough of a challenge… this was going to require some serious thinking.

“So we need to bump up our plans and figure out, well… something.” Vadim mused. “Either way, which way do you want it? Pregnancy or eggs?”

	She wasn’t sure. She had seen Tanya and talked to the fellow hen about her experience and… well, both were former males. She was genuinely curious as to what she should expect on this side of the equation.

“I’m not sure.”

“You want to talk to Tanya.”

	Both types of reproduction had their own appeal. She had a bit of time before she needed to decide whether to crank up the heating or the A/C. She hugged closer to Vadim.

Minutes later they were going at it again, for stress relief. Eh, if the outcome was already decided anyway they both might use the opportunity for unprotected sex. After all, they may have bucket loads of condoms available on board, but nobody was making them anymore and they had an expiration date.

Now if the sailors on Rhine Forest figured out a universal contraception potion, they’d be guaranteed to make a killing out of their onboard hydroponics.





Meanwhile, outside, events far less intimate were taking place all across the refinery complex. Engineering sailors had been dispatched in teams to assist the oil workers in reactivating the facility and ridding it of whatever damage had been caused since the Event, including what had been damaged during Los Lobos’ assault on the refinery. Along with that, and Amandine’s engineering department having to spare some manpower to repair the damage inflicted on their Piranhas APC’s and to the CV90’s armor, extra measures had been taken to further fortify the whole facility.

Now, Coatzacoalcos was far from badly set when it came to military installations, owing a significant naval presence and the installations that came with it to its strategic importance and the need to protect the oil wells off the shore. Multiple installations could thus be found in the area.

A naval hospital, the same one Vadim’s team had salvaged for equipment to reactivate the clinic within the refinery.

A station for Marines, next to said reactivated clinic that Samuel was now using as the HQ for his militia, it being also within the security perimeter of the refinery. It wasn’t big, but the few edifices were positioned just on the northern edge of the refinery in a quasi peninsula positioned perfectly to keep an eye on the river, the nearest bridge, the port’s entrance, and the channel that branched off towards the refinery.

Plus it came with a lot of spare room the militia’s commander was all too happy to use to create stores and workshops for the plethora of military equipment he felt was necessary to defend the installations, which beyond the obvious guns, body armor and imported humvees Marines needed;  also included speedboats, armored cars mounted with MILAN ATGM’s, a mortar battery and a host of howitzers they still weren’t entirely sure where to install. No aircraft though. They could have found some, but pilots were a rarity the colony was unfortunately not gifted with.

Lastly was a naval base on the opposite side of the river from the Marines station. The position made it inadequate to settle (not to mention uncomfortable to live in, Samuel’s militia avoided the barracks and slept at the hacienda for a reason), but it hosting a repair yard meant the sailors found plenty of parts and tools to retrieve which Carmelita didn’t object to, since the oil workers had little to no need for the equipment. Intel suggested the base had held a floating drydock at some point, unfortunately it seemed that its status as technically mobile meant it was whisked away as any ship would with the Event.

However, the warehouse next to it held enough metal plating and spare girders to start turning the refinery’s outer perimeter into a steel rampart. Combined with the extra weapons and guns found on base, along with shoreside radars, it promised to give a nasty surprise to any former cartel, sea monster or pirate that tried to take the refinery, be it by sea or by land.

Paired with the hacienda’s highly defensive position, adding a gun truck to the daily commute between there and the refinery to complement its usual humvees, and they were pretty much set so long that they kept to defensive tactics.

The problem was that they would have to sally out at some point to get rid of Los Lobos, particularly given their recent victory and the presence of the sailors putting them at an advantage… though they were still licking their wounds. The issue wasn’t without its arguing and random shouting of expletives as neither Carmelita, Samuel, the foreman Enrique or even any of the Captains agreed on how to go about it.

Unlike that, the waterborne side of things was smooth sailing. Rhine Forest had set to deploy her fleet of auxiliaries. A torpedo escort would usually remain on standby in the middle of the fairway to keep a radar and sonar coverage while the oil workers installed their own defenses and sensors. The trawlers would frequently leave in groups accompanied by the remaining torpedo escort to buff up their food supply, and they also sent one out with a group of hippogriff so that they could switch to seapony form and go inspect the subsea templates attached to the wells that provided the refinery with gas and oil.

That part went well. Offshore engineering was as sturdy as it got.

Rhine Forest had even enough time to spare to let one of her tugs maneuver around the cove with the cadets at the helm under the watchful eye of Josselin, their supervising Officer. Ensuring that the Officers-to-be got enough practical training and opportunities to get a feel of how to maneuver might as well be as important if not more than keeping the actual Officers sharp.

And amidst all that, Aleksei’s team had left on ever more recce missions.





The main goal of the recce mission wasn’t even to retrieve farming equipment just yet. In fact, it was something Dilip wasn’t too eager to announce out loud as he only told Aleksei quietly what it was all about.

Of the tourists they had helped repatriate from Cuba, some had joined the oil workers and settled into a routine, but an equally large group had expressed their desire to return to the capital city back when they reached Coatzacoalcos, which was fine. They’d been given a vehicle, a fuel tank of gasoline and enough supplies to last them until Mexico City.

The issue?

Their disappearance. There was a teenage girl in the group when they left with a souped up bus. Talkative on the radio, and she’d frequently reported the status of their voyage. Of course they’d notice when her calls stopped entirely. Something had happened.

And so the whole recce team packed their gear and, as per usual, piled up in a Defender 130 before leaving, set to trace the vanished party’s tracks.

In essence it was rather simple. The road from Coatzacoalcos to Mexico City was straightforward: just follow the highway, and the only hurdle you should face is toll gates. Hydras and chupacabras, the monsters typically found in the region, both were the kind a bus should have been to outrun.

And the fact a bus had needed to get past toll gates and thus find a way to wrench them open meant there was a track to follow. Scarface took the wheel and they drove on after confirming that fact at the first waypoint, near Minatitlan.

More were found as they headed north-west, slightly deeper inland along a highway that passed through a countryside where jungle was less present and abandoned farmland had turned into grassland with the odd dense copse of trees and abandoned ranch. Odd blotches dotted the rippled relief, fields that farmers never got the opportunity to harvest and which had grown wild, feeding both the now free cattle and vast flocks of birds. The region of inland Vera Cruz was still relatively flat. Mexico didn’t become truly mountainous until about a hundred kilometers inland.

Overtime, the former farmland might grow into as much of a jungle as the lusher, more fertile areas near the refinery, but for the next few years grassland would border the cracked highways that their Defender sped along as they went from one toll to another.

And they found their lost bus eventually. Somewhere at a highway exchange near a little isolated town where the six-lane road would have veered west to dive into the hinterland proper, towards Mexico City. The bright red volvo coach was just stopped in a turn, immobile, pristine. It was as though the driver had stopped it to look at the billboard on the side of the road, one that showed an ancient Aztec city. ‘Visit El Tajin’ or something along those lines.

Aleksei frowned, the hippogriff riding shotgun already opening her door and grabbing her rifle.

“Thanasis, you take overwatch with the MAG. Radiant, take to the sky and see what you can find. Scar...”

The gargoyle turned off the engine and grabbed his own weapon, a SCAR-L, unlike Aleksei’s heavily-modified FNC/Ak-5 hybrid.

“With you. Got it.” He nodded curtly.

It was… odd. Monsters would have made far bigger a mess than that. The cartels too, and they didn’t find a single spent casing or bullet hole. The bus just looked empty from a distance, its trunks still shut and untouched.

“You seeing this too?” She asked Scarface as both approached the derelict coach from opposing sides.

The clues were making themselves clearer the closer they got. The windshield had been pulverized, but there wasn't any sign of blood anywhere. Aleksei found some skid marks near the wheels, meaning the bus had stopped abruptly but… she did a double take. 

What was that next to the skid marks? Just where they started, she found a thin line burned into the asphalt that connected to a spell circle on the edge of the road. And its sigils… Demonic magic. Which had been used to stop the bus. Monsters couldn’t pull off stunts like that, and they were too far from the coast for Charybdis’ pirates, which left…

Scylla’s ilk. The Four Horses.

“Shit.” She swore. They didn’t need that. They didn’t need that at all.

“Found something.” Scarface paused his own inspection of the bus, having found no sign of confrontation yet.

“Yeah. Spell circle. Four Horses, definitely.” She hissed, inspecting the ground and curb around the circle, looking much like a bloodhound searching for tracks.

And she found some, and they were strange enough to give her pause. Some of the marks in the dirt she recognized as hoofsteps from ponies, the vast majority of a group they estimated to number half a dozen souls with traces of a few flyers in addition to that. Most likely griffons.

The last set of tracks however…

“Eh Scar...” She looked up from a spot of mud she’d found where the tracks were clearer, along with a pair of lines  she suspected to either be a cart or a trailer. “Don’t these remind you of something?”

The gargoyle knelt down next to them. Unlike hoofsteps, these were paw prints, with one large pad and four toes with visible claws. Where had he seen that… Oh right. He grabbed his radio.

“Oi Thanasis, you mind coming over real quick? I need to compare something. Out.” He barked.

He heard the sound of wings flapping before he saw the tan-furred sphinx with the red mane appear over the top of the bushes behind which they had found the tracks.

“Eh, what’s the problem? You guys found something?” The Greek asked upon landing hind legs first in the mud nearby. He was rather surprised when both Scar and Aleksei rushed over and the gargoyle used his telekinesis to lift one of his paws. “Hey, the hell’s that for?”

“Confirmation buddy, and you just helped us heaps.” Scar dropped his telekinetic grip with a curt apology. “So the big guy is a sphinx.”

“Big’s a kind way to put it.” Aleksei said. Comparing Thanasis’ paw prints to those of that sphinx was like comparing a kid’s feet to those of an adult man. “That one must be...”

“The size of a minotaur.” Radiant landed behind her.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said we’re talking about a sphinx that’s as tall as a minotaur. And not when standing on his hind legs, mind. I meant at the withers.” The pegasus grimly said.

“And how would you know that?” Scarface crossed his arms, eyeing the shorter pony dubiously, tail swaying behind him.

“Because that’s his reputation. Enigma that is. That’s the only sphinx it can possibly be. He’s… was an infamous slaver in Sphigypt, back on Equus. You know, barring a few extremely rare exceptions, sphinxes are known as rather law-abiding, which is why he stands out so much and why it has to be him. Makes sense that he would have joined up with the Four Horses, the Sphigyptian authorities had a bounty on him ranging in the order of millions of bits. Or equivalent currency, it’s always a bit foggy with that.”

“How powerful are we talking then?” Thanasis inquired, a bit uneasy after comparing his prints to those of that Enigma.

He knew he was like dragons and would keep growing for his entire life… seeing his own smaller print inside those larger? Enigma must have weighed several tons!

“Think of him like a bogeyman except he actually exists? As the story goes, Sphigypt’s ban on slavery was only relatively recent, compared to a sphinx’s normal lifespan at least. He must have been about as tall as Thanasis – sorry friend, I know you’re middle-aged but you’re a teen by sphinx standards- when the law was passed, and apparently he’d taken to the job already because he spent the next two centuries between now and then supplying black markets the world over with slaves.” He frowned. “Young slaves. Lots of ponies too. Rumor has it he’s behind the Night of Empty Beds in Maretonia, the year that followed the Celestial Princesses’ abdication.”

“Did you follow the tracks?”

The pegasus’ green eyes hardened uncharacteristically for a pony. His wings fluffed up.

“For a few kilometers, and it keeps going. Not a single sign of teleportation, by magic circle or by spell.”

“Which means...” Aleksei trailed off with a sinking feeling in her gut.

“The Four Horses have a base nearby.” Radiant nodded glumly.

She gulped, finding herself looking at the vegetation around her with newfound dread.

“We’re leaving. Now. Thanasis, I want you to get on the radio and tell the fleet.”

The repatriated Mexicans, the ex-tourists she’d seen smile in the cafeteria when they were on their passage to Coatzacoalcos… had been captured. What fate they met, she could only pray to Epona had been painless.

It hadn’t.
> Chapter 103: Magic... works in mysterious ways...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ultimately, Starswirl’s spell to keep Miles male lasted thirty-six hours of the seventy-two initially anticipated. A significant factor in shortening the duration of spells, but it wasn’t a matter of hexes being shrugged off in a matter of seconds or minutes anymore, and at least they could reliably estimate how long they would last.

In practice, this meant that Trecesson was free to start building sky carriages, and then it would be either down to Meadowbrook’s potions or Starswirl’s spells and enchantments to give the inhabitants temporary wings to circumvent the difficulty that was getting cargo around the forest. Once complete, the carriages should enable them to transport stones from the nearest quarry, lumber from wherever it was deemed wise to fell trees without angering Cernunnos and his forest guardians, any kind of salvage from nearby ruins…

Even trade with nearby Comper in fact. Given that said castle had supposedly built a mint, the introduction of post-apocalyptic coinage, if rudimentary, would provide them with an actual economy.

Miles though, wasn’t overly concerned about economic matters or how to build the temple they’d promised Cernunnos at the moment. She had witnessed Martin organize an offering ceremony (since the fawn had the favor of the Horned God for some reason she couldn’t fathom) to give back part of what the forest was giving them. He ought to be happy, and they had several months still to finish it.

No, what she had on her mind at the moment as she once more made her way inside Starswirl’s tower, was what the wizard had in mind to make her transformation into a male form permanent. He met her right at the door with Martin trailing a few steps behind him.

It had already been a day since the spell wore off and she’d turned back into a mare. She very much wanted that state of affairsto not last any longer.

“Lieutenant Miles!” Starswirl greeted. “How nice, I was just about to send Martin to get you. The ritual is ready, if you will...” He told her, waving his hoof towards the stairs. “I’d rather we do it now. Canterlot Courier is soon to depart for Carnac; and Martin and I shall accompany them to ensure everything goes smoothly.”

“Martin?” She blinked, looking at the young fawn trailing behind them in surprise. “Really? Rockhoof let you go along kiddo?”

“Yes Miss Miles!” He chirped. “Mister Merlin says it’s a very important place and that I should at least visit it once.”

“Sure uh… nevermind that.” She shook her head. “Just a bit surprised is all. You gonna need any guards, Starswirl?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll drop a few waystones along the way so we can teleport back to Trecesson easily, and as a matter of fact Miss Glimmer has enough skill to use them as well and come back if necessary. As for Canterlot Courier, I fully expect the airship to remain in Carnac for however long it takes us to finish this. Now...” He said as they reached his lab. “Would you mind shedding your armor and stepping on the slab?”

She complied, and while she was taking off her armor (which had been enlarged for her stallion form in the meantime, Starswirl began explaining the reasoning and process behind making the change permanent. It was, in a way, a variant of what he’d done back when he had engraved his bones, the key difference being that it would only be a set of tattoos set with the previous spell, combined with another that would keep it powered by seeping off her own latent magic. Unlike a Cutie Mark though, it shouldn’t be visible through her fur.

“It won’t hurt as much as engraving my own bones did, but hurt it will.” He warned. “Need I prepare an anesthetic?”

“For a tattoo? I’ll be fine.” She waved off the concern, watching the wizard and his apprentice busy themselves gathering the requisite ingredients for the ink while the mechanical arms above the slab began preparing a ritual circle.

“Your call, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll put it at the base of your wings, best keep it close to your foci, even if it’s mostly passive.” He babbled on. “Martin dear, can you bring me the purple pigment? Not that one, a shade darker please. It’s best if it matches her fur color. His,apologies.”

It was actually the little fawn that drew the spells underneath her wings, telling her to keep them open while he stirred the thick, paste-ish ink as Merlin shaved a spot of fur on either side to make enough room. But Martin didn’t apply it with a needle.

That was the hard part. The magic ink would be seared into her skin when Starswirl activated his ritual, and she could see him having shifted to human form to adjust the artificial foci around the slab. Ten minutes of staying perfectly still to let Martin draw later, Starswirl came over and nodded approvingly. It was ready.Wizard and apprentice retreated behind his grimoire, and similar to what had happened earlier, the magic flared up and enacted the transformation, only this time, as she was turning into a he, Miles could feel the magic ink heat up to an agonizing degree so much that he choked back a scream, muscles going rigid. The flare of pain didn’t last however, and as the magic died down, it reduced down to a warm ache. But he was a stallion once more, looking at himself with satisfaction and…

Puzzlement.

“Starswirl, was that supposed to happen?”

He didn’t have wings anymore. And no, he hadn’t turned into an Earth Pony. His figure was still identical to what the spell had yielded on the previous attempt, making him more like a wingless pegasus than a stout Earth Pony.

“Fascinating...” The wizard whispered, still in human form, stroking his beard.

“Starswirl!” Miles said, more forcefully, yanking him out of his sudden bout of intense reflection.

“Oh pardon me, I was just thinking. And no, it wasn’t.”

“Then how come it happened anyway? Did Martin miss something when he drew the patterns?”

Starswirl looked over to his apprentice seeing the fawn frenetically flipping through a notebook. Good reaction there. Immediately try to find what went wrong. But he shook his head. He couldn’t have drawn something better if he’d done it himself. The reason was something else…

“I think… Since this time around the spell doesn’t have extra magic to start with and it’s drawing sustenance from your own, transforming into a stallion puts such a draw on your magic it doesn’t leave you with enough to fly. Hence, magic being the intuitive and hard to predict force that it always was, decides to just ditch the wings. Just an hypothesis of course.”

“Of course.” Miles rolled his eyes. “And would there happen to be a hypothetical solution to that?”

Because truth be told, he still had the pegasus instincts and he was getting some serious phantom pain and feeling of oppression from finding himself without the means to fly off. He wanted his win-

He felt his guts sink and the floor suddenly lurched closer. Feelings came back to her wings. Her?

Miles looked herself over. She was back to mare state, with her wings. Beneath their base though, the spots of shaven fur remained, still with their magical tattoos.

“The fuck?” She gaped, inadvertently switching back to English.

Eh, at least Martin couldn’t understand the swearing. Probably.

“Fascinating...”

“You said that once already and it’s not gotten us any further with this.” She said, now satisfied with correcting the oppressing feeling of not having wings… but now she missed her dick and oh there it goes again. 

	Sinking feeling in the gut. She distances herself from the ground and… was that a tingle in the tattoo? And there he was, a wingless pegasus stallion again.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

“It really isn’t, but you got me at a loss there.” Starswirl shrugged. “Maybe you somehow found a way to impact the spell in the tattoo to toggle it, I’d need to run more tests I don’t have for.”

“Wait a sec-”

“I’m terribly sorry Lieutenant, but Canterlot Courier is already prepped for departure and I must journey along with them to Carnac. There just isn’t enough time for you.” He apologized.

“When then?!”

“A few days most likely.” He guessed. “Until then… seems like you’re left with both options open. I’ll think about a solution for your wings as a stallion, but you can still take to the sky. Worst case scenario, go ask Morgane, I’m sure she can conjure up something in the meantime.”

	Somehow, Miles doubted the dark fay would. Not for free at least.

And without further ado he closed his grimoire, the mechanical arms above the slab automatically folding up as another with a broom came down for cleaning. As for the wizard and his apprentice, Miles saw the two quickly grab a few satchels and book, Martin using his training staff to lift them in his telekinesis before they dashed out of the tower.

Carnac’s megalithic alignments awaited.





	As much as he wanted to leave and begin his journey towards Brittany to meet Concord, Rodrigo’s injuries kept the pony confined to a small shepherd’s hut in the Pyrenees for the next two week while he recovered. His leg took the longest, and he just couldn’t make his way down the north side of the mountains and into France if he was restricted to hopping around on three hooves.

It was… nauseatingly boring. The last thing he anticipated he’d need when he set off on his journey was a novel or something to pass the time, and he had tried to keep his load as light as possible, so the only relevant piece of information he spent his time studying was a road map, and there were only so many times one could reassess a plan from start to finish before memorizing every single road.

On the upside… he had Veillantif. His first few days after waking up were a bit awkward but the green stallion had a sort of naivete about him that quickly grew on Rodrigo and the unicorn had to admit he’d have died from his wounds were it not for his help.

Veillantif sort of deflected the praise saying it was his duty as Rodrigo’s destrier anyway. That was his duty.

And so every day Rodrigo spent recovering, the other stallion would spend scouring the mountainside around the hut for resources, bringing back food, water and herbs to speed up his master’s recovery while in the evening he would cook, work on repairing Rodrigo’s armor and talk.

The armor itself was a sorry affair. The extent of the damage it had suffered during the battle forced Veillantif to ditch many damaged kevlar plates and he had to spend countless hours sewing it back together, the amount of protection it would now provide far lesser than initially, at least until they’d find replacement plates for it. Rodrigo could have lived with that, but the loss paired itself with that of his CETME battle rifle and his two makeshift knives, meaning all he had now was Durandal. Which certainly wasn’t a bad weapon, but it meant he had no ranged weapon, and his knowledge of magic wasn’t such that he could reliably fire magic bolts.

That sword better turn out to be as powerful as a battle rifle. He’d spent countless waking hours inspecting it in detail and waving the naked blade around in his telekinesis, but he wouldn’t be able to truly train with it until his hind leg recovered.

On the other side of the room, Veillantif just kept whistling a quiet tune as he stirred a pot of vegetable stew.

“Don’t you find it odd? This whole thing I mean?” Rodrigo sheathed the blade and broke the silence.

“What?”

“Look, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re not lying...” The green stallion was far too candid for that. “… but I still can’t understand why now that you’re no longer a plain horse, you’d still stick with me.”

“It’s my purpose.” Veillantif simply shrugged, balancing his little wooden spoon on one hoof. Sitting on his haunches, he grabbed some herbs in his mouth which he chucked in the stew with a flick of his head.

Rodrigo ignored the hygiene in that. Not like he functioned with a human immune system either way, or he’d have died of sepsis a while ago.

“To serve?”

“There is comfort in having purpose, regardless of what it is. Mine has been tasked upon me not only by Sir Roland upon his death, but further confirmed by my Great-grandmother when she made me an Earth Pony. I’d consider that a good way to lead my life, and you have yet to prove me wrong.”

“We’ve known each other for two weeks at best.” Rodrigo pointed out. “Usually I’d say that hardly tells you much about a person.”

“Then it is as I said: you have yet to prove me wrong. Don’t sell yourself short. Many take an injury like yours with considerably less grace.” Veillantif smiled.

“Flattered. And how does it feel then? Better than limbo?”

“Quite.” His companion nodded. “Although… this new body feels odd.”

“Yeah you tell me. I used to be human.”

“Mentally too.”

“Details?”

Veillantif furrowed his brows, pensive. 

“I mean… it’s hard to describe and I guess that’s the difference in being smarter, but it feels like a veil has been lifted. My thoughts have never been clearer, and then you have what Great-grandmother added to help me. By all means I shouldn’t be able to speak like that, yet I can form coherent sentences, I know how to properly use this body to sew and cook in a way I never learned myself, it...” He struggled for words for a second. “… it just comes to me out of the blue. I can try something for the first time ever and discover I’m a pro at it, find a plant I had never seen before and know all its intricacies. It’s plain weird, having perfect mastery of something despite never learning it yourself, but if it means I can fulfill my purpose in life, then I’ll take it. And for the rest, for what I don’t actually know, then I know I can trust you to tell me.” He concluded with a childlike smile.

	Rodrigo just blinked. There it was, one of those moments that made it so hard for the Madrilenian to comprehend his ‘destrier’. The Earth Pony would show himself perfectly able to express himself and his own emotions, but then he’d either say something that betrayed his trustful (and maybe a bit childish) mentality, or that he actually had very little knowledge of the world.

Much less given that he’d spent more than a thousand years in magical limbo.

Veillantif knew little about human advancements, technology, culture… most he knew revolved around what he had been able to glean and comprehend whilst growing up and traveling with Sir Roland.

The rest, he blindly trusted Rodrigo to tell him. The unicorn didn’t know how to feel having a pony rely on him in that way. Really, there was this childish naivete to Veillantif’s whole persona… and it just didn’t feel right abusing it. Maybe Concord was right about the whole integrity part.

Either way, by the next day, his leg had recovered enough that they could leave, which wasn’t too soon. The Pass wasn’t too high up the mountains, but lingering there while winter set in would have been a bad idea and they relied on foraging for food. Veillantif helped him don his armor once more early in the morning after both shared the bed (human size was enough for two stallions with room to spare) overnight.

Chilly, late autumn winds billowed the moment they set hoof outside, further comforting that they needed to make for France before it became needlessly harder. They filled their bags with water and supplies, Veillantif’s looking comically big for his size, what with filling them with tools and cooking implements, but he was an Earth Pony. The load barely fazed him, despite being nearly four times as much weight as what Rodrigo carried in pouches all over his armor.

“I’ll be fine, I know my limits. I can keep going the whole day with so little on my back.”

Rodrigo raised an eyebrow at ‘little’ but decided to leave it at that, securing Durandal’s sheath over his back, the pommel just on the edge of his vision if he felt like pulling it out with his teeth.

And on that note, the two of them set off north, towards France.





	Despite their losses after their defeat at the refinery, Los Lobos’ base was a hive of activity. Wolf-dogs and jaguar warriors could be seen scurrying through the warrens, a messy maze of tunnels and burrows that looked like a cross between a giant ant hill and a mine. Unlike the burrows under the hacienda that the refinery workers had taken great care to make homely and comfortable, this was closer to the Cu Chi tunnels in Vietnam. Beyond the main access that Micha had actually located, more camouflaged trap doors and tunnels spread out in a wide radius around the main knot of chambers, and closer to access points most tunnels would curve subtly with recessed ambush points, booby traps and firing positions.

This was all to protect the main chamber in which High Priestess Atzi resided, their leader, a cleric of the  Aztec Dog God of the Underworld, Xolotl. Her fealty to the deity, more than just turning her into a wolf-dog – one slightly bigger than the rest of her lupine brethren- had bestowed her with access to dark magics. Pale white skeletal markings adorned her black fur, shining like moonlight as she surveyed the chamber through gleaming yellow eyes.

She was wearing golden ceremonial armor with intricate geometric decorations, along with a loincloth and a particularly prominent headdress that hugged the side of her triangular lupine head. Despite that, hints of modernity still peeked through. The clothing was held together with modern spandex tailored for her form, the armor had extra pouches with a MOLLE system, and attached to her thigh opposite an enchanted war club was an UZI with a couple mags, the weapon modified with a shrouded barrel extension and wood stock to better match her size.

Below, work carried on in the main chamber. A while ago, she’d been drawn to the buried ruins of this pyramid with Xolotl’s statue at the top, and now her underlings were in the process of reclaiming the area. Most of the pyramid had been cleared of the muddy soil already, leaving it standing in a vast chamber with a ceiling that was kept from collapsing by weaving roots and vines that hung down like stalactites. An underground river ran around the base of the pyramid with a little rickety stone bridge connecting the tunnels to the grand staircase where magical torches burning with ethereal flame cast their pale glow across the whole chamber. Next to the bridge lay some stores and a few huts for higher-ranking members of the cult’s hierarchy. Most now lay vacant, their previous occupants dead in the failed assault.

Replacing them would be a hard task. Atzi winced at the prospect. She loathed it, but chances were she would have to ask her Lord Xolotl for favors and grant her the powers to raise the dead. With a shake of her head that made her headdress sway, she turned away from the outer side of the chamber where two jaguar warriors were bringing in a freshly slaughtered cow and focused back on the pyramid she was sitting atop of.

Tiered in the typical Aztec style and with vines crawling all over the masonry, it towered over the rest of the chamber, its grand staircase imperiously rising up to the top, with niches and fire bowls set into the sides of the pyramid at every tier, only now in the process of being repainted to the colorful schemes they were built for. It had a flat top with a squarish structure in the middle, Atzi’s personal quarters. On its roof stood a giant statue of Xolotl, head bent down to look into a shallow pool filled with shimmering waters. Water trickled into it from a hole in the ceiling before it escaped the pool through a pair of gutters on either side of the staircase.

The statue’s eyes gleamed with the same yellow hues as Atzi’s. It was active, and she could feel the divinity’s cold presence on the edge of her consciousness. She knelt, head bent low in front of it.

“You failed.”The Dog-God stated, his voice an icy spear digging deep inside her mind.

Her tattoos flared and she felt the heat escape her. He was not pleased with her.

“I apologize for my failings, milord.” She uttered in a very canine whimper of submission. “My plans hadn’t accounted for the arrival of the foreigners. Were it not for their tank and their troops, we would have take-” Xolotl’s grip on her mind increased and she froze up, maw halfway open.

“I care not for those foes you so insist on facing. Nor do I care for the worthless baubles these sailors looted from the simulacrum pyramid… but you took it upon yourself to squander away the lives of precious warriors on your own folly. You sent them to their deaths. And now they rest in the rising sun with Huitzilopochtli.”

His grip relented. She fell down on all fours at the edge of the pool with a gasp. The magic waters were showing faces. Those she had sent to the refinery, their features twisted, rotten. She gulped.

“What shall be my punishment then?”

“True punishment shall wait until life seeps out of your body and you join my side in the Underworld where you’ll assist me in guiding the dead through their trials of the nine realms. Only then will you fully grasp the consequences of your failures. For now however...” She started hearing some whispers, like words carried over distances by the wind. “… I fate you with the burden of hearing your underlings’ judgement. Never shall you escape the words of those who died under your service, and you shall know that no matter how you die, never shall you enjoy the radiance of the rising sun or the warmth of the venerable setting. Forever shall you toil under my service. In the Underworld.”

The edges of her vision darkened. This was no fate to laugh at. How you died in Aztec belief determined your afterlife. The dead at the refinery would enjoy pleasant conditions in the realm of the rising sun. Females who died in childbirth would enjoy the setting sun. A violent death like being struck by lightning or drowning would have you enjoy eternal rest in the realm of the rain god, in Tlalocan.

Xolotl however, was a warden of the Underworld, a Cerberus, as western mythos would perceive it, guarding Mictlan. Realm of the dead for those who died unremarkable deaths. A harsh, unforgiving realm where true rest lay at the end of nine trials for the dead to prove they were worthy.

Except now… she wouldn’t even get to prove it. Her role would be to guide unworthy souls through their challenges.

“May such a fate incite you not to squander yours or the lives under your service.”Xolotl barked inside her head. “Now, matters more serious need be tended. Raise your head. Punishment has been doled.”

“What are these matters oh my master?”

“The land is hurting, the jungle is rebelling. Foul creatures, servants of a demon have seized one of our necropolises and sealed the Blood God with their own dark rituals. They are bleeding him of his powers, the very powers bestowed by the faithful, to exploit and waste in their vices.”

“Then we shall not tolerate this. Where, my master? Where are these foes?”

“North, far to the north, where they captured the city of El Tajin. You must relocate. Abandon this place. Attacking the refinery stirred the ants’ nest and you won’t survive open confrontation with them. Cunning and deception will be what sees you through this and to victory.”

“Relocate? But Master! If we leave this place then they’ll be free to desecrate the pyramid and your statue!”She protested.

The canine statue overlooking the sacred pool shuddered, chips of stone falling into the glowing waters as the yellow glow in its eyes spread along thin lines carved into its sides. Then, with the sound of stone cracking, its head moved, jaws snapping a few times as it moved its joints and rose to full height, easily two stories of dark gray carved stone glowing with magic.

“I appreciate your concerns, my servant, but I never said this statue would be staying.” The statue rumbled, its voice the sound of stones grinding against each other as her master spoke, this time not mentally, although the icy feeling of death remained. “Assemble your troops. The road will be long. The pack must march today.”

And then the giant statue rose up on its hind legs and pawed at the ceiling, tearing roots apart and letting dirt fall in large clumps on the pyramid below, revealing a starry moonlit sky above. A pair of jaguar warriors that had been standing watch on the surface threw themselves to the side to dodge as Xolotl’s avatar leaped, finally feeling the touch of fresh air after centuries spent in damp darkness. It howled, a cold, spine-chilling sound that was soon echoed by all wolf-dogs in earshot. Far away, at the refinery and the hacienda, the guards stood on edge… but they weren’t the target.

Atzi was now standing up, an unreadable look on her muzzle. She stood still for a few seconds before running into her quarters to pack up.

El Tajin awaited. Her sister’s refinery was of no importance now.





Aleksei paced in front of the whole meeting room.

It was late in the evening when her patrol made it back to the refinery, but she still insisted all relevant Officers and locals come back to the refinery’s HQ so she could tell them the grim news. The Captains, the Chief Officers and Engineers, Carmelita, her forepup and the militia’s commander, all were sitting in front of her as she quickly threw together a briefing on the situation. In addition to a quick translation ward to help the locals understand. Try as she might, the cleric didn’t speak Spanish.

And so she regaled them with her findings, the projector behind her showing pictures taken at the ambush site, of the coach, the tracks, the ritual marks that had halted the tourists’ bus.

Radiant had even made a scale drawing of exactly how big Enigma, the slaver sphinx, was. A quadruped as tall as a minotaur was easily large enough to wrestle an elephant to the ground.

The slideshow and her briefing ended with a map of the state of Vera Cruz, highlights showing the refinery’s location, that of the ambush, and a single vector pointing to where the attackers might have come from. Next to that, a weather chart showed frequent storms in the general area, more than should be expected of a monsoon.

“And this points to the Four Horses having a presence in the region beyond their monsters.” She concluded at last.

In front of her, the room remained silent for a minute. Next to Carmelita, Dilip leaned back in his chair, one digit drumming against the armrest. On the opposite side, Samuel had taken a seat next to Lorelei, the feline discussing in hushed tones with the pink filly as the centaur that was her Chief Officer (Kilian Wetzel if she recalled right) sat with his legs folded under him, adding a piece of detail every so often.

“And what makes you so certain about it?” Carmelita crossed her arms. “That they’re in the region?”

“We scouted out the tracks found near the ambush site. The Four Horses are known to teleport around to travel. To use a cart, to travel several kilometers away from that site… It doesn’t make sense!” She flared up her wings for emphasis. “Unless, of course, they actually are in the region and have been capturing locals for a while. Think about it, the refinery gets a slow stream of returnees coming here, and maybe Los Lobos recruit some – if they don’t sacrifice them-, but has any come from the North as of late? From beyond Vera Cruz? From Mexico City?”

None whatsoever. Most returnees at the refinery and the hacienda either came from the opposite direction, from the Yucatan peninsula, which certainly wasn’t the most populated state of Mexico.

“What do they do to...” Carmelita trailed off uneasily.

“We don’t know much about that. One incident in Gothenburg in Sweden tells us they do kill some of their victims, but capture appears to be part of their M/O.” She recited, though she hadn’t been present for that particular fuckup. “The fact they have a slaver in their ranks may imply they need servants in the same way those convicts we faced in Savannah did, but Scylla must also be taken into account. Demonic magic is...” She winced. “Foul would be putting it mildly. I will not waste your time with hypotheses I can’t confirm. The point of this briefing is so everyone is warned: the Four Horses are here, and they’re not far.”

“But we don’t know where exactly.” Samuel pointed out in Spanish, though the translation ward clarified it for those who didn’t speak the language.

“Then we’ll find them. We have a general direction, and they can’t be too far from the ambush point.” Dilip stood up. “Priorities are what they are however, and we should deal with Los Lobos first, if only because they’re the closest threat.But I have pilots under my service, and an airplane. Aerial reconnaissance can help us pinpoint their location so that we may actually know how to go about it.”

“And Los Lobos?”

“Leave that for tomorrow. It's 23.30.”

“Very well then. I’ll reassess plans for tomorrow. Have a good night.” Samuel stood up and gave the whole room a curt nod before leaving.

That was it really, no need to stretch it out too far into the night. In fact sleeping on it might even let them come up with plans that were actually coherent, and so most filtered out of the room, leaving it up to Aleksei’s team to tidy up, tired as they were from their own recce.

She only noticed Captain Prateek hadn’t left the meeting room when she unplugged her laptop.

“Sir? Is there a problem?” She turned towards him and straightened up.

“Problem? You could see it that way I guess.” The D-dog opined slowly. “Benign however. I care about my crew, Miss Klavins. And one I recall you call a friend, Second Officer Przemo that is… may be in need of your services as a fertility cleric, if you haven’t been told already.”

Aleksei blinked owlishly. Micha? Fertility problem? Wha-

“Sir-” She tried, but he raised his paw.

“Though I am aware of the situation, it is not my role to tell you the details. I only suggest that you see her in short order. Her watch should begin in a few minutes, if you happen to look for her. That is all, good night.” He concluded before leaving the room.

And turning for the lift to Carmelita’s penthouse, she noted, instead of back out and towards the ship. She had a feeling ‘fertility cleric issues’ might catch up to the Captain too at some point.





Interesting as she was sure it was, the back and forth in translating only made the exchange between Skinner and Pedro tiresome to follow, so she conjured up a random excuse to slip back into the fort’s courtyard for a breath of fresh air… which wasn’t a complete lie. The fort’s headquarters felt a bit stuffy and she proceeded to climb to the top of the rampart to catch a little breeze after finding a spot to sit underneath a rusty cannon. The concrete beneath its support was showing weeds between the cracks, but much like the rest of the fort, it was kept under control. By the looks of it, someone had even replaced some of the tiles that topped the fort’s crenelations.

A bit decrepit, but in comparison to the overgrowth she could see in the city past the walls, it was pretty nice.

Praveen settled herself down cross-legged under the cannon with her rifle between her legs. She unlatched the front of her combat vest and let the weight of the ammo pouches tug it open on its own, giving her access to the front of her coveralls which she opened too. It was a bit indecent if someone saw her because it revealed her sports bra, but she was an Abyssinian. Not the most well-endowed of species, albeit enough for her breasts to still be annoying and chafe and jiggle. Tiresome things.

Least it was only two like humans. The three vestigial pairs of nipples beneath the top ones would have been annoying as hell if they weren’t that: vestigial.

In any case, the feeling of the river breeze washing across her gray fur and rustling her ears was something she didn’t know she needed so dearly. Even the lukewarm water in her canteen helped alleviate the heavy humidity that permeated Belem’s air. 

Didn’t help the smell. Belem smelled like mud and stagnant water sprinkled over rotten fruit. Pungent. Muggy. She could swear if she breathed too hard she would start to dry-heave as though she was spitting a hairball.

Times like that she wished they’d have gone for that colony in Quebec instead of tackling South America. Still… you couldn’t complain Belem didn’t make for an entertaining view. There she had it in front of her eyes, the eerie overgrown city with all its foreign noises and dangerous wildlife, and on the other side the vast amazonian delta with the depths of the jungle lurking just beyond the horizon.

Now the one thousand rubles question: if the trees in Belem were that big, then how big were the ones she could see in the actual jungle just over the horizon?

Praveen’s whiskers twitched in amusement at imagining the sheer size of those. Those were probably big enough to make a fantasy author blush.

“Want some tea, dear?”

She startled, a brief yowl escaping her lips as she accidentally spilled some of her canteen’s contents.

“Oh I’m sorry, do you want help cleaning that?” The Ornithian who had startled her asked.

“It’s fine. ‘s just water, it will dry out.” She rumbled, eyeing the avian that had somehow managed to sneak up on her despite feline hearing and prescience.

Nah, scratch that. She realized she still had her ear plugs in from the attack on the pukwudgies, and the only time prescience warned her of something if she wasn’t actively focusing on it was imminent danger.

An Ornithian hen with an apron and a tea tray wasn’t an imminent danger, obviously. This was just Pedro’s wife, looking at her innocently.

“It’s a nice view don’t you think?”

“Yeah I guess it is.” Praveen turned her eyes back to the outer city. “A bit worrying to be this close to the city, don’t you think?”

“I’m not worried.” Pedro’s wife sat down next to her, her dress demurely tucked under her legs. “I know my husband will keep the monsters away, and we have sentinels on duty for bandits. And they’re as afraid of Pedro as the monsters are.” She smiled brightly, likely proud of her husband.

“Traditional aren’t you? You look like a genderswap that’s overdoing it.” Praveen commented before realizing her words, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, that came out ruder than I intended. Are you...”

“I always was female if that’s what you’re asking.” Her smile didn’t fade.

“Okay then… uh...” Praveen’s mouth hung partly open, inelegantly. “I don’t understand. Pedro is a bit… eccentric, but you? Why the frilly apron, why the hanging behind him demurely, why the...” She waved a paw at the Ornithian. “Why this old clothing? I know you parrots like the kitsch and it sure is, but aren’t there more practical alternatives?”

“Why, never tried a frilly dress yourself? Former male pride holding you back?” Pedro’s wife joked, tugging at her dress for emphasis.

Praveen blushed deeply and shifted stance, hugging her legs to her chest, tail coiled around them.

“Oh you have~” The parrot sang. “Would you tell me?”

“It’s embarrassing.” Praveen sulked.

“Lost a bet?”

“In a way? Uh… so we’re a tight crew on Fugro – our ship- and I’m the plumber.” She watched the parrot’s eyes show a hint of surprise. “Yeah I know, hard to tell but that's the way things are nowadays. So I was always good friends with the electrician. Oscar.”

“Aww, found yourself a boyfriend now?”

Praveen blushed, but she shook her head. There had been a few cases where she had entertained the thought out of curiosity, but Oscar?

“That’s a different case. He and I, we’re similar cases. She, rather. With one little detail that differs.”

“Oh, in what way?”

That Cara (a.k.a. Oscar) was considerably worse off than she was. Not only had the electrician turned into a female Abyssinian like Praveen, not only had she gotten a hefty dose of rejuvenation the likes of which reduced her to the Abyssinian equivalent of an 8-year-old girl, but she was also an empath. A damn powerful one at that.

“I don’t see what it’s got to do with a frilly dress but now I’m interested.”

“Getting to it, getting to it.” Praveen raised a finger.

So by powerful empath, she meant Cara could do more than just get a feel of the emotions of those surrounding her. Actual thoughts, even what people were visualizing, she could read as though they were her own. An extremely rare trait in her species.

According to the books that is. In Abyssinia that would have earned her a swift promotion and access to royal tutelage.

“Lemme guess, she can’t shut people out so she had a crisis.”

“The first day we returned was pure chaos. We immediately had a collision  with another ship and it was a complete mess. Nobody saw her. It’s only a few hours after that I found her crying, all curled up in a ball sucking her own tail.”

She felt a pang in her heart at the memory. Oscar had been a good friend, a very good friend ever since they took up working for the same company. He had always been the older, wiser member of the duo, by more than a decade actually, yet always cheerful and ready to invite Praveen on some shore errand whenever the opportunity came up.

To see him reduced to a little white kitten half her size with ginger streaks across her fur, swimming in an oversized set of coveralls crying curled up under his bed. Praveen wasn’t sure whether to call it motherly or sisterly, but that was the first spark of a protective streak towards her best friend. Maybe that was something she saw when those big blue eyes looked up at her and called for help.

And so on that first day when Fugro popped back into existence off the coast of Scotland, she’d spent the night hugging a trembling Oscar as the poor kitten did her best to reel in her empath skills while she herself wasn’t even sure of what had happened.

It stuck that way since then. Most of her free time, she spent with ‘Cara’, freely volunteering to let her train her mind reading skills as the two of them discovered together the implications of becoming Abyssinian females, albeit with about twelve years of difference in physical age.

“Aww, that’s so cute.” Pedro’s wife beamed.

“I guess. You don’t get a lot of choice with who you’re coming back in this situation, but if you already have someone you’re close to, even a friend, it feels good to stick together. Now the frilly dress part...”

It was just so damn silly. She and Cara had decided to move to a pair of cabins sharing a bathroom between the two. An easy agreement. I help brush your fur, you brush mine. Then one evening Cara caught Praveen as she was dressing up with a newly acquired bra and panties (since chafing and jiggling are a thing), a bit of mockery was thrown around and well…

“So she goes ‘eh you’re girly’ and here I am ‘no you’re girly’ and this goes back and forth throwing ridicule and before we know it well...” She trailed off and scratched her neck awkwardly. “...we were in Cuba, there was a seamstress and there was going to be a little party. We got ourselves matching dresses. The girliest, frilliest thing you could imagine.” She finished in a whisper, ears flattened against her skull.

“Oh my god!” Pedro’s wife brought her talons to her beak, beaming. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve heard all week!”

And a grand embarrassment that still earned both of them comments to this day.

“So yeah… we pulled the frilly part, but otherwise we’re pretty much tomboys you could say.” Praveen shrugged. “Cara, I still don’t know why I feel so protective of her but most of the time when we’re off the ship together she just sticks by me. I read somewhere powerful empaths like her feel reassured with a familiar mind present. She doesn’t have as hard a time shutting out others’ thoughts now, but the change has made her shy and she avoids crowds. It’s fine really. We both work in the bowels of the ship making sure the piping and wiring keeps together.”

“It’s great to hear that. You two really sound like a cute duo, I’d be happy to meet your friend if you stay longer.”

“Maybe. Now that you heard my story, can I hear yours then? ‘cause I still don’t understand why you’re so...”

“The dress is there for a reason. I can fight, and I’ve got higher education – that’s how I learned English- so I’m no dumb house-hen for Pedro to pamper, but I believe in his ideals. He has a point. This country, Brazil… we need tradition to be proud of. We need decorum. We need stable, solid values to base a new society on, one that won’t suffer like what this country became before the Event. People… they stopped caring at a point. There was no sense of sacrifice for the country, no pride, just grab your piece of the cake before it all falls over. Pedro believes we can rebuild something to be proud of, a society where we’ll leave portraits and statues we can look at with pride.”

“And you believe him?”

“You saw the incubator in the headquarters? I wouldn’t have laid his eggs if I didn’t believe in him. I want a bright future for my chicks.”

Praveen looked at the overgrown city around them.

“That’s going to take a lot of hard work.”

“But I know we’ll make it. Not this year. Probably not ten years from now. But we’ll make it, and we’ll build something to be proud of for people to return to and for our kids to grow in.”

“It’s nice to see how much faith you put in him.”

“And you know what’s funny?”

“Do tell.”

“You thought I was a genderswap. But Pedro?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“He told me the night I laid my eggs. He was no warrior before. Just a petite woman. Look where he is now. Backed by the spirits of the jungle. Feared by monsters and bandits alike. Oh and he’s such a good fuck!” She ended in a happy trill. “Takes a lady to know how to treat one, don’t you think?”

Praveen made round eyes at that remark, but she shook her head and decided to ignore it.

“Anyway, what’s your name then? I’m sorry I forgot to ask.”

“Benedita.”

“Well you’re nice to talk to, Benedita.”
> Chapter 104: Frightening France
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	In Belem, the situation had moved to a more stable setting now that contact had been made with some locals… however eccentric their leader may be.

While Skinner and his team were chatting merrily over at the fort, Chief Officer Quinn had taken over the task of securing a bridgehead and bringing Fugro alongside. Now, the hulking red and white form of the offshore support vessel rested safely moored alongside the seaport where clusters of sailors had spent the better part of the afternoon fortifying a perimeter with machine guns, both near the customs office and on deck. Any threat that attempted to get close would receive a fair greeting of .50cal and grenades.

They had also dragged the Cipactli’s carcass back to the ship where its bloody remains were being taken apart on deck. A messy, smelly affair as a handful of sailors were visible cutting it up for components, its blood emptying through the scuppers and into the muddy waters as Skinner made it back from the fort by boat.

Praveen and Benedita were, understandably, quite queasy at the sight of it as huge chunks of flesh and blubber were lifted up via deck crane to reveal the yellowish bones of the monster’s rib cage and the precious organs within.

To be fair, even Skinner turned his head when Vitomir (a Serbian gargoyle, their bosun) took a circular saw to its ribs. This was like a whale being taken apart… with the accompanying stench.

“Busy already? Your subordinates don’t waste their time.” Pedro commented appreciatively as they tied up the little boat (Pedro’s actually) near Fugro’s aft and climbed aboard.

“A large monster like that shouldn’t be wasted.” Skinner fired back after getting a translation. “Our bestiary says multiple organs have some measure of use in rituals and potions, or even with the oil you’d make from its blubber. And given how tough its skin was, it’s a good idea to keep some of its leather on hand, don’t you think?”

They already had begun that process. Rolls of skin and cubes of blubber had been piled up on pallets next to its open flank, while some organs had been shoved in used oil drums… probably to be pickled. There was a process to keep them viable potions ingredients, Skinner just hadn’t read it fully.

Potion making was supposed to be Rhine Forest’s specialty. They had the hydroponics and lab for it after all.

“Of course since you scored the killing blow on it, I would understand if you claimed your stake in it.”

“Leather maybe could have some use, but I’d still let you have most of it.” Pedro bobbed his head as he followed the Captain into the accommodation proper where they took a lift to the upper decks. “Given how it roughed you up, you probably deserve it more than I do. I must commend you on that by the way, it’s not too often you see a Captain taking the lead like that.”

“Not that it does me much good.” Skinner sighed bitterly, massaging his still-aching injuries despite the potions.

“That said...” Pedro crossed his claws behind his back, smoothing down his tail feathers with the back of a talon.

“Yes?”

“Those folks you want to reach at the Amazon Institute are reclusive, but they’re academics. If we dangle potions ingredients of unknown properties in front of their eyes, I’m quite confident they’d open the doors for us. Not that they wouldn’t otherwise, but keeping them in your back pocket might tip the balance more into your favor than without, hmmm?” The macaw raised an eyeridge conspiratorially.

“Fair point, I’ll have to weigh that in.” Skinner nodded, just as the lift came to a stop, doors sliding aside to reveal Fugro’s ‘lobby’, so to speak.

One thing that ship couldn’t complain about certainly was the quality of its interior, having been designed fairly recently and in an industry that couldn’t really complain about being short on money. As such, Fugro was the type of ship with fancy floorboards, plastic plants decorating bright passageways with colored LED lights and the odd paintings hanging on the walls, company memorabilia mostly, along with photos of finished projects.

So, while Praveen and Benedita left the group to probably have a chat or some such in the lounge, Skinner and Marcos (the cook still acting the part of translator) took Pedro on a tour of the ship and her accommodation. And impress the wannabe emperor, it did. Of all merchant vessels, Fugro was among those you could reasonably consider as closest to a cruise ship in terms of comfort, be it through her anti-roll systems, or just plainly through amenities. Gyms? She had two, each with its own sauna. Cinema? Fifty-four seats and a sound system to die for. There were lounge areas on either side of the vessel with large observation windows (mostly for company execs and passing visitors back when that still was relevant) and ‘internet cafés’ near the cafeteria which had sort of become multimedia gaming rooms for the crew during rest hours.

Even the stainless steel galley and its vast pantries drew compliments from Pedro.

“You’re a pretty well-set Captain, aren’t you?” He commented touring the med bay where Lilian had already returned, taking a brief pause to properly dress Skinner’s injuries.

“That’s the perk of the vehicle principle.” Skinner replied. “You’re in a car at the time of the Event? You come back with that. You’re on a ship? Instead of coming back with just the clothes on your back, you’ve got an asset that provides water, shelter, power, and that lets you move your base of operations wherever necessary.”

“I take it there’s the other side of the coin?”

“In that it can be dangerous?” Skinner held the door open as they exited the med bay. “Yes. Main danger with the vehicle principle is you need to get your bearings quick when you reappear, and you’re not in control of the situation when you reappear. Us? There was a ship in the way, and we had a collision.”

“Really?” Pedro quirked his head. “The ship looks fine.”

“And it took us weeks of dry dock to repair her, and that was with machined parts we made in Belfast. You see, there’s the caveat with reappearing on a ship: you start off well set, but keeping it together is hard. You need fuel. Supplies. Spare parts. Ten thousand tons of heavy machinery can be capricious and it takes a lot of finesse to handle right.” The Scottish hedgefog explained while they made their way over towards his quarters.

As quarters went, his were pretty standard for a Captain, being set just a deck below the bridge so he would always be in reach if anything bad ever happened. They consisted of a single large meeting room/office in which he handled most of his work from his desk on one end of the room in front of a set of portholes. On the other end, where he led Pedro, was a narrow coffee table next to an L-shaped couch nestled between multiple tall wooden display cases.

Trophies collected overtime. A few paintings he’d found in a nice tea salon way back in Belfast. The obligatory liquor cabinet.

Yeah he wasn’t very original. The most unique article of decoration present in the room was the Scottish flag that hung in front of the door. Otherwise, the ambience was pretty much a repeat of the rest of the ship: modern white walls, fancy floorboards with maybe a glossier finish than anywhere else on the ship, and a pair of plastic palm trees on either side of his desk.

“I hope you don’t mind Sherry?” He asked over his shoulder as he grabbed a carafe from the liquor cabinet.

“Any drink is good, just don’t resent me if I keep it to the one glass.”

“Duty and decorum, I understand.” Skinner passed him a glass before sitting down across from the parrot on the couch. “You’re sure there is no problem with your wife wandering around the ship? The couch’s wide enough, she could be here with us.”

“It’s quite alright I assure you. Benedita and I are not joined together at the hip, and she seems to have made quick friends of one of your sailors. Anything she learns I’ll hear about and vice-versa.” Pedro calmly said, raising his glass.

“Glad to hear tradition doesn’t get in the way of healthy relationships then.” Skinner raised his glass. “Cheers.”

“Saude.” Pedro chirped before taking a sip.

Marcos, who despite having to play the role of translator, still enjoyed a glass of his own and raised it silently as well.

“Now my dear Emperor, shall we see how to reach that botanical institute you spoke of? I heard you say there were raiders, but I believe botanists could have some interesting insight on the current situation in the Amazon, don’t you think?”

Unfortunately for Skinner’s plans… health potions worked poorly with alcohol and the end result turned far less productive than he would have desired.





	The first few steps away from Roncevaux Pass had been hard at first, but Rodrigo’s recent injury soon became nothing but an annoying throbbing in his hind leg as he and Veillantif crossed over into France and began making their way down the Pyrenees. The pass behind them soon widened into verdant mountain sides with lush forests and pastures with tall grass, with the abandoned ruins of isolated mountain communities interspersed in between. Much in the same vein that the Spanish side of the mountain range had been vacated,  they didn’t find a single returnee on that side of the mountain, their only encounters being wild dogs, stray cattle and the odd deer herd. France did have a few wolf packs in natural reserves in the southeast, but it would be some time before pressure drove them here to the southwest where they would harass and keep game populations in check.

Until then, as Rodrigo and Veillantif witnessed, the deer were free to wander as they pleased and feast off the unharvested plants in abandoned fields. Wild dogs weren’t enough to pose much threat to them, not unless they banded in packs so large they could be avoided with relative ease anyway.

And even for two ponies trotting down the mountainside, they could be fended off. Wild dogs weren’t known for their bravery. Veillantif for instance only needed to buck one among a whole attacking pack before the rest scampered with their tail between their legs.

This was how the first few days of their journey north unfolded. Rodrigo would look at his map and they would hop from village to village, only to stop just before sunset so they’d still have enough time to find shelter and salvage nearby buildings for supplies. It wasn’t fast, and more than once Rodrigo still attempted to fire up and even repair an abandoned car they’d find near a farm or whatnot… but fuel spoiled, he didn’t have the gear to recycle it, and most batteries were dead at this point.

Fortunately, pony anatomy was actually well-suited for long range hikes so long that they somewhat stayed off the asphalt. They didn’t exactly have the luxury of horseshoes.

Thus they passed through the mountains and into the hilly southern part of the region known as Aquitaine with its rolling countryside and verdant slopes atop which isolated towns and villages had been built. At one point a popular tourist destination, the three days it took them to cross it quickly revealed its deserted status. Maybe some had returned, but if they had then they had left a while ago without looting much… which at least meant they could find some for themselves.

Early on, Rodrigo had managed to locate a rusty Mossberg with a mismatched assortment of shells along with more tools for Veillantif.

A few towns down the road after that, a derelict police station yielded some kevlar to upgrade his armor, along with a set of stab-proof chainmail the gendarmes were apparently trying out. It wasn’t perfect, but Veillantif was crafty enough to adjust it to his frame.

No luck on getting to the weapons however. A better group of returnees might have been enough to crack the gun safe, but neither Rodrigo nor Veillantif packed a blowtorch or the magic to crack the lock. The rusty shotgun found higher up in the mountains would have to do.

What followed was much of the same until they hit the next region as the mountainous terrain shifted to flatter aspects, marking their finally leaving the Pyrenees behind the moment they passed the river Adour somewhere near Dax. This was still Aquitaine, but they had now entered the place known as ‘Les Landes’, a large, vaguely triangular region between Bordeaux and Bayonne with flat terrain that sloped down towards the Atlantic on its west side.

This was moorland, if of a particular variety. Its proximity with hillier regions that drained into it meant that the sandy, loose soil was highly fertile, if a bit unstable. The uniqueness came from the downright absurd amount of maritime pines that spread their canopies over the wetlands, vast swathes of conifers initially planted there to give the region a wood industry somewhere in the 18th century, which in fact made it the largest artificial woodland in Europe.

Hints of the former wetland still peeked through nevertheless, and the absence of significant industry and maintenance would soon destabilize the land once more, as Veillantif and Rodrigo witnessed in a few collapsed levees and areas where ponds were starting to form. Shrubs and saplings still grew between the maritime pines, forming a cover that hid the wet ditches and swamps interspersed between the trees. The region had been inhospitable in the past, and the lack of human interference only promised that it would soon return to an original state so hard to traverse the locals used to walk around on stilts.

Already, places like old sawmills and the rail yards attached to them had fallen into disrepair, the weight of the heavy machinery sinking them into the cold gunk made up of sand, soil and loose needles that gave the whole region its sharp scent.

And there was another odd part: the cold. That, that definitely wasn’t normal. Weather was supposed to be mild, if a bit humid in the winter. The region, particularly the dunes along its shoreline, were among the most popular summer destinations in France, and winter still was popular with temperatures rarely dropping below ten degrees, ideal for retired folks to visit off-season.

It was thus unexpected that a frosty morning greeted the two ponies’ first day in the region, with the wetlands taking on a white palette of colors as Rodrigo’s breath came out in a fog. Frost? In southwest France? In early autumn?

Not that it was arctic levels of cold, and the frost thawed out by noon as the sun rose up, but this certainly wasn’t the place where you’d see a layer of ice over a pond in October!

“There’s something wrong with this place...” Rodrigo muttered as they passed an abandoned campground with tattered French flags on its poles. Needles and branches cracked underhoof as they kept going in a vague northerly direction, having had to make a detour where a bridge had collapsed.

“You sure? I mean, I’m not expert on the region but...” His companion hesitated.

“No, there’s no way it should be this cold.” Rodrigo shuddered. “And can you feel it too?”

“The cold?” Veillantif raised an eyebrow.

“Something else.” There was an edge in Rodrigo’s voice. “I dunno what, but Durandal’s been feeling… weird, ever since we set foot here. Here...” He unlatched the magic sword’s sheath with his magic, right next to his shotgun across his back.

The blade was gleaming faintly, a thin aura having formed around the iridescent metal. Veillantif had oiled it earlier in the morning, and as far as he could remember the runes along its length were supposed to glow yellow, not icy blue.

And then he got a feeling, some chilling tremor that shook his whole skeleton and sapped the heat right out of him like the worst winters. The metal of his improvised chainmail grew uncomfortable, cold. He raised his gray eyes to the skies, finding the cloud cover above them roiling, churning, as if snowfall was right around the corner. Flickers of magic would appear in the dark masses, like the silhouettes of horses galloping through mist.

“There’s something evil in these woods.” Veillantif stated. “I say we hurry. I know it’s barely past noon, but I really want some solid shelter before nightfall uh...” He blinked and looked over to his master, sheepish. “No offense?”

“None taken, I was thinking the same thing.” Rodrigo shook his head firmly and tore his eyes from the sky before he waved his hoof and they resumed walking. “You know what, tell me about Aachen. You never hear what it’s like from the eyes of a horse.”

So Veillantif complied and started collecting the vague memories he had of when he was just a foal. It was… nostalgic, a bit sappy, but thoroughly uneducative. And while he regaled his master with his tale, the Earth Pony noted, Durandal remained firmly in Rodrigo’s telekinetic grasp, hovering. Every few moments, the unicorn would throw it a look, examining the aura and glowing runes for any changes as the skies churned above them, the clouds threatening to release snowfall that ultimately didn’t come.

The surprise that turned up was the thin plume of smoke they spotted over the treeline later in the afternoon as they were following a set of train tracks. Narrow gauge, likely only used for local transportation of lumber which, judging by the saplings present between the tracks, had already been phased out long before the Event took humans away.

The smoke was coming from further down the tracks… so they did the logical thing, and went to investigate.





The glow of magic around Aleksei’s talons faded away and she dropped her forelimb on the table, the other already reaching for a mug of coffee.

“Guess that confirms it Mich’.” The fertility cleric said. “You’re pregnant, that I’m certain of.”

Saying that, she took a swig of her still steaming coffee, set the mug back down, dropped a sugar in it and took another swig. Better. Note to self: don’t let Angelo make the coffee in the Officers’ lounge.

Across from her, her griffon friend bore an unreadable look on her beak… but surprise? Not so much. Sitting on her haunches on her chair, she could see the bald eagle griffon was running her talons over her belly. The room was dim, with only a set of blue LED’s under the nearby bar and orange sodium light streaming in through the porthole. At this hour, the room was quiet with just the whine of the A/C and the odd steps outside in the passageway.

“Thanks...” Micha said softly.

“You alright there pal?”

“Yeah it’s just...”

“I’m sorry, if I had known about what happened I would have turned around and this wouldn’t have happened.” Aleksei started, only to be stopped when Micha raised her talons.

“It’s fine alright? I… We were planning to have kids anyway. I guess it just had to happen a lot sooner than we intended.” The hen sighed. “Bound to happen eventually. That’s how life works. I guess it’s still a bit shocking because well...” She raised her wings in a shrug. “I used to be a guy, even though now that Vadim and I adopted Andy I got a cub that looks just like me and calls me mommy already.”

“But having your own is different.” Aleksei guessed.

Micha nodded slowly.

“Never would have expected to have life growing inside me. I’m not sure I’m-”

“Cut the crap please.” Aleksei rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you and Vadim with Andy, if there ever was one couple that shouldn’t worry about their ability to raise kids, it’s you. You will be fine. Don’t go all sappy on me, you’re not that far in yet.”

That earned her a laugh.

“Guess I needed that then. How many?”

“My spell detected two, as usual for a healthy hen like you.” Aleksei told. “Can’t tell you the sex just yet, that’s probably gonna have to wait until you lay the eggs.”

“Actually...”

Aleksei raised an eyeridge at that, bobbing her swan-like neck backwards in bemusement.

“You wanna have them by regular pregnancy? I would have thought you of all people would consider eggs to be more convenient.”

“Call it a gut-feeling… or womb I guess? I just feel like it’s what I should go for.” Micha explained, one claw dropping down to rub her belly again. “I visited Tanya this afternoon while she was taking care of her eggs and we talked for a bit. Laying eggs seems so... rushed I guess? So maybe I feel like they should stay with mommy for a while so I nurture them myself rather than stick the eggs in an incubator for twenty-eight weeks. And- what?” She paused as she noticed her friend was looking at her wide-eyed.

“Nothing. Just surprised. ‘Stay with mommy for a while’? Come on, you’re more of a huntress type.”

“So maybe I can be a bit mellow at times. It’s not just Vadim’s thing you know?” Micha fired back with a cheeky grin on her beak. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never been a bit sappy with your boyfriend.”

“Morv’ isn’t my boyfriend!” Aleksei’s response was instantaneous, the hippogriff mare standing up on her hooves on the couch, her crest feathers suddenly all fluffed up… and then blushed upon realizing her reaction. “Uh… we’re pen pals is all.”

“Pen pals. Suuuure.” Micha cackled. “Pen pals sneak off and sleep together after a party while on a tropical island. Everybody knows that.”

“I have a geas! I will turn back male you know? Eventually.”

The hen across from her smiled mysteriously before she decided to just drop the subject and carry on. Plenty more opportunities to tease her in any case.

“If you say so. Either way, I should have two weeks to turn the A/C to the max and keep cold to ensure it’s a pregnancy and not eggs. I saw how Tanya ballooned up when she was preparing to lay eggs and I don’t really want that… but can I count on your help?”

“Please, I’m a fertility cleric, that’s my job.” Aleksei rolled her eyes. “Like I could let you go in blind. Not that you need my help since I’m pretty sure Vad’ could do a decent job himself as Medical Officer...”

“But a little touch of magic?”

“Always helps, yes.” Aleksei nodded. “I think I can spare you the details on nutrition since Vadim’s going to tell you anyway. Just remember that you’re a predator so you’re supposed to eat a lot of meat. And...” She snatched Micha’s coffee from her talons. “… you gotta cut down on the caffeine.”

“That’s not magic.”

“Which is why it’s so obvious, but it’s also important. Seafaring is a stressful line of work, and the hours are long, so you’ll have to learn to pace yourself and probably ask the Captain to cut down on your hours… a few months from now. No fighting either, and that includes hunting.”

That soured Micha’s mood. If there was one thing she relished with her instincts, it was the high of a good hunt, the joy of a well-placed shot bringing down a prey, the fun of play-wrestling with Vadim and Andy… Sacrifices would have to be made.

“And?”

“Magic-wise, I have plenty of spells and rituals to help. ‘Ease Childbirth’ should be obvious and so long that I’m in range you won’t have any pain or trouble giving birth, and Epona’s given me midwife training so I promise it will be a cakewalk. Even if you have an accident and the babies come early, I still have ‘Miraculous Birth’ to basically teleport the cubs outside and ensure they’re healthy. And for you I would have healing spells, obviously.”

She paused to finish her coffee. Micha reached for her own mug Aleksei had nabbed, but the hippogriff just pulled it out of her reach.

“Wean yourself off coffee whilst it’s still the beginning, it will only make things easier. Try tea maybe, you shouldn’t drink too much of it but so long that you’re under four cups per day it should be fine. Now...” She tapped a talon against the edge of her beak. “I have more spells still. ‘Blessed Youth’ to ensure the cubs stay healthy and strong while their immune system is booting up. Some disease protections to top it off. A couple blessings. As for you...”

“Me?”

“Can’t let ‘mommy’ go without support. A few blessings should already help a lot, but I also have some literal support spells to help cope with the weight if it becomes too bothersome, a few rituals to help better process nutriments for the cubs so you don’t build too much useless fat – I’m sure Vadim’ll be happy you keep your rump-, and I’m pretty sure there is another ritual specifically to help fortify you. Should help with being sick, sore, short of breath, small bladder…” She waved her claw. “You know the thing.”

“That covers everything?”

“Nah. Friend, I hope for Vadim you’ve got a tight grip on your mind and good self-control because I got nothing for mood swings, cravings and uh… horniness.”

“Wait what?”

“It happens sometimes.” This time it was Aleksei’s turn to shrug with her wings. “Look at it from the bright side. Lots of fun for you, and with two cubs in the oven you can’t be any more pregnant than you currently are. That’s about it really… you still got two weeks of monitoring temperature to choose so you could still opt for having eggs. If you don’t… week six or seven is the ideal moment to place all those spells on you.”

“Wait so that means I get the morning sickness part?”

“Can’t save you from everything girl. Some stuff you gotta bear… like not touching that coffee mug.” She snagged Micha’s mug while the hen was still trying to recover it. “Morrigan’s tits, you got an addiction or what?”

“Don’t we all?”

“Fair point… but I’m not giving you your coffee back.” Aleksei conceded. “Anyway… you said you asked Tanya? How is she doing with her eggs?”

“She seems happy enough, though unsure she and Boris are well-suited to be parents. I needed to ask her how it went with the eggs, they were the first ones to have kids on board after all.”

“Technically… no.”

The griffon looked back towards the light green hippogriff with a look that spelled it clearly: ‘elaborate’. So she did. Really, it was a technicality, but Scarface was actually the first of them to have kids after the Event… back when they were in Belfast and had decided to throw a party at the merchant hotel.

“He scored there?” Micha recoiled.

She hadn’t been to the party, what with needing to take care of Andy and keeping enough folks sober.

“A pair of dragonesses, or so I heard. Gargoyles you know, goes for nearly anything with a pulse...” Which made Scarface a much-gossiped candidate for who was keeping Sri’s bed warm ever since the Indonesian hippogriff had grown more comfortable with her femininity. Really, it was either Scarface, or Bart, the unicorn of the veterans’ team, the gunsmith.

“And he left them with kids?”

“Bit of a problem really. Dragons work like hippogriffs in that respect. Enough calorie intake in short order triggers estrus, a proof that food stores are ready to support a kid I guess? Well, turns out beer is heavy on the calories, and they were so damn drunk and still having at it like rabbits come morning that a few weeks after our departure, both dragonesses laid eggs.”

“Oh shit.”

“You don’t fucking say.” Aleksei deadpanned. “Really, he shoulda known better. Dragons can crossbreed with basically anything… but they’re limited. Really limited when it comes to how often they can lay eggs. As in: one or two eggs every five years.”

“How long has it been known?”

“Since Savannah.”

“Well he’s in the shit.”

“Like that would stop a gargoyle from sleeping around. Be glad griffons mate for life. Less drama involved, or at least not on that particular front. Honestly with the research I’m doing for her, I wouldn’t be surprised if Epona gave me a wedding ritual to match your mating style.” Aleksei drawled tiredly, finishing her coffee in one gulp before she slammed the mug on the table. “Now, it’s been nice and all but you gotta be on watch now and I need to go down to the armory and prep my gear for tomorrow so...”

In another plane of existence, a goddess that just-so-happened to be eavesdropping on a certain cleric opined. Animals could copulate as they pleased and she may have kept a bit of the attitude, having been the goddess of equines for the better part of her existence… but intelligent, civilized beings that grew into followers needed stable family units to grow into.

Not something she was too interested in… but she was one divinity among a whole pantheon (two if you counted her influence in the Roman sphere) and sometimes compromises had to be made so the whole of Celtic faith remained a coherent ideology.

	Not like mated couples didn’t fuck like rabbits anyway.





	The next day was when they decided to assemble the Super Tucano on a roadside in front of the refinery and had the little turboprop take off for some overdue aerial recon. After trying out everything in Cuba, now that the time had come to get some actual use out of it, they actually managed to deploy the whole system in a matter of a few hours.

“So that’s the mission parameters?” Hawthorne examined the sheet Schmitt had just given him, the paper held between the pegasus’ primaries as his hedgefog co-pilot peered over his back.

“Eeyup.” Schmitt crossed her arms over her chest at the equine that had only become more diminutive ever since her growth spurt. “You fly your ass north and scan for the Four Horses. It’s recon.”

“With a full load of ammo, flares and missiles?” Hawthorne raised an eyebrow.

“Consider it for targets of opportunity.” Schmitt snorted. “You find units from Los Lobos, feel free to gun them down. You find a monster big enough to warrant it, you got four guided missiles to waste ‘em.” The dragoness told him, giving the aircraft’s wing a hearty slap.

“Fine, I guess we’re safe-ish with the range of those things. Just don’t expect me to be brave about it.” Hawthorne said as he put on his flight helmet and lowered its reflective visor.

“I don’t. It’s a recon, not a bombing run.”

“We got bombs?”

“Only if you consider drop tanks as such.” She shrugged. “It’s not like we know where to find laser-guided bombs… or unguided for that matter. Not that I would expect you to hit anything with them.”

“Jeez, glad to know my superiors have faith in me.” Hawthorne joked before he folded the sheet of paper inside his flight jacket (a purchase he’d made in Cuba) and flapped his wings to hop in the cockpit.

“You’re a good pilot, Flynn.” Schmitt said, leaning over the edge of the cockpit while Adkins mounted up behind him and he began booting up the systems. “But you’re not a combat pilot.”

“I know that...” He sighed. “No biggie if we fuck off if we spot something bad?”

“No problem with that. Just find the bad guys, mark down their position with the observation pod, and get your ass back here. And don’t make me go fetch you ‘cause you went bingo fuel okay?”

“Yes mom.” The pegasus laughed. “Hey Adkins, you ready back there?”

“Aight boss, just enjoyin’ the banter. You two done flirting?” The gangly teenaged hedgefog in the backseat joked.
“I dunno. Are we, Schmitt?”

“Oh, fuck off and get airborne before I torch your ass.” The dragoness shook her head, a few embers escaping her nostrils.
“’Not getting my arse torched’, aye I like that motive. See ya, boss.” The pegasus brought down the canopy and switched the ignition.

The exhaust belched a thick puff of dark smoke and Schmitt took her distances as the prop began spinning in tune with the whine of the engine. At the same time, she spotted Scarface removing the blocks in front of the landing gear, and the little turboprop began taxiing to face the road.

A distance away, a crowd of local oil workers had gathered to watch the takeoff. A few cones prevented the usual patrols and commute from driving on the runway with a pair of militia troopers nearby to keep an eye on the traffic.

Schmitt watched Hawthorne take off without much trouble. The cocky pegasus flying the craft did a little spin and a few manoeuvres to test the controls (and impress the crowd below) before he angled his plane north. Through her blue eyes, she watched a ray of sunlight reflect off the four missiles and the observation pod hanging down below the plane.

Short of torpedoes, these were probably the most powerful weapons in the WSU’s inventory. She gave a nod to nothing in particular and then turned around with her claws on her hips. They would be fine.

“All good boss?” Scarface walked over and asked.

“Fine and dandy.” She whirled around on her feet to face the gargoyle. “These guys should be at it for a while. Pack the gear back in the trucks and just stow it by the stern ramp on the ship. If Alej’ throws a hissy fit about it just tell him I ordered you.”

“Will do.” Scarface mock-saluted before he spread his wings and flew off to pack it all up.

As for Schmitt… she flew off in the opposite direction, over the refinery and back to her quarters on the ship. She had a couple hours before they held the war council, and she still needed to touch up her uniform from after the growth spurt. It’s not because she didn’t need much protection thanks to draconic resilience that she wanted to go everywhere in sport shorts and a tank top. 

For utility she could just use a pouch rig… but you can’t go around half-naked when you’re Chief Engineer. That just wasn’t decent.

And she had to put up a request for a bigger mattress. The current one she only fit on diagonally if she tucked her legs.

She raised her arm and looked at her watch (a new one too). That was about… six hours to retrofit a dress uniform before the war council. Yeah that wouldn’t be easy.





Above French skies, Canterlot Courier flew, the Equestrian airship having taken a south-westerly course upon leaving Trecesson. It wasn’t a very long trip, barely more than eighty kilometers of flying over deserted towns, and empty countryside. If they had hopes of finding lone colonies on the trip there, it was for naught because the only living things they spotted from the air were the huge blotches of color stray cattle made when they herded together.

Though… Starswirl smiled as he stood on deck showing direction to Moral Compass, the pegasus Captain. Up near the bow, Martin was looking at the passing landscape, the little fawn in complete awe at the sight. Right, this was the first time he was flying like that. He could see his apprentice had his neophyte wizard hat on, the brimless one, as well as his training staff slung across his back.

The good one, Merlin’s former staff, the artifact, stayed in Trecesson under lock and key until Martin was sufficiently trained that he could use it without blowing himself up. In a year or two maybe. At the moment he was already quite able to handle a few neat staffless spells, along with telekinesis, basic shields and some rituals and potions.

For a few his age? Sparkle-level prodigious.

A few minutes later Starswirl felt the magic in the air shift. They had just left Broceliande’s sphere of influence, which was visible down below where the usual French bocage, the maze of abandoned fields and hedges, didn’t sport Broceliande’s ludicrous levels of magic-induced overgrowth.

The countryside was still rife with weeds and tall grass that were slowly but surely overtaking the landscape, but there weren’t saplings sprouting through asphalt or vines creeping up so fast they covered entire houses. That would take a few years at least, unlike inside Broceliande.

At least that made the architecture easier to take note of, abandoned as it was. There were the abandoned industries and commercial districts raised around small towns, but those were impersonal. Tasteless retail stores in clusters around deserted parking lots that were literal desert no animal passed through.

Interesting architecture that told a story was found in housing. From up in the sky, Starswirl would cast a telescopic sight spell to observe it, and he saw two clashing styles. One, found in isolated villages and in the center of small towns, was the more typical Breton style: sturdy gray stone walls with thick shingles and little chimneys that didn’t reach very high. Old but reliable, humble constructions that had been passed down over the course of generations in whatever form they came: small houses, farmsteads.

A rural style.

However the second type of architecture wasn’t the fancy, elaborate kind of buildings you’d find in large French cities. Maybe you’d find a post-renaissance chateau here and there… but the second type was actually cheaply manufactured post-war suburbia.

By contrast with the typical sturdy Breton house, they looked amusingly frail despite being made of stone and concrete. They were brighter houses, more colorful, but they weren’t meant to last, and already many had collapsed. Some swathes of suburbia had even burned down completely for whatever issue occurred in the gas lines.

If there were any of the old pre-war houses in those areas? They usually survived with a bit of damage to their porches and shutters. Built to last indeed.

Really, with the overgrowth and the newer buildings falling apart, it almost looked like Brittany was reverting to its old state just as the Celtic gods were rising in power and linking colonies through a network of heavenly-backed alliances and non-aggression clauses.

For good or for ill, time would tell.

About an hour after they left the castle, they felt another shift in the magic. And it didn’t feel quite the same. Where Broceliande had a more natural flow that made the magic feel like the very fabric of the vegetation, the power of nature… this was like licking a battery. The magic felt forced, an electrically-charged raging river that coiled and hissed, constrained.

Carnac came in sight over the horizon at last. At one time a fishing village that had the interest of druids as a side note, it had fallen out of favor after magic disappeared, almost forgotten. A Breton village built on a sandy shore like any other with a few boat ramps and a river that emptied itself into the sea with a basin that uncovered jagged rocks at low tide.

Then, most likely during the reconstruction effort that had followed WW2, realtors and urban planners had set their sights on the little village and plopped down entire neighborhoods of cheap holiday housing around the village’s core, replacing (modernizing!) the traditional Breton houses with squarish apartment blocks, and filling up the dunes on the seafront with flimsy wooden cottages.

Ultimately, it mattered little for their goals. What drew their interest were the thousands of lined menhirs, tumulus, standing stones and other megaliths present on the edges of the city. Most glowed faintly with bluish magic sigils engraved into them, with sparks and particles flowing in between, but only in one direction: towards the shore.

Funnily enough, if you were to extend a line in the direction the lines followed, it would lead you back to Broceliande. Odd things, those ley lines, isn’t it?

“Captain Compass… Miss Glimmer, Miss Lulamoon. Welcome to what might very well get you back to Equestria.”
> Chapter 105: Eyes in the sky
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Starlight looked over the railing of the airship at the standing stones. There were hundreds… no, thousands of them, of various shapes and sizes arrayed in neat rows in a field, and every single one of them bristled with barely contained magic, naturally funneling power through them. Horseapples, she could feel her own horn thrum and flicker from the intensity of the magic in the air.

“That’s...”

“Impressive isn’t it?” Starswirl hummed, appearing beside her on the railing with his apprentice a few steps behind.

“I guess going here was the right call.” Starlight nodded.

“I’ll say it now so that I don’t say it twice Miss Glimmer...” The old wizard took on a more serious tone. “This place is dangerous, so tread carefully. It was only ever designed to deal with the human brand of magic, not the Equestrian one that’s now overflowed into this world. Given how these two compound and amplify each other, and how old the enchantments on these stones are... you must take the utmost care, lest set anything off. We don’t know the full extent of the damage to the stones.”

“Why warn me in particular?”

“Because you’re powerful, and it’s a magical accelerator. I do not know how competent you are with fine, minute magic control, but given your performances designing ritual circles, I feel the warning is warranted.” He told her with a serious stare. “Any stray particle of mana running through the accelerator out of our control runs the chance of causing wholesale catastrophe.”

Starlight forced herself not to glare. Sure he was Twilight’s predecessor, and she saw in him many of the traits she knew the Princess was guilty of… but he was also a considerably rougher pony. A product of his era actually.

“I’ll be careful.” She eventually said, watching the Captain steer Canterlot Courier on the final approach, the landing gear unfolding under the vessel as the noise of the propellers decreased in pitch.

The humans from before the Event had erected a visitor’s center near the site, with a parking space the Captain decided would make for a solid landing ground. The pegasi on his crew unlatched some grappling hooks from the sides of the airship and flew down, seeking spots to tie up their craft in case of severe winds while another pair of them helped their superior to a smooth, impact-free landing.

She barely noticed when Trixie trotted over to her side, silently fuming as she was, only taking note of her marefriend when the boisterous illusionist bumped her rump against hers.

“Trixie finds the steam coming out of your ears rather cute.” The grin on the blue mare’s muzzle was worthy of the Cheshire cat.

“Am I that obvious? Really?”

“No, ‘tis only the Cunning and Observant Trixie that knows her marefriend well enough to notice.” She threw her head back and smiled at a passing pegasus, making the airship sailor blush. “What is it? Do I need to buck a ghost in the balls?”

“What? No!” Starlight shook her head vigorously. “Alright I’m a bit vexed, but he’s not entirely wrong.”

“How so?”

“That I’m a mage that throws her weight around and relies on pure strength for skills?” She quirked an eyebrow at the sheepish smile that appeared on Trixie’s muzzle. “You think so too?”

“Some unicorns are more gifted than others…” Trixie started.

“I use my raw power as a crutch?”

“Not really? It’s just… you’re powerful enough that you can casually blast Discord in the face and get away with it, you even threw down against Chrysalis...”

“She beat me!” Starlight interrupted.

“Details my dear, details. Either way, you fought her to a standstill and held the line while I kept the students safe. Most unicorns would have been reduced to ash trying to pull that off, let alone teleporting a world-class villain on the other side of the planet. You’re powerful, that’s just who you are.” Trixie comforted her with a hoof wrapped over her neck.

“Yeah I know that but...”

“The arcane arts are a vast field of study Miss Glimmer.” Starswirl interrupted. “I apologize if my words were hurtful. There are many niches in which unicorns can fit, be it like Sunburst as an expert in rituals which is unfortunately not recognized for its true worth nowadays in Equestria, or be it like you as a combat mage with the might to contend with the real heavyweights. And I say that with full knowledge of your display against Chrysalis compared to us Pillars against Tirek. There is * zero * shame in admitting you’re constrained to your own field and niche. You just don’t have the finer level of mana manipulation and spell weaving that is usually required of less powerful mages. Take your friend here...” The ghost waved at Trixie. “… I can recognize an illusionist when I see one. It's a field that always edges on the border between art and science with a finesse that is seldom seen, yet most would only see this type of mage as performers or con artists. Am I mistaken, Miss Lulamoon?”

He wasn’t wrong, again. He just lacked a bit of tact. The truth was, the only magic practitioner she knew that was both an all-rounder and powerful was Twilight… and maybe Starswirl now that he had access to both halves of his soul… and maybe his apprentice? The little fawn didn’t look like much, but if he was supposed to be the same kind of Element Bearer as the two unicorns were, then he was bound to be powerful. Somehow.

Either way, the first two she knew had defaults and flaws of their own, and the last one… she eyed Starswirl’s apprentice. Better hope Meadowbrook keeps this one on the right path.

“Thank you Starswirl.” Starlight finally nodded. “What shall we do then?”

The answer was… not much. They had all of five unicorns in their little group, and the first thing Starswirl had them do was fortify the visitor’s center near the airship and create a semi-permanent transportation circle to teleport back and forth between Carnac and Trecesson.

Both being close to ley lines and inside places of great power meant this was actually feasible without requiring a constant drain of mana, though the gems they used for capacitors meant you could only use them so many times before it shorted out.

Next step was mapping out what remained of the lined stones and using mage sight to evaluate the state of the megaliths and their enchantments… and it soon proved far too hazardous for anypony except Trixie and Starswirl to undertake. 

Carnac had suffered greatly. The focal point at one end of the site was all out of sync, many of the stone rows were missing megaliths, some were broken, and others had their enchantments damaged to the point that magical anomalies and mana bursts were frequent if you ventured between the stones.

The scorch marks around them hadn’t been caused by thunderstorms. There was a reason why one isolated stone was surrounded by a cloud of flying gravel.

Which, some time after sunset when they all had their fill from the airship’s galley, they discussed in the meeting room around the round simulacrum of a Friendship Map.

“Your thoughts then?” Moral Compass, Canterlot Courier’s Captain and an old pegasus that had seen his fair share of storms, asked.

“For now? With as many ponies as we have, it would take years to restore Carnac to its former glory.”

Understandably, cries of surprise, dismay and even outrage followed, but he ignored them and cast a quick spell to silence the protesters, the old wizard standing up in his seat and shifting to human form for emphasis.

“Quiet. Carnac’s power is considerable, and the ley line is still there. We don’t need it at full power, we just need a fragment of its amplification factor to get you back to Equestria… and most of all we need to make sure it doesn’t blow up when we fire the ritual through the site.” Starswirl calmly stated. “I won’t lie, this might take a while to reach that point still, since among other things, we will need to draw up a plan of the flow through the site to figure it out completely and...”

Given how accurate the plan needed to be and the fact the site was a few kilometers long…

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s already spring by the time we complete our work here.” He acknowledged. “As you have seen, many of the megaliths are absent or damaged. Fortunately, there is a quarry that is part of Trecesson’s domain as of our current borders to replace the lost ones, and we just so happen to have an airship. This doesn’t end there.”

“Getting multi-tons hunks of rock across the country from a quarry that’s currently not even occupied or in an exploitable state already seems like an endeavor, with all due respect.” Moral Compass frowned. “I’ve grown fond of this here ship, it’s a nice change from being Port Captain in Cloudsdale, but it’s no transport, and airships aren’t exactly known for their deadlift capacity.”

“We’ll make it work. Nothing magic can’t fix. There is more.”

“Obviously. There’s more to a megalith than just stone.” Trixie rolled her eyes.

“Correct. You must enchant it too.” He nodded. “As I know, Meadowbrook is likely to be of some help for this. You see, there is more than just regular enchanting to them, or even more than carving the sigils into the stone. It’s a druidic practice, and the creation of a megalith requires specific stellar conditions, an extensive set of potions and grease to dip in the carvings, and the proper activation ceremony when nature allows.”

Probably one of his biggest pet peeves with druidic practices too. You always had to fit the magic in some kind of cycle, so you never could do much on a short notice.

Hell, he knew the one fertility rite that was based off of stags’ antler cycle. The things some would do to combat limpness…

“What’s next then?”

“For us here in Carnac? We start taking flow readouts all over the place and map the sodding thing in its entirety. Martin and I will enchant some amulets and a map to let everyone participate, and I can tell you I’ll be making sure Rockhoof reactivates the quarry as soon as possible.”

He would get them back to Equestria… but getting them there in a timely manner would be where the difficulty lay. Because now he was really feeling the pressure on his back from the Equestrian side of things. Princess Sparkle had ordered him to be flown back to Canterlot posthaste, and he had yet to spend a day without either her or Sunburst banging on his door.





Simple though it may be, the Super Tucano was not a fast plane. Sure, it would easily beat any helicopter in a race, let alone natural flyers short of magic-users, but cruising at two-hundred-and-eighty knots made it laughably slower than even a commercial airliner. 

In the grand scheme of things, it mattered little. Even at a full load of armament the little turboprop could stay up in the air for hours at a time, and nobody was asking them to dogfight with air-superiority fighters. Where some would compare the Super Tucano to a modernized P-51, its role was closer to that of a Stuka or an Ilyushin-2.

In Hawthorne’s wings (which the pegasus was using to manipulate the controls) it was all about flying as high as the engine would allow and scan the ground along a predetermined track for their bout of aerial reconnaissance. The little latch on the stick between his hooves remainedcovered, the trigger for the pair of .50cal the plane mounted. Behind, he knew Adkins had similar controls, except for the missiles.

“Good optics?” He twisted his head and asked his co-pilot behind him as the plane finally leveled at the desired altitude.

“Couldn’t ask for a better resolution.” Adkins replied as he heard the hedgefog press a few buttons.

Under them, the observation pod’s sensors whirred almost imperceptibly as the camera followed the course of the highway.

“Good, you tell me if my manoeuvres fuck up your observations.”

“Nah, no chance with that. This thing is stabilized well. I even got a radar on it, so feel free to keep the nose radar set for navigation.”

“Meh, for what it’s worth we’re flying VFR. Doesn’t look like the weather’s so bad I’m gonna need it.”

“Your call.”

Really, he hardly needed radar that day. The skies were clear with just a few cirrus high up above them, and what feather forecast he’d managed to get out of their radio operator (she was the one who typically made them) anticipated little change with that.

Except for nearer to their objective that is. There was some weird perpetual storm over in the north of the state of Vera Cruz.

It barely took half an hour to reach the ambush site Aleksei’s team had encountered earlier, with the bus still intact. From then on, Hawthorne flew the plane in a vaguely circular pattern that progressed in the general direction of the tracks while Adkins behind him scanned the ground and took photos whenever he spotted something worthwhile.

Like abandoned fire pits, camp remains, places where trees had been felled for firewood and the vegetation trampled by something big… like a big sphinx. Hawthorne didn’t know what to thank more: the slaver’s sheer size or the quality of the observation pod’s cameras, but he wasn’t that hard to track down and didn’t seem to care about leaving tracks behind.

It looked like Enigma was taking his sweet time exploring the Mexican countryside. They found multiple empty camps with wooden cages left there to rot all the way from the ambush site to Xalapa, implying the sphinx had used the city as a staging ground at some point… but no longer. It seemed, at least to the duo inside the aircraft, that the slaver was hurrying back north with his load of prisoners.

Which meant the damn sphinx had little issue getting around. Tracks implied an entire convoy of carts and wagons had left the city… which was short of a hundred kilometers away from the ambush site.

And that convoy was headed for the center of the storm Hawthorne could see looming in the distance, its center near a little town some hundred kilometers away.

If there was one thing you couldn’t blame the slaver for it was being sedentary. The bugger moved around a lot with his convoy of infamy. How many returnees he had snagged…

Hawthorne frowned. Being captured by a slaver that worked for genuine demons couldn’t possibly end well.

“You ready to dive in?”

“We’re going in there?!” Adkins exclaimed.

“We don’t have much choice. All those clouds prevent us from using satellite imagery and we need visual confirmation to see if that’s really their base. Unless the observation pod can see through clouds there’s really no alternative...” Hawthorne uttered slowly, his primaries tightening around the stick between his hooves. He turned around in his seat to look at his co-pilot behind him.

The gangly teenage hedgefog had his visor up, his mask almost comically retrofitted to fit his long and narrow snout. His long white quills puffed out from underneath his flight helmet and out of his collar.

More importantly, hard to read as they could sometimes be with the blue sclera that matched their irises, Adkins’ being a very light shade of blue, the fear and uncertainty was palpable.

“We will be fine. We got a boatload of explosives and bullets, remember? Anything spots us, we’re out of there. But I need you on top of your game with the missiles.”

Adkins sank in his seat and the pegasus could see him work his jaw under the flight mask.

“Let’s do this.” He finally said.

Hawthorne just nodded and soon, their aircraft dropped its altitude to slip under the roiling mass of clouds. Rain immediately began pelting against the canopy, fat droplets turning into transparent streaks when they hit the glass. The airframe shuddered. There were some odd winds keeping the storm in place, magic was at play for sure. The sunny Mexican day quickly turned gray as they delved deeper, watching the landscape beneath them become an overgrown muddy mess with bizarre growth and ruins that had sunk in the mud. Sunlight was faint there, and the landscape was one that hadn’t seen a sunny day in months. And it was in a large area: a quick check on the GPS told the storm circle was about eighty kilometers in diameter.

In all likelihood, magic was the only thing keeping the plants alive there despite the prolonged lack of sunlight.

But find something they did.

As the little plane did turns and carefully crept closer while keeping an eye on the sensors and the radar for any possible threat, they saw a break in the cloud cover in the very center of the storm… and several armor-clad pegasi creating airborne sheds and pushing the cloud masses out of the way to clear the skies.

“Keep your distance… there’s something wrong with these guys.” Adkins warned after he got a look at them through the zoom of the observation pod.

“You seeing something?”

“Sort of… try to climb a bit higher, I can’t get a look at the ground below them. No, don’t get any closer, they can’t hear us yet with the storm. It’s best they just don’t spot us.” His co-pilot said. “Uh… remember those crystal growths in the report on the siren attack?”

“The one in Copenhagen? Can’t say I read it. Why?”

“The siren uh… Sonata Dusk the report said. Well, they later figured she was operating for the Four Horses and she had those dark crystals in her flesh. I could be wrong, but I’m seeing something similar on the pegasi.” Adkins explained before he turned his attention back to his instruments, watching the altitude rise.

And there it was. The angle of observation was shallow, but he could see their base. He flipped a switch and started recording it, fiddling with the zoom and the observation pod to take as close a look as possible. That was definitely the Four Horses’… He could see a wooden palisade that had been raised around the ruins of an Aztec city with spikes jutting out and guard towers watching the barren, burned gap between the ruined city and the jungle. Beyond the palisade, the ruins rose up in tiered pyramids with niches atop which the demonic cultists had layers a sort-of shanty town mounted on stilts to combat the soggy unstable ground caused by the ceaseless rainfall. Most of it was made out of wood, but salvaged materials could also be seen like tarpaulins, corrugated steel sheets, plastic and reclaimed bricks.

It wasn’t very classy.

Scores of walkways and monkey bridges connected the shoddy buildings on stilts to each other and the ruined pyramid that shimmered with barely contained magic that roiled off of them like blood oozing out of a wound. Beneath these structures, no more than a foot above the mud, were wooden cages… empty. Adkins spotted the hulking form of Enigma lying down on his belly near a campfire between the cages and a few stowed carts… but he couldn’t see any prisoner.

He scowled. Too late for the prisoners already.

On the opposite side of the base, near a short stubby pyramid that was really mostly rubble, were a different kind of cage. For monsters. Right in line with their M/O, the cultists were breeding monsters: chupacabras and hydras, that’s what he could see waiting in cages under the care of their attendants, some of which were overseeing nests and placing control glyphs on the monsters.

“Guess that confirms our fears.” Adkins shook his head. “Gotta do something about this or the monsters will keep coming… and worse.”

“At least we got an accurate location for their base. Let’s bail before they notice us.” Hawthorne replied, angling the plane the other way and starting a turn.

They didn’t leave without a parting gift. In the back, Adkins flicked a little switch and selected his targets on his instruments as a few orange LED’s blinked near the hedgefog’s paw.

“Permission to fire?”

“Granted.”

Their aircraft was already heading away from the base, but it mattered little for their missiles. After loading them up with the targeting data, Adkins fired all four at once and they detached from the wings with the roar of rocket engines. Their stubby winglets angled and the hedgefog in the co-pilot seat watched them trace a wide arc as they veered back towards the base, leaving white streaks behind as they went.

The first one hit magic wards they hadn’t noticed, the intense energy contained in the HEAT warhead enough to make the defenses fizzle out for a brief second, which was long enough for the three other supersonic missiles to pass through and go for various targets he had marked out.

One struck a shanty building that looked like barracks and went up in flames. The amount of explosives in the missiles was meager compared to other more purpose-built ordnance, but it was enough to knock down the building as cultists of various species ranging from ponies to gargoyles and kirins ran out covered in flames before jumping in the muck below to douse the flames.

The next one was aimed at a particularly large hydra sitting on a nest in a pen. It was a perfect hit: the anti-tank charge struck right at the base of its heads, penetrating the thick layer of scales and flesh and superheating its entrails so much it actually spat fire for a quarter of a second before its chest exploded in a spray of gore. The heavy carcass fell down on its nest, dead, crushing its own eggs in the process.

Sadly, the last one was less conclusive. It had been aimed at Enigma, but the giant sphinx slaver wasn’t born yesterday. He jumped to the side like a cat dodging a blow, one wing raised and shimmering with the silvery sheen of magic as the missile impacted it, the shield dispersing the explosion. The worst thing it did was scorch a few of his primaries.

Adkins just shrugged. Freed from the weight of its own ordnance, the Super Tucano was already rising away and above the clouds at WEP. Another opportunity would arise in its own time.

“Hey, you mind getting on the line with the fleet? They should be having some kind of war council right about now. They’ll want to hear that.”

What they didn’t see on the way back, was Los Lobos’ convoy halfway to the cultists’ base… but Atzi certainly noticed the little plane hurrying back to Coatzacoalcos. The High Priestess scowled darkly, a snarl on her narrow lupine muzzle.

If those damn sailors got involved, that would just make everything messier. A three way battle was not what she needed at the moment.





	It was an hour or two of following the narrow railway tracks before Rodrigo and Veillantif finally came across the source of the smoke they had spotted over the horizon. By then, it was late in the afternoon and the cold had returned, making their breath fog up and hints of frost appear in the tall grass that sprouted between the abandoned tracks.

Rodrigo was thankful the tracks were on a short embankment above the marshy terrain, because with the cold the mud and those pools of water would only have spelled hypothermia for him.

Maybe not Veillantif. Earth Ponies were considerably more resilient than unicorns.

The mysterious cloud cover above them roiled, a looming presence that weighed heavily on their minds as the two ponies trudged on, the burden of their bags and equipment growing and slowing their steps. With the cold, the woods were almost completely silent save for the odd animal caught out of its den and hurrying towards it, like the little fox that barked at them as it crossed the tracks in front of the two.

Rodrigo kept looking back and forth between the skies and his sword, the blade’s runes still the same shade of icy blue. Dead insects also littered the ground, killed by the unnatural cold.

As for what was emitting the smoke… it was a colony. They found it somewhere past a dilapidated lumber yard. Its stores had likely been looted by the same folks that built the colony, leaving behind just the worst, rotten logs to sink in the unstable terrain along with a small crane meant to unload rail cars that lay overturned in the mud, their cargo spilled in the swamp.

The colony was just in sight of that, and the smoke turned out to come from a weird little green locomotive powered by a wood gas generator… which made sense given the region’s focus on forest exploitation. The relatively heavy (as in: heavy enough to otherwise sink in the ground) piece of machinery had been put on a reserve track somewhere up a little incline, one of the few spots of dry land where it was parked alongside an improvised quay near stacked logs intended to keep its engine running.

Power lines mounted on poles left the machine to spread all over the little colony. Their spot of dry land looked like it had belonged to a shepherd prior to the Event with a large pasture that acted as a sort of clearing among the forestry, with a few buildings mounted on stilts like a farm, stables and barn. The wooden fence surrounding the whole installation had been ‘improved’ with anything ranging from reclaimed planks to old pallets to give it a more impressive look with freshly-sharpened spikes and sodium lamps illuminated the outer side of the palisade.

Some buildings had been added to the colony to go with the farm and its dependencies: a few caravans mounted on stilts to avoid sinking in the mud, wooden walkways to link everything and avoid damaging the precious bit of dry land, a few shacks of purposes unknown next to the locomotive/generator, and even a tall watchtower with what Rodrigo assumed to be a powerful spotlight.

It even looked like they had transformed the upper floors of both the barn and stables into habitations… though the latter would likely be unpleasant given the amount of sheep, goats and chickens Rodrigo spotted.

And of course they also had gardens… killed by the frost, except for a pair of long rectangular greenhouses.

“Halte! Qui va là?” A rough voice asked in French, garbled by a loudspeaker.

Rodrigo didn’t know a word of French.

Veillantif did.

“We’re travelers! Coming in from the Pyrenees, we’re going north!” The green Earth Pony replied about as loudly. “We saw the smoke and made a detour. It’s not like ponies are very common in these times, no? What’s going on here anyway?”

He heard the gates creak on poorly-oiled hinges as they opened out, revealing a trio of unicorns led by a lanky one with a curved horn and black sunken eyes. He looked disheveled, wearing a sheepskin vest to which he had attached a handful of shotgun shells.

“Boy you don’t know half of it. Get in, the windigos hunt at sunset and you don’t want to be caught outside. I’m François by the way.”





Dilip calmly put down his satellite phone. The meeting room was silent, looking at him expectantly. He worked his jaw a few times, the bronze-furred D-dog piecing together something coherent.

“They found the Four Horses’ base. It’s in the ruins of an Aztec city south of Poza Rica.” He finally settled for saying.

Adkins’ call had been curt, but to the point. Right now his two pilots were flying back towards the refinery.

“Must be El Tajin.” Carmelita frowned, leaning back in her chair nearest Dilip’s with a creak of strained plastic. “I visited once a few years back. It’s not as impressive as what you would find in the Yucatan like Tulum or Chichen Itza, but it’s vast, and it’s got a lot of pyramids.”

“They did say that.” Dilip nodded. “Apparently they built their own structures on top of them with magical wards. My guys dropped a few missiles and only two of them did anything significant. Still...”

The dog walked closer to the table and took hold of a red pencil which he used to draw a thin cross on top of El Tajin.

“Now we have a bead on them.”

Dilip looked over the room slowly. The meeting room was packed shock-full of people, be they sailors, oil workers or militia troopers. In a corner of the room, a ritual circle had been drawn on the floor courtesy of Aleksei.

A translation ward. The perks of magic.

Beyond folks that were curious as to what was going to happen, most of the seats nearest to the map and Dilip were occupied by higher ranking personnel. Officers, Engineers, some veterans, and obviously leaders like Captain Lorelei, Carmelita and Samuel. The only one absent was the forepup managing the oil workers, and that was because he was busy reactivating a chemical reactor elsewhere on the refinery.

“So you pretty much all know what we’re here for.” Dilip announced, louder. “We have two sets of bad guys to deal with and a limited set of resources and manpower to deal with it. Los Lobos, which we know have dug their warrens further up the river, ask nothing more than the destruction of this refinery and the subjugation of us all. The Four Horses are a demon-backed organization that have been and will keep releasing monsters in the region and captures returnees for purposes that are as yet unknown...” He trailed off.

Not that these purposes could be any good.

Plus given the command structure he knew the Four Horses used and the other pirates roaming the planet working for another demon entirely, he highly doubted this was the only base.

“Seems simple to me: we take them on one by one in order of proximity.” Lorelei stated matter-of-factly.

“I’d agree.” Samuel crossed his arms, the feline with the mottled fur sitting next to the unicorn clad in a multicam uniform. “But then we have to worry about how we’re going to pull that off in the first place. Lest you all forgot, we’re always under threat of assault by one monster or another, so it’s not like we can pull the guard details away from our assets.”

“Fair point.” Lorelei agreed, her tinny high-pitched voice tinted by her German accent. “So… I’m sure we all reviewed what we could pull off before we gathered here. I say: let’s all announce what we can bring to the table and figure how to go about it from there. Need I start first?” 

Most in the meeting room nodded, and she pulled out a sheaf of notes in her telekinesis.

“Rhine Forest brings a contingent of twenty levied troops of a crew of fifty, ready to take up arms. In addition, we have a squad of five veteran troopers, two of which are gargoyles with offensive and shield spells, and a single dragon. Our fleet of auxiliary boats is ready to provide support, though one torpedo escort must stay behind to guard the port and the fleet inside the cove. I also have one doctor and the medical facilities to take care of the wounded.” She stood up on her hooves and announced loudly, reading off her notes before she sat back down. “Next?”

Samuel stood up.

“With the wounded from the siege that happened a few days earlier, I’m afraid my militia is stretched thin.” He apologized. “But if we stop our usual armed convoy to commute from hacienda to refinery, I can pull away a few troopers. With that, I can spare two squads of decently-trained troopers in full gear, plus a mortar squad, though I’m the only veteran in the bunch. Vehicle-wise, I can bring a few gun trucks, a couple humvees, and a pair of Panhard VBL each with MILAN launchers.”

“I would have to see how many at the refinery would actually volunteer, but we should be able to levy another platoon to back you up Samuel.” Carmelita spoke in turn. “The training is sub-par I’ll admit, but it should be enough to drive the vehicles and provide support.” She offered before sitting back down. She couldn’t bring much more than that to the table… the manpower was limited to begin with and there were many critical components that needed to be kept under a tight watch unless they wanted to blow the whole refinery sky high.

The head farmer from the hacienda took Carmelita’s sitting down as her cue to speak up and offered two squads of D-dogs she affirmed would make for competent sappers, what with their ability to burrow and dig nigh-effortlessly… but that was it really. The hacienda had a much smaller population than the refinery.

And then they turned towards Dilip expectantly. The Indian stood up confidently, watching some of his subordinates look at him expectantly.

“Amandine brings a squad of veteran troops to the table as our main force.” He started, throwing Artyom a look in the back of the meeting room where the blue dragon was sitting with Roberto. “In addition, we can offer two more squads of armed sailors among which is a cleric with healing spells… among other effects… and a fleet of three APC’s with .50 cals and one IFV with a Bofors for heavy fire support. To that I will add aerial support available either in the form of a helicopter for medevac or light close air support with machine guns and anti-tank missiles. Emphasis on either, pilots are hard to come by these days. That is about all, thank you.” He nodded at the assembly before sitting back down.

All things told… that still didn’t amount to much compared to the kind of forces you’d see before 99.99% of the population wound up in magical limbo. Two squads of veteran-level troops, barely enough platoons to make up a company and gear that, however good it was, was also terribly mismatched between forces.

In fact most of the Mexicans levied by the locals hardly spoke a word of English, which would be a pain to coordinate in and of itself.

But they would have to, somehow. On the upside, they knew that at least as far as fighting Los Lobos went, there would be little to no mistaking friend for foe: the cultists were unique species exclusive to their enemy. It was hard to mistake a wolf-dog in a loincloth for a regular D-dog with the sheer difference in size, and the fur pattern sported by jaguar warriors made it just as easy to differentiate them from unmodified abyssinians.

Still, out of caution they decided they would all wear light blue bands around their arms and helmets, since their uniforms were so different… when they could even classify as uniforms. In most cases they just wore body armor above their coveralls, exceptions made for veterans who usually had better gear and Samuel’s militia.

“Okay… I get that helps and all, but that doesn’t say how we’re going to go about it.” Lorelei stood up and said, earning nods of approval from her own subordinates. “Because last I checked...” She used her telekinesis to grab a pencil and pointed it at the stretch of land that separated the refinery from the warrens used by the cartel-cultists. “… that place ain’t exactly easy to reach.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at.” Dilip raised an eyebrow at the remark. “I mean, isn’t there a road to get us there?”

The pink unicorn filly stared at him flatly for a second before she shook her head and looked towards the back of the meeting room.

“Mikhail? You mind coming over and telling Captain Prateek the issue?”

A purple dragon with bronze spikes and scales along his belly stood up and walked over around the table. He was clad in Rhine Forest’s signature set of white and green coveralls with a Ukrainian flag patch on his shoulders. The dragon shared a few words with his superior before grabbing a larger scale map of the area nearest the warrens.

“With all due respect Captain, there are some key elements that may make going in from the road more hazardous than you think.” He began in a thick eastern European accent layered over the slightly raspy tones most dragons spoke in. “As your own subordinate saw when she tracked down that jaguar warrior, the enemy has the area locked down. We know of several foxholes, ambush sites and patrol routes that imply there may be more. We know of sharpshooters in the form of jaguar warriors all over the jungle. We know they have a stranglehold on the bridge nearest their warrens with several technicals ready with heavy weapons.” He rapped a claw against the table, tail lashing behind him. “What we don’tknow is how many of their forces are in fighting shape after their defeat, nor do we know what is inside those warrens.” He added.

The little pitch drew the attention of the whole assembly, and many in the back rows started speaking in hushed tones, suddenly a lot less confident. Mikhail just took a seat behind Lorelei, the dragon having made his point.

“Isee some have done their research already.” Dilip said after silence returned in the meeting room.

“We need a battle plan, and a damn good one.” Lorelei firmly said. “Look at the kind of terrain there is near their base. That’s basically bocage, except worse with a jungle added to it. Do you know how hard it was for Allied troops to advance into Normandy through bocage? That’s what we’re headed for if we head in directly by road. The warrens? Be a lot like fighting mujahideen warriors in their own tunnels. Tunnel rat work that is.”

“Then what’s your suggestion?” Samuel spoke up. “Because it’s one thing to mention that, but the way you phrase it implies you have a plan already. Cut to the chase please.”

And so she did. Her main idea was not to come at them from the road where they would be expected, but to come in from the river. Rhine had two types of vessels that could help with that since their draft was shallow enough to venture this far upstream.

One would be one of the torpedo escorts to provide cover fire.

The others? The pair of hovercrafts Rhine had been carrying around without much use for months by now. Military hovercraft with remotely operated GPMG’s on top of their cabin, shallow enough draft to stage a landing upstream, and the ability to transport a vehicle or two. So far, the only time they ever left Rhine’s storage racks was when they took them out for some quick training while they were in Cuba.

Of course Lorelei’s plan still needed some polishing, but with this many folks providing input, finding solutions was rather quick. 	

Amandine’s helicopter would be used instead of the plane, with door gunners to keep an eye out from up in the sky. It would cover them on the approach and then fall back to be used for evacuating casualties.

The Piranhas and the CV90, plus the Panhards from the militia, would find use in securing a bridgehead for the main force to land with the hovercrafts. As soon as they had a footing as close as possible to the warrens, they would then be used as heavily-armored line breachers to get through.

Which left the rest of the forces. Their role, as soon as the hovercrafts’ ramps were down, would be to push through and secure all accesses to the warrens. For that effect, each hovercraft would carry a humvee laden with the usual gun turret, as well as enough grenades and ammunition to completely lock down entry points.

And the last part in the plan? That was for the veterans. Rhine’s and Amandine’s squads respectively. Each had well-trained magic users and dragons that, with enough magic shields stacked, should be able to take point and clear the warrens in close quarters.

“One last question then.” Carmelita casually asked. “When?”

“As soon as we can muster the troops and equipment.” Samuel replied. “And then we’ll still have to worry about El Tajin.”

“Keep those for later. One threat at a time please.” Dilip clicked his tongue sharply. “But give it two days, and we’ll get this started at dawn.”

And hopefully not lose so many resources in the process that they couldn’t tackle El Tajin soon after.
> Chapter 106: As for what happens underground...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Far away from the material concerns of any sailor, returnee, or even cultist, a scientist wearing the ever-stereotypical white lab coat above his set of black HPI coveralls paraded on a platform in front of a crowd consisting of various Officers from the security department, R&D pencil pushers, and in the front row the agents in their dark suits, along with tightly guarded members of the Upper Echelon. The room was… a little bland, even by the standards of the bunkers the entirety of the HPI’s North American branch was confined in: white nondescript plaster on the walls, fake ceiling tiles that hid the utilities, and metal-and-plastic furniture arrayed in front of his platform with tables forming a vague U-shape.

At least it beat the semi-brutalist look the concrete tunnels of the facility accidentally pulled off. Across the entire expanse of tunnels and bunkers, there were only a select few places that didn’t look obnoxiously impersonal. 

And only thanks to dozens of operatives repeatedly pointing out the look would have adverse effects on morale in the long run.

On the bright side, the revamped hydroponics were pleasant to take a stroll through.

“… and thus, by altering the prototypes – in our reports, all models ranging from Mk.I to V- we received from the lost facility in France and combining them with technology currently available to us, I now present to you the Mk.VI exoskeleton frame and its variants, each with integrated systems befitting specialized missions.” Lexington announced proudly as a projector turned on behind him, showing various diagrams and pictures of intermediary models. “The Mk.VI frame comprises improvements in raw carrying capacity, strength multiplication factor, and most of all: a redesigned powerpack using our latest designs in platinum-palladium fuel cells that both improves raw output and overall power capacity.”

“And in practice then?” A security Officer asked from the third row. Ex-military personnel, like most of the security forces they had around the facility. He wore his coveralls with the sleeves crisply rolled up and some service patches.

The only patch Lexington could vaguely recognize was the Punisher skull, whatever it was supposed to mean in military lingo. Not that he ever paid much attention to the security troops. Last he really heard of them, there was some kind of pissing contest between the various units that made up the force or whoever had the coolest operator beard.

“In practice it means that for one, the servos give you a lot more strength to fool around with, you get a lot more battery power to last in the field and use the subsystems mounted to whatever variant of the frame you’re wearing, and the increased carrying capacity means there is a lot more leeway to fit everything on the frame. That includes the P-type thaumic shields to let you leave the facility without immediately dying from thaumic poisoning… and without a train to carry an S-type shield for you.”

“Any news of mounting an S-type to another vehicle for now by the way?” An agent in the second row asked.

“So far? Best we can offer is P-type shields on ground vehicles and aircraft. Safe Zones are a lot bigger and harder to miniaturize than P-types. At least for now that means vehicles other than the trains and drones can leave the hangars, and flight ops can be carried out with relative safety.” Lexington explained. “Back to the armors now if you don’t mind… curtain please?” He turned towards the back of the platform.

One of his assistants pulled the curtain aside to reveal the result of all that research. There, held upright  by their servos, were the three first effective exoskeleton variants conceived by this branch of the HPI, all fresh out of the workshop, the metal of their armatures still unpainted, with part of their protective covers removed to show off the wiring that kept it all together. All of them had large lumps around the hips and lower back where the more powerful servos had been placed, closest to the power packs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to the Mk.VI Vanguard, Sentinel and Hauler frames respectively.” Lexington announced proudly as he stood in front of them. “Each represents a niche we assumed was necessary to fill upon producing the first models. Take the Hauler here...” 

Lexington moved over the first frame on the left, one that left most of the exoskeleton exposed and was equipped with what looked like a pair of little cranes and bulkier servomotors.

“This one is strictly utilitarian and meant to operate within facilities. By equipping it with hoists and adding extra lifting power at the cost of maneuverability and endurance, a single operator is able to handle and balance large loads of up to fourteen-hundred pounds with little to no strain on the body. Please note that given such strength and lacking proper feedback mechanisms for the operator, it was necessary to put severe restrictions on range of motion and maximum impulses to avoid causing injuries to operators. Next up: our sturdiest warden, the Sentinel.”

Finishing that sentence, the scientist moved over to a completely different set. This one was covered from head to toe in armor plates, so much so that little of the exoskeleton frame was left visible.

“Simpler in some ways, the Sentinel subset of frames is-as with the Hauler- designed to operate within facilities as it doesn’t have a P-type shield of its own. Its purpose is to maximize protection on the wearer, an effect supported by the impact dampeners you will find attached to every armor plate. Additionally, given its role in close-quarters combat within our facilities, the inner frame is equipped to provide users protection against the reverberation of shockwaves that might occur when using explosives in enclosed spaces. Hydraulic impact systems have also been integrated to allow breaching capability and, to an extent, CQC capacity.”

As he would have expected, that first variant earned some frowns and mutters from the security personnel. Lexington joined his fingers together diplomatically and addressed them before they had the time to ask any questions.

“Please be aware that this first set of variants was conceived without input from personnel external to the R&D departments and that our offices remain open to any consultancy regarding improvements to our models. There is, after all, no better judge of how to better develop them than those who are using them. More options have already been drafted for subsequent variants with, to a certain extent, modularity on an individual basis.”

Yeah that’s a good idea. Military folks love their modularity. Lexington gauged their reaction for a half-second… that looked like it had calmed them down somewhat. The guy with the Punisher skull had taken one of his assistants aside to inquire about it.

With an imperceptible nod, Lexington whirled on his heels and addressed the last model. That one was a bit more elaborate, with a bulky shielding unit working the role of backpack with a small ventilation unit and comms systems.

Actually when you looked into it, the Vanguard was the hardest model to develop, because you had to fit so many subsystems into it. It was slimmer than the other two, with more rugged servos meant to endure patrols outside the facility. The armor plates only covered the chest and legs, leaving the rest of the frame bare and exposing the modified EVA suit (what they used for now with train crews operating outside within the protection of an S-type shield) attached to the inner frame.

“The Vanguard here is the one that’s actually supposed to go out and get dirty. Weight constraints have been designed with more leeway to allow for some flexibility in patrol loadouts while also coming with necessary features like a camelback, integrated comms unit and all the necessary CBRN features to go with its P-type shield. I personally advise security personnel to focus their attention on this model instead of the flashier Sentinel when suggesting improvements. For those that are supposed to take them out on their trial run next week in Appalachia, the data sheets will be e-mailed to your addresses this evening so that you may prepare your loadouts according to the weight constraints. First batch should be delivered...” Lexington looked at one of his assistants who mouthed the answer. “… Tuesday.”

Beyond that, Lexington didn’t dawdle around and waste his time. He had made sure to brief all his subordinates on how to play nice and answer questions. Agent Eko tried to intercept him before he left the room, but he just brushed off the Indonesian and headed back to his lab.

With the armors dealt with and passed off to other departments, he should be free to resume more important projects, both of the sort he researched in the open and those which the Upper Echelon probably shouldn’t know too much about.

Like exactly how far he had gotten in the Uplift project with the addition of those samples the WSU had delivered in Savannah.

Yeah, maybe given what he was doing with those samples and artifacts, he’d best get a few steps ahead on his other projects to distract them.





Through the gap in the door, Vadim watched Andy play with her toys on her bed, the little griffon cub too engrossed in her play-hunts to notice her adoptive father, or her mother right behind. She just set her plush dolphin on a pillow and began lecturing it sagely as she built a pillow forest out of bed sheets and pillows to hunt in.

“You think we should tell her now or later?” Vadim whispered.

“Is it not a bit early? I mean...” His mate replied, one talon brushing against her belly, tail coiled around her hind leg.

“Look, I know in a human instance, it would have been better to wait a few months into the pregnancy until we told her, what with the inherent risks… but Aleksei has already put a few spells on you. As far as I’m concerned, that pretty much means the miscarriage risk is at zero.” He pointed out.

Micha turned around and padded back to their tiny living room where she lay down on the couch, thinking. Vadim soon joined her, draping a wing over her back.

“I… I know that.” She started, clicking her beak as she searched for words. “But why tell her now? Why not wait until… we’re properly settled. That the fleet gets a headquarters somewhere and things become more stable.”

“Will they ever be?” Vadim tilted his head. “We’re sailors Mich’, even once the fleet settles with stable trade routes and a base to go back to, will we ever be able to really settle down? Skilled officers are hard to come by, more so in these times, so maybe we’ll get a few months of respite each year, but we’ll still need to sail out. Always.”

“You’re...” She sighed. “Right. Unfortunately.”

“What? Nesting instinct starting to get to you?” He joked. She turned her head towards him sharply, eyes widening slightly as she brushed her talons through her head feathers.

“Don’t kid with instincts, we’re griffons, remember? And while having just Andy on board is manageable, three kids? Two newborns?”

“It’s not going to be easy, I won’t lie.” The grey falcon griffon winced.

With needing to homeschool Andy and take care of her in addition to their navigational duties they were already short on sleeping hours… having two more kids wouldn’t help.

“Still… I’m going back to my initial point: why tell her now?”

“She’s adopted.” Vadim pointed out quietly.

“And?”

“It’s a problem I want to nip in the bud. We need to acclimate her to the idea soon otherwise she might start to feel jealous and left aside. Or worse: replaced. I don’t want her to feel like that when it’s just not true.” He explained. “I mean… Christ, some kids have issues with a new arrival when they’re not even adopted, so put yourself in her paws.”

	Micha leaned into his embrace and thought for a bit. Though she was an only child, she did recall seeing cases like that when she was younger, kids that had issues suddenly not having the full attention of their parents.

“Okay… maybe you’re right about that. But how do we ease her into it?”

“Try to get her hyped up about the new siblings maybe? I mean… if you emphasize all the things she could do and the games she could play with them when they’re older, maybe she won’t resent it that much. Maybe.”He shrugged with his wings.

“Won’t happen in one evening.” Micha tapped a talon against the edge of her beak. “We’ll have to take things slow, start indirectly.”

“We do have a while before it becomes so obvious she figures it out on her own.” Vadim noted, playfully poking her in the belly and earning himself a nip in the neck for that, which only elicited a chuckle from him. The smile on his beak soon faded after that however. “There was something else...”

“Do tell.”

“Well...” Vadim kneaded the couch with his talons. “I know you won’t like me for saying that, but… it’s one day from now until the attack on Los Lobos’ base.”

She was instantly on the defense, turning towards him fully with a mild glare in her eyes.

“I am participating and there’s no changing it.” She jabbed a talon against his chest.

“Hear me out a least?” Vadim crooned softly. “I… It’s different than from when we were attacked. The whole situation is different.”

“Is it really? Or are you trying to say it is to get me to stand down? They need me Vadim! They need an eye in the sky, behind a gun.”

“Maybe they do… but you can’t just think that way and volunteer to go into danger like that. It’s not defending ourselves from an attack like last time, this time around we are the ones on the offense, we are going out of our way to fight them. And… Nguyen is only just recovering from his gunshot wound. Even with health potions.”

“Your point?” She squinted at him.

“It’s not only about you when you choose to venture into it like that. You can’t just think as one person when making a decision like that. You need to think for four.”

“Four?”

“We’re mated for life, you know the risks with that. I die, you die, and inversely. And there are two little cubs growing inside you right now that factor into the equation as well.” He stated firmly. “If anything happens to you or me… it’s four lives that are in danger. Think about it.”

“And you? Have you thought about it?”

“I’m staying at the refinery for the battle. Camille will be the medic heading into battle on the chopper, I’ll be stabilizing patients as they arrive in Rhine’s clinic.” He told her. “Mich’… there’s always a few of us needed to keep an eye out and defend the place while they’re out fighting.”

“You saw the effect I had on the tide of battle when I took off.”

“To me that makes you even better at defending the refinery while they’re gone. Think about it, there are several others across the entire fleet that could do what you did. Worse shots, admittedly, but they could do the whole sniping from a cloud jig. Micha… please.”

She didn’t reply immediately, instead staring down at the ground for a minute, thinking as her tail lashed behind her. She paced around the room, tail lashing behind her with a rumble in her throat before she finally settled on her haunches in front of him, looking down at the carpet. Vadim padded over and brushed his head against hers, nipping at a tuft of unruly feathers on her neck.She twisted her head up slightly to look him in the eye. Vadim was ever so slightly taller than she was.

	She clicked her beak a few times before the words finally came out.

“This doesn’t mean I’m some helpless pregnant mate, get it? I’m not that far along just yet, and I’m still the better hunter of us two. I… consider it that I’m willing to set pride aside for the sake of our family.”

Vadim immediately brightened up and nuzzled her neck lovingly.

“Thank you, that’s all I ask. And yes… I know I’m a bad shot.”

“We’ll correct that… eventually.” She sighed in pleasure as his beak scratched her neck in just the right place, making her practically melt in his embrace while she started stroking his chest feathers with her talons. “But you convinced me. I will have to tell the Captain I’m no longer taking part… which he won’t be happy about… but...”

“It’s not like you don’t have an excuse.”

“Still, won’t make him happy.”

“I doubt he’ll care. It’s not like we don’t have alternatives, and your cloud sniper technique is only truly viable with cloudy weather for concealment. Forecast says the weather’s clearing up soon.”

Going by their habits, that would have been right about when they moved to their bedroom to get frisky… except that when Micha lifted her head to look at the door, she found a little cub peeking at them with her plush dolphin dropped in front of her.

Well…

Fuck.

“Andy, sweetie, how long have you been there?” Micha smiled awkwardly.

Long enough.





“So you found it?”

“It’s as you told us. They’ve captured the city.” The jaguar warrior replied from his kneeling position in front of High-Priestess Atzi, the feline tilting his head up to look her in the eye with green gleaming eyes.

Atzi furrowed her brows and looked in the general direction of El Tajin. Calmly, the wolfess folded her large arms behind her back.

“Details?”

“We can’t get in close.”

“The storm?”

“No…” The jaguar warrior shook his head. “We used the amulet you made us to check for wards. It’s… fairly light on shields, but there are alarm wards around the ruins. Closest we could get without triggering them was two kilometers.”

“Ah, close enough to spy on them then?”

The feline grinned, barring sharp fangs at his superior.

“Trust us jaguar warriors to have the eyes for that. I left Miguel and Lana on sentinel duty to monitor their movement.”

“Good call. Tell them I want a head count on how many of these cultists there are profaning the city. And make sure they write down which species too. We’ll have to be careful. I figure the goons are more dangerous than the monsters they use like chaff.” Atzi ordered.

“Will we attack soon?”

Atzi turned around on her heels and looked at the camp.

“No. Remember our misguided stunt at the refinery has cost us dearly...” She watched her subordinate deflate visibly.

They had all lost friends to her own hubris and over-eagerness to smite those who didn’t follow their gods. Mistakes were made. Ex-cartel thugs attacking local blue collars didn’t quite work out when the latter were packing heat as well.

“… we have to be careful and use our assets wisely. This country, this land, the very essence of nature is on our side. If you jaguar warriors can work ambushes on any of these heathens that dares leave the ruins, we can start whittling them down through attrition. As such, it is crucial that we remain aware of everything that they do.”

“Of course.” The warrior bowed his head. “Will that be all?”

“Have some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it. And clean yourself up. Us wolf-dogs spent the whole day preparing the camp, the field showers are over on the south side. Make sure all the jaguar know.”

“Thank you, my lady.” The feline concluded before scampering off.

Their camp was… a significant downgrade from the warrens they had left south of Minatitlan. Blame having to move on such a short notice for that, but if they managed to seize El Tajin and bring it back in the rightful paws of those actually faithful to the Aztec pantheon, and then they’d be back with a decent place to call home.

Until such a time, their current base of operations was safely hidden in a stretch of jungle just out of the storm that surrounded El Tajin, to the southwest. As soon as she picked the place to set up camp, the wolf-dogs among her subordinates had set to digging a small network of warrens and chambers to hide their force from prying eyes. On the surface, as she was currently observing, not much was visible: camo nets hid the trucks and technicals they used to carry troops and gear, with a thin funnel next to them marking the presence of their generators below the surface, in the same set of chambers they used to store their gear.

Below that were the rooms they had all dug and reinforced. It wasn’t very comfortable, even a bit too humid for living in for extended periods, but it was safe. And most of her subordinates still enjoyed the luxury of having their own rooms… or rooms for two, in the case of most jaguar warriors.

Atzi frowned. At that rate with the felines, her force would soon be slowed down by… females forced to be non-combatants out of necessity. Hopefully El Tajin would be in their paws before then.

And may Xolotl preserve her sanity if she went into season herself. Now was not the moment for that to happen… not like common sense would stop a horny couple or a bitch in season.

Either way, most of her subordinates were currently enjoying some free time in their newly made, makeshift quarters while the rest kept watch. They had made sure amenities like kitchens, showers and whatnot were included, if with difficulty, when they had to locate an army base on the way to loot their support company for field equipment.

On the bright side, most of it came on trailers which were rather easy to hook behind their technicals.

Atzi decided to do a quick tour of the defensive perimeter of foxholes and ambush points before she retired to her ‘quarters’… if a muddy cave reinforced with timber, chicken wire and tarps could even qualify as such. The muddy nature was mostly owed to the fact they were, in the whole camp, on the more ‘shallow’ side of the warrens.

With good reason. Xolotl’s statue was still active and a large entrance had to be dug to hide the massive construct when her liege chose to leave it vacant. Much like it had back at her first pyramid, the divinity had left it looming over a scrying pond she had quickly enchanted upon digging the chambers.

Which also reminded Atzi she really needed to improve her scrying skills. She was a divinity’s High Priestess for crying out loud! If she could do it right, she might even have managed to… maybe not turn the ill-fated assault on the refinery into a victory, but at least salvage the situation enough that some in the attacking troops could have survived.

Her shoulders sagged, a motion she only let herself do when out of view from her subordinates. Xolotl’s punishment was harsher than she’d first thought. A curse even. To prevent her from callously throwing her followers’ lives away again, the Dog God of the Underworld had ensured that every night, she would, shortly before waking up, dream of her troops’ true opinion about her, how they felt, what they worried about.

Pair that with another part of the curse being a sense of empathy (in the magical sense) for the grief and sorrows of her underlings…

The large dark wolfess dropped onto her cot which creaked under her weight, rubbing a paw over her muzzle. How was one supposed to get anything done with a curse like that? She sighed and looked at Xolotl’s statue, frowning slightly.

No. That was the point actually. She wasn’t supposed to go around smiting unbelievers. Xolotl knew the attack on El Tajin alone would cause her great mental pain, but that was the point, scalding her paw on the fire so she didn’t burn herself again, and the cult by extension.

They didn’t have the resources to act so aggressively. Once the dust settled, Los Lobos’ focus would have to be about securing their territory and gaining more followers, it was about being cunning and biding one’s time in the world that was forming rather than expending all your manpower in one go.

In a way the horny couples she so dreaded in the short run might actually be helpful in the long run.

She finally stood up after giving a short prayer to those lost in the assault on the refinery, going to grab a set of maps from her bags.

With her dreams plagued with nightmares, she might as well make the best of her time and draw up their future borders.





Marquèze, as the unicorn that had greeted them at the gates called the little hamlet, wasn’t a very big colony, nor a particularly impressive one. Their host took them to the main building, the sole stone structure in the whole colony with thick walls and foundations running deep enough to cement it in the relatively unstable soil.

The main farm building apparently, with an adjoining barn in which the two travelers saw the locals usher their animals as a bell rang. The interior of the building was as antiquated as its outward appearance, with only the bare minimum of modern amenities having been added to it.

But its walls were thick, and as the last of the locals made it inside, Veillantif and Rodrigo saw their host use his telekinesis to slam the door shut and block it off with a plank about as thick as a tree trunk, leaving the whole population hunkered down inside for the night.

The unicorn then turned around to face them, shivering, looking at them apologetically through his sunken eyes.

“I’m sorry for this… but this is necessary. We’ve been plagued by windigos for a while now and there is little we can do to fight them off. Please, all our rooms are taken tonight but if you don’t mind there should be some free space above the barn side of the building… if you don’t mind straw and smelling like sheep in the morning.” He offered.

“Any chance to sleep inside beats being out in the swamp at this hour, thank you.” Veillantif nodded politely with a small smile.

“You don’t say...” François sighed before waving his hoof at them as he led them up a flight of stairs and off in a wing of the building. “I had a friend who missed getting back inside when the windigos came the first time around. He tried to fight back, but all we found in the morning was a dried up, frozen husk of a pony. Ah… I’m sorry, you didn’t need to know that, it’s just this whole situation is making us all so gloomy and cynical.” He stopped by a door which he opened with his telekinesis, revealing the hay loft with the sheep bleating below. “Don’t worry, they’ll be snoozing soon enough, just drop off your gear, we can get you some vegetable stew from the kitchen. I didn’t catch your names anyway?”

“My name is Veillantif.” The green Earth pony started as he shrugged off his packs and dropped them by a pile of straw. “And my companion here is...” He looked over to Rodrigo – for whom he’d been translating so far- expectantly.

The unicorn stallion’s eyes widened and he made a small bow with a flourish of his hoof.

“Me llamo Don Rodrigo Juan Felippe Diaz Campeo...”

François raised an eyebrow, Rodrigo met his gaze with a small smile.

“… De Roncesvalles.” He finished.

Well… if anyone had questions about the legitimacy behind him claiming the title like that, they could just go and complain to Durandal’s wielder. Oh wait.

“My companion here doesn’t speak French.” Veillantif added.

Their host’s eyebrow didn’t lower, less so when he noticed Durandal’s scabbard. He opened his mouth to comment on that, but then decided against it, shook his head and motioned for them to follow him to the kitchens.

“Veillantif… I’ve never heard a name like that. Where are you from? Assuming you aren’t ostensibly Spanish like your friend, that is.”

“Aachen.” The answer came. “Though to be frank I really don’t know what they were thinking when they named me. I traveled a lot since them, Rodrigo and I met in the mountains down south and I’ve decided to stick with him ever since.”

Which… while technically true, also involved a lot of lying by omission, and would have earned him a warning look from the Bearer of Integrity right next to him… if said Bearer could understand French to begin with.

For a pony only recently having rejoined the realm of the living as part of the intelligent folks and not a mere horse… the stallion could be deceptively astute… thank Epona’s blood and influence for that.

“Kid of some Eurocrat then? Nah, don’t answer that, it’s not like it matters anymore.” François shook his head. “I was an accountant before all this, look where that got me. Herding sheep in the Landes. Nevermind… let’s get something to eat.”

In human hands the farm would only have been considered a bit on the small side, but ponies being on the small side, room was not quite as much of an issue as would have been assumed. When the three of them emerged in the dining room where a unicorn was filling bowls with vegetable stew, the entire colony was there and could fit in the room comfortably, having apparently taken the time to saw the legs off tables at the halfway point and replace all chairs and stools with cushions to sit on.

All present were unicorns, all with the same style of curved horn they’d already seen on François… and much like their apparent leather, they looked rough. Not only in clothing, but in demeanor as well: they were hunched over their bowls, having bags under sunken eyes and looking glum from the continued influence of the windigos harassing their colony each night.

Something Rodrigo and Veillantif soon were introduced to as the wind began billowing outside all of a sudden, and all the shutters, kept shut and barred, shook and trembled. Both looked up at the ceiling in surprise, food momentarily forgotten as an icy spear of despair and hopelessness wiggled its way in their heart.

The locals huddled closer. A mare stood up and went to light up a fire in the hearth, but even as the flames took and built up, the howling and – they recognized it- neighing of the windigos outside, an angry blizzard, kept their spirits low.

“How long has this been happening?” Rodrigo asked Veillantif to translate, having set a hoof on Durandal for comfort. It seemed the closer he was to the magic sword, the less he felt the influence of the equine…

What were windigos anyway? Wights? Spirits? Elementals? Demons even?

And that was without factoring in Earth’s own variant of windigos… which were actually highly likely to exist as well given current circumstances.

Across the table, François seemed unwilling to reply at first, until he was met with a hard stare from both travelers.

“Four or five weeks. Err… they came about a month after we left Bordeaux and settled this place. This was a good idea at the time, it’s easier to make do in the countryside than in cities, and Bordeaux is… un-ideal at the moment what with the cave trolls roaming about downtown. Look, it hardly matters, we tried fighting them, but they’re ethereal, bullets and blades go right through, we can’t fight them and trying is just going to waste lives we can’t afford losing. And don’t get me started on what they’re doing to our crops with that frost, greenhouses are barely enough to prevent a catastroph-”

The unicorn recoiled when Rodrigo unhitched his scabbard and slammed Durandal on the table with his telekinesis.

“You can’t. I might. Now there’s something you’re not telling me. Windigos are more than just monsters. I can help you, but not if you hide things from me.”





In Carnac, the wayward ponies had set up a base of operation and were already in the process of analyzing the abandoned site and its intricacies, at least those that weren’t busy prepping the visitor’s center for its role as an HQ of sorts next to the landed Canterlot Courier. Already, planks and supply cranes could be seen littering the parking lot in view of the rows of menhirs, with a flight of pegasi from the airship patrolling the sky just in case monsters showed up.

As for Starswirl, the ghost mage had spent the better part of his time there with a chisel and some components drawing a teleportation array in the visitors’ center, complete with all the security glyphs and powering arrays he felt were necessary, a task he turned into a lesson for Martin as the fawn quietly observed and helped his master whenever necessary.

To be fair, the activity gave pause to Trixie and Starlight. Starlight because she just never was the unicorn for rituals – something which had become glaringly obvious as of late-, and Trixie because, really…

Starswirl the Bearded’s method of drawing arrays was the stuff of legend. Even pausing just a minute as you passed by was enough to yield small tips and tidbits he was telling his apprentice, like how not to waste reagents, or how to prep an array based on whether or not you were planning to use it again afterwards.

Though of course, there was also the novelty of human magic factoring in, a brand of arcane arts that, unlike Equestrian magic, seemed far less precise and set in its ways. Less of a science and more of an art that is.

Either way, there was a motive to creating a teleportation array there. Local magics being the way they were and the ley lines so darn close, both in Broceliande and here in Carnac, there was little need for wasting one’s magic when using it, and moreover: it permitted the transportation of supplies between the colony and the little outpost that was quickly being assembled.

Supplies that would soon be needed in large quantities when they started repairing and replacing all the damaged standing stones to restore the site to a functional state, if only partially. Reagents, powders and salts that could most likely be produced in Meadowbrook’s lab under the castle.

Although… reagents were small stuff. Easy to transport in a bag and a small quantity could be used to enchant a dozen standing stones provided one was careful when applying the enchantments.

However, when they actually needed to replace a stone in its entirety… that, would soon prove much harder than initially anticipated. Technically, the borders that had been drawn up recently in an agreement with the colony in Comper meant that the quarry within Broceliande fell under Trecesson’s purview… which was exactly what Rockhoof wanted. Stones for building up Trecesson, to build the temple they had promised Cernunnos, and now to carve out more menhirs. 

That the situation with making spells stick was solved also meant he could have a fleet of sky carriages soon too, which solved the issue of hauling anything through Broceliande’s dense vegetation by going above. In short: exactly what he wanted.

What he didn’twant however...

“Alright, alright… hold on a second and run that by me again.” The large stallion made a cutting motion with his hoof. “You found what?”

“In all honesty, where else would you expect a quarray eel infestation?” Miles replied.
> Chapter 107: The Coming Plights
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Although there were veterans and ex-military folks among both the sailors and the oil workers staging an attack on Los Lobos’ warrens, the vast majority of their small force was composed of militia-level troops, not professional soldiers.

It showed.

While mustering a defense and securing a perimeter were things irregular troops could do reasonably well provided you gave them a stronghold and a solid strategy, attacking required a completely new level of coordination and swiftness they obviously lacked, made only worse by their apparent need to conduct combined arms operations.

Some of the vehicles they needed were still undergoing repairs from the previous attack on the refinery and, despite hurrying the repairs, still delayed the start of the assault by a day, eliciting much frustration from all parties involved.

Then they realized they also had to chart a plan and organize their radio communications a bit better if they wanted to actually get anything done with cluttering radio channels with useless information that would only impede critical tasks like the heliborne medevac. Or worse, given most of their radio equipment was civilian-grade and not encrypted: accidentally broadcast critical information to their foes.

And then one of Rhine’s Officers got it into his head that a force of seaponies/hippogriffs should be sent ahead of the hovercrafts like combat divers to ensure the relatively vulnerable crafts wouldn’t be ambushed, thus meaning the rosters had to be rewritten, again, and that more coordination had to be anticipated with the combat vehicles sent out to secure a bridgehead.

The idea was good. The ensuing delay… not quite.

In short? What might very well be the first ‘large’ scale military operation after the Event (large being a relative term given the number of troops involved barely passed the 100-souls threshold) would have sent any military commander worth his salt in uncontrollable fits of laughter at best, open disdain at worst.

And every single creature involved realized that early in the planning phase.

Eventually though, in spite of poor execution and delays, the assembled force left the refinery, all geared up and raring for the fight that would rid them of their most direct threat that had already caused enough grief already. Soon after dawn, a group of armored vehicles bristling with weapons was seen racing deeper into the hinterland to go and secure the bridgehead.

Amandine’s set of three Piranhas mostly, backed up by the CV90 and a pair of Panhard VBL that the local militia had provided, each boasting a heavy machine gun and a MILAN launcher with several missiles.

Shortly after them, another force began its journey upriver. The main group clustered on board Rhine Forest’s pair of hovercrafts as they trudged ahead with the whine of their propellers, escorted by one of the barge carrier’s torpedo boats and with a small group of seaponies scouting ahead.

Artyom was in one of the hovercrafts right then, peeking his head above the vehicle’s open top and watching the jungle go by, fiddling with his SCAR while the rest of Amandine’s veterans chatted nearby. It was hard to talk with the roar of the engines nearby, but the group of four had managed to find themselves a quiet(-er) spot despite the transport being filled to the brim with troops and vehicles.

“So how did that pan out?” He heard Bart ask, the flemish unicorn speaking in his customary heavily-accented (and slightly broken) English. “Ireland I mean?”

“The Captain insisted I call them… so, badly.” Scarface winced. “I understand he doesn’t want to sour our relations with Belfast but still...”

“‘Still’ what?” Artyom turned his head towards Scarface who was leaning against the bulkhead of the troop compartment. “You thought you could run off and blend in with the crowd? Slip away and be forgotten? In a world with as few of us as there are?”

“Not that I’m siding against you friend, but he’s right. Kinda.” Sri said from where the Indonesian hippogriff was sitting, close to Bart. “In a world like this, with gods that can track you down, if you go and make kids out of wedlock, you gotta own up to it, not run off.”

“I didn’t run off, I didn’t even know they were pregnant! Err, with eggs I mean...” The gargoyle corrected himself. “I’m not that kind of asshole, we just had to move on to the next port, so why does everyone think I am?!”

“I guess if you put it like that, dan it is a good defense, ja.” Bart conceded. “So wat is going to happen now?”

Scarface uncrossed his arms and ran his fingers through his mane, looking at the bright sky above them.

“I just don’t know yet. I… it’s bad. Female dragons don’t often produce eggs, and because I was too drunk to recall that I could in fact procreate with them, now we got a pair of gargoyle-dragon hybrids waiting to hatch, and their mothers won’t be able to lay another egg for years at least.”

“Years?!” Sri repeated louder, disbelieving.

“Given my species can live for centuries at least, it doesn’t seem that bad actually. Good population control at least.” Artyom provided with a shrug. “That you robbed them of the opportunity of having legitimate hatchlings in the foreseeable future, accidentally or not, however, is bad.”

“I know.” Scarface’s wings and shoulders sagged. “You think I don’t realize? They told me that in the teleconference I had with them. They showed me the eggs even. Said they ought to hatch in May.”

“What’s a gargoyle-dragon like anyway?” Bart raised his head and asked no one in particular.

There was a brief pause in the conversation as all four of them tried to picture various amalgams of the two species… to wildly differing results.

“No clue. Dragons offer so many options for hybrids that the data we got from Equestria doesn’t cover it.” Artyom rumbled. “Not even the slightest clue what kind of magic that would make.”

“What?” Scarface was puzzled.

“No really. No clue.” Artyom continued pensively.“We dragons use magic for our fire, and there are some tricks to it as far as I’ve read, though the books don’t actually say how to pull it off, but I do wonder if your kids would just have your kind of magic, fire magic, or a mix of both?” The dragon paused to adjust his beret before he noticed the way his fellow veterans were looking at him. “What?”

“The longer I spend with you, the more you manage to surprise me.” Bart simply said.

“You and me both.” Sri added, sticking close to the unicorn. “I’ve known him for years and he still manages to surprise me.”

Artyom rolled his eyes and snorted, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils… though his eyes lingered for a while longer on Bart and Sri. He threw Scarface a side glance, to which the gargoyle replied with a small nod.

Oh so they * were * an item now… Interesting. Hopefully it wouldn’t detract from their fighting ability.

The rest of their banter until the hovercraft reached its landing devolved into distracted chatting about the kinds of hybrids dragons could make and how much magic was actually involved to make it so that so many races could crossbreed like that, dragon or not.

Their first hint of impending arrival was when the course of the river led them past the outskirts of Minatitlan and the marshlands found closer to the coast turned into the abandoned farmland and overgrown meadows Micha had initially reported when she tailed the jaguar warrior to Los Lobos’ base. Tall grass, thick hedges and copses of trees, and decrepit, overgrown villages. Those were what covered the rippled landscape.

Moreover, most of the infrastructure had already been subpar without being abandoned, and now it had only gotten worse. Words over the radio with the combat vehicles that had taken the road to secure the bridgehead revealed many roads had suffered extensive damage, fallen power lines being the mildest of them all.

Those were reactions Artyom had expected over the radio.

What he hadn’t… was the absolute lack of cries of alarm, ‘contact!’s being screamed over the waves asking for fire support, or anything that would indicate firefights were taking place. Not even a single gunshot was heard over the noise of the hovercrafts, just the distant noise of the helicopter as it made passes overhead.

Neither did the seaponies scouting ahead spot anything until they made contact with the combat vehicles by the bridgehead. They gave the signal for the hovercrafts to come close, and the two transports dropped their ramps, disgorging armed militia troopers and humvees onto a grassy shore.

Veterans led the way, arms ready and magic shields up… to fight nothing. All of the things Micha had so carefully mapped out were there: foxholes, trenches, ambush points. They found them. Some even still had camo nets and sand bags, mostly the gun positions set to watch the nearest bridge and village.

But the supply dumps were empty. The cattle were gone. As were the vehicles. Trucks, technicals, the tracks were there, but not the wheels that caused them.

Nevertheless, expecting an ambush of some kind, they kept their arms up and at the ready, cautiously advancing through the network of defenses arrayed around the warrens. The CV90 and Piranhas scanned the jungle with their thermals, following the troops at a walking pace with their rear ramps open, both militia and sailors clustering behind, with only a few groups breaking off every so often to secure an angle.

They reached the entrance to the warrens uncontested. A small cliff cut in the face of a jungle-covered hillock where a small entrance had been dug, some roughly-cut logs preventing it from collapsing. There was just an excavator by the entrance, or the burned-out husk thereof rather.

It looked like they were gone… but assumptions were a dangerous thing, and none of the veterans dared voice their observations out loud. Doing so would only have caused the lesser-trained troops following them to drop their guard, and there was no guarantee no jaguar or wolf had been left behind to take a few pot shots at them and remove Officers and key combattants from the equation.

Or booby trap the place. Be it Mujahideens in Afghanistan fighting the Soviets or Vietcongs the Americans, the concept of defending tunnels with traps and contraptions was nothing new.

Thus, it was with great care that two teams of veterans headed inside the warrens. One was led by Artyom, and the other, Mikhail, both dragons marching on into the depths with their weapons raised and backed up by shield spells, in addition to NVG. Flashlights would have just announced their position like beacons.

Still, working as though the tunnels were still occupied, they moved at a crawling pace, watching every possible nook and cranny for possible threats that, ultimately, didn’t come. No shout of alarm or war cry rang out to challenge their advance, only a faint breeze and the odd creaking of timbers as vehicles scouted around above the surface, causing clumps of dirt to fall off the ceilings in the darkness.

Los Lobos hadn’t even left any clue behind: everything was gone. The chambers they explored were empty, an intricate network they took a great deal of time safely exploring. Booby traps left behind like tripwires and makeshift spikes hindered their progress along the way, but caution and having dragons protected by shields leading the way made them more annoying than effective.Eventually, they reached the central chamber, the one with the pyramid and the gaping hole in the ceiling left behind when Xolotl’s statue breached through. It was there that both teams met up, confident that the whole of the warrens had been explored.

On the bright side, with the ceiling open, they could just radio that the coast was clear, which was exactly what Sri and Bart were doing as they all grouped up at the top of the stone pyramid, near what used to be the scrying pond.

“Well, they can’t just have disappeared. They must have gone somewhere...” Artyom muttered, glaring a hole in the pond. “But where?”

“Away from us. They knew we were gunning for them.” Mikhail replied, a cocky smile adorning the dragon’s maw. “Ran away, that's what.They knew better. Can’t hide behind their gods now, buncha savages.” He said, punctuating his sentence by kicking a loose stone into the pond.

Artyom was just about to reply when he turned towards Mikhail and froze, maw halfway open, his red eyes wide. The pond’s waters had turned to a milky white that quickly resolved itself into a shape they would later identify as Xolotl.

“Savages?” The canine face spoke in their minds, its voice guttural, sounding halfway between a bark and a growl.

There was a flash of light, and all of a sudden Mikhail fell down screaming, his gun falling beside him with a clatter.

Then the sounds started. Flesh, bones, scales, a litany of pain as the dragon’s shape began changing.





“Now tell me. What did you do to rile up these windigos. No lies. No omissions.” Rodrigo asked, the unicorn’s tone firm.

The effect was only enhanced by the atmosphere in the room as Veillantif translated for the knight: the open heart blazing beside them and flickering from the windigos’ presence outside flickered and cast orange shadows across his muzzle. His armor, despite being in bad shape, still helped bulk up his silhouette and make him look more imposing.

François, understandably, shank back in his seat, not meeting Rodrigo’s eyes.

“I can help, but getting rid of them right now won’t help if more will come because the cause behind their presence wasn’t actually solved. What. Did. You. Do?”

It took a minute, but eventually he saw the unicorn across from him gulp and finally meet his gaze.

“You know how most of us came to settle here from Bordeaux? Uh… yes you do, I just told you.” François chuckled awkwardly. “Truth is… there were more of us than you’re seeing right now at the time.”

“You lost them to the windigos?” Veillantif guessed.

“No! I mean… yes, they’ve killed some of us, that’s true, but not them.”

“Who’s them?”

“The deer.” The words escaped François’ muzzle in a dull tone. “It… used to be an equal split between us unicorns and them when we came here.”

But there were only unicorns in Marquèze now. Some, having overheard the conversation between the two newcomers and François, predictably started looking the other way and fidgeting in place.

“You exiled them.” Veillantif realized, eyes widening.

“We had to! We’re different species! That’s the way it’s supposed to work!” François stood up and slammed a hoof on the table. “Life ain’t all sunshine and roses. Species compete. Put them in the same place, and one will always rise to the top as the other’s masters. Exiling them back then was...” His temporary bravado faded away and he sunk back in his seat, head held between his hooves. “… we had to. We had to split friends and families. Have you ever watched Planet of the Apes? The original series? There can’t be peace between intelligent species. Never will be. Try to avoid it or not, we’ll always compete.”

It took a few seconds for Veillantif to give the correct translation, but when he did, Rodrigo wasn’t sure what emotion to express. So he just remained completely stone-faced.

“Are you telling me… that you decided to exile half your colony… based on ideas propagated by a fifty-years-old movie?”

François nodded.

“But they’ve got to be right… There’s only enough room on a planet for one dominant species. It happened with humans and neanderthals. I… I don’t want this to happen, but it’s going to. We can’t change that. We knew them, I know that, but if I know what’s going to happen if we stick together, then isn’t it better to go our separate ways and keep at a distance? So we can at least... delay it until it’s inevitable?”

“Your reasoning is faulty… and I can’t blame you for it.” Rodrigo finally uttered in a sympathetic tone. “Going by what you’re saying, I’m going to assume you didn’t meet any Equestrian relief team here or in Bordeaux. Otherwise… you’d know it’s just not the case.”

“What?” François jerked his head up, surprised.

Rodrigo took a minute to form an answer, leaning back and looking at the room where all the unicorns were staring intensely.

“I can understand where the reasoning comes from, but Planet of the Apes and the current situation are two very different things. I’ll tell you… up until a few months ago, there were groups, relief teams, sent from… actually I was never quite sure if it was a different planet or dimension, but they were relief teams of the same species we all became. And in their world, they cohabit just fine. Do you want to know why?” He took a pause for Veillantif to translate his words, to which all present in the room replied with a nod. “It’s because unlike apes and humans, our new species don’t compete. Each fills its own niche, or preferred environment, to an extent that it always will be better at it than others and keep a purpose! Even among ponies, unicorns can’t do what Earth Ponies do, who can’t do what pegasi do. More than that, most of these species… can actually reproduce with each other. Deer and ponies? Works just fine, what comes out is a coin toss. You could even have children with centaurs if you wanted.”

“Are you kidding? That’s biologically impossible!” François countered.

“Biologically… you’d be correct. But this world doesn’t just respond to the laws of science anymore. We all became creatures that are inherently magic and act as such. If I can lift objects with my mind, then I’m willing to stretch it and accept I can have children with a doe if I so desire.”

Across from him, Rodrigo saw the unicorn work his jaw a few times and trade glances with his fellow colonists in the room, all of whom were showing a range of emotion both appalled at their own actions, ashamed, and outright surprised.

One mare even rose up on the table and pointed an accusatory hoof towards François who looked like he was trying to melt into the floorboards as she shrilly yelled out accusations at him. He must not have been the only one responsible for evicting the deer from the colony either, because a fair few were doing their level best not to be noticed.

“I’ll be frank. Pointing hooves is not what I’m here for.” Rodrigo said, tapping a hoof on Durandal which was still lying on the table. “Nor should the opinion of a foreigner matter. However, I can help you in getting rid of the windigos. I can fight them. Just remember you’ll have to make amends and find your former friends, otherwise it won’t matter how many I kill because more will come back. Where did they go when you banished them anyway?”

Again, Veillantif translated the question. François eyed Durandal with a hint of hope in his eyes before he turned them towards a wall where a few photos hung.

“Uh… towards the shore. I think they were going towards Arcachon, though I’m pretty sure a few decided to go back to Bordeaux. Will they even accept our apologies?” François ran a hoof through his mane tiredly. “The things we’ve done...”

“How are we even supposed to know that? They’re your friends and acquaintances, not ours. We’re just two travelers passing through.” Veillantif pointed out.

“Y- you’re right. Sorry. Anyway… it’s a fancy sword your friend’s got there. I guess you’d like something in exchange for taking care of the windigos?”

They did. While a place to sleep and a bit of food were the kind of things the locals were more than willing to offer to travelers (since they were so rare nowadays), Rodrigo and Veillantif also needed to fill up on supplies, in addition to borrowing a few tools for an afternoon, long enough to properly patch up Rodrigo’s armor and run a bit of maintenance on their gear.

And horseshoes of course. Those were always helpful when on the road. Veillantif even offered to teach the locals how to modify the front pair of a horseshoe set so as to still allow using one’s hooves to grab stuff.

They didn’t need that kind of horseshoes.

A few minutes later, the two of them found themselves nested on opposite sides of the hay loft, with Rodrigo unrolling his bedroll on a pile of straw, having shed his armor for the night… and also for the first time since they’d left Roncevaux Pass. He rolled his shoulders, hearing the articulations crack.

“So why did you expect them to know how to use their hooves for anything other than walking?” Rodrigo reared up on his hind legs and let himself fall back on his bedroll with a smile.“They’re all unicorns.”





It was roughly two days after Pedro visited the ship (one day being spared to retrieve and recycle some oil from the nearest oil terminal, which involved clearing out yet again more of the monsters Belem was rife with) that the crew of Fugro Symphony made their move to make contact with the so-called ‘Amazon Institute’.

Incidentally, venturing so far into the urban jungle that Belem had become came with an obvious level of preparation. Eccentric though he may be, Pedro was keen to warn them about the multitude of monsters, mutated plants and even bandits that stood between them and the botanics specialists they wanted to reach.

In accordance with that, Skinner’s ‘retinue’ was composed of sailors geared for tackling the worst that could come at them. Of course he still had Marcos trailing along to translate for him, but in addition to the parrot, some of the more ‘powerful’ fighters found among his crew were there.

Glenn Davies. Minotaur cow, a Scot, with the appearance of highland cattle with thick russet fur, using her bulk to wield a slightly modified version of a .50cal for which she carried a few ammo cans hanging off her hips.

Vitomir Ivanovic. Serbian gargoyle, and their current boatswain. A rough-looking member of his species with coarse, dark blue fur, and rather tall as his species went, heightened by the curly antlers adorning his head. While not a veteran, there was always some use to a gargoyle’s magic in a group. Pairing up with him was Zeljko, Serbian as well, but a centaur, and an actual veteran.

Lastly, of the five that accompanied, was Floyd. The griffon always brushed Skinner’s quills the wrong way, but his skills were invaluable and having a griffon that actually was a good shot (unlike most of them) could prove crucial.

And having a flyer to get around in a vertically-oriented environment like a city was always a plus, too.

That was the team that assembled on the edge of the seaport around eight in the morning at Skinner’s orders. Heavily armed. Armored too. A few bits of the cipactli’s hide had already been processed and turned into random bits of armor. The material was tough, but supple and elastic, making it hard to cut it into the ideal forms for crafting, but incredibly comfortable once it was done.

As combat barding for a centaur’s equine half, it worked remarkably well. And it could have made decent armor for a minotaur (who were notoriously hard to outfit with kevlar given their bulk), unfortunately Glenn was the highland cattle type.

And they were in Brazil…

She was already panting hard from the heat by the time Pedro’s group met up with them, the self-proclaimed emperor, as ever, wearing clothes a century and a half out of fashion and somehow barely affected by the sweltering heat and humidity. If his skills in combat weren’t enough of a hint magic was involved, his ability to keep his clothes pristine only further reinforced the obvious.

On a bright note, it spoke volumes about how well their relationship was going with the sailors when Benedita turned up alongside her husband and the two guards accompanying him and announced she wanted to pay her friends on board a visit.

That made Skinner’s eyebrows rise, but he didn’t complain. Not that he had the time to dwell on it: Belem was hard enough an environment to traverse already, and if he wanted them to reach the Amazon Institute by noon then they’d need to make haste.

Unlike Pedro’s fort which was in the ruins of the colonial district, getting to the Amazon Institute involved going East through the towering ruins of the CBD and several residential towers that cast their shadows on the streets below, now covered in various kinds of plant life that spread vines and branches overhead.

They kept to the middle of the streets, weapons raised and scanning the hundreds of empty windows towering above them. Skinner’s subordinates were visibly on edge, a sharp contrast with Pedro’s two escorts who strolled on, almost leisurely, unconcerned by the noises of the local animal life which they could easily discern from those of monsters.

And bandits… but on that front, a group of them tried to get the jump on them, parrots mostly, but they immediately ran off (flew off in some cases even, some had actually figured out how to turn their arms into wings) the moment Pedro lay his claw on the pommel of his sword.

“I’ve been meaning to ask...” Skinner started while looking at the bandits running away. “… but that sword isn’t a normal one is it? Where did you get that power? Artifacts from a museum? Ancient magics? Newer magics?”

The parrot smiled mysteriously and Skinner noted an ethereal flicker in his eyes as they walked on as he kept his claw on his sword.

“Brazil’s past is… nebulous to put it mildly. The land itself doesn’t favor leaving ruins for archaeologists to discover and study, but like any other country on this continent, there were pre columbian civilizations here. A lot of them. Unfortunately, we knew little about them before, nor do we now. When I came back to this world confused and in a foreign body on the outskirts of the city, they helped me and guided me. Nature spirits I would call them. Maybe before they were gods and divinities, but being forgotten by history like that made them loose cohesion. They have power and intents, but as beings themselves they’re like a very diffuse fog.”

“They guided you?”

“And they helped me too. They still do.” He closed his eyes for a second before a thin aura appeared around him, along with half a dozen multicolored balls of light. “That’s where I get my power from. None of the items I carry are enchanted in and of themselves, nor am I a mage myself. It is them, the spirits of Brazil’s past, the hearts of the jungle, that are willing to lend me their strength and make me a force capable of bringing our country back from the deep. So long that our interests align and I strive to bring back the Empire, they’ll assist me and my faction.”

“Uh… then I guess you created Imperial magic. So does it do more than just improve your abilities?”

“In a fashion. I have an Imperial aura I can use which works well to keep monsters and raiders at bay, and other powers, though I must confess I have not had them for such a long time that I’m fully acquainted with the scope of my powers. Dar-Ihe tempo.”

Give it time indeed. Powerful as he was, it would take some time before Pedro brought Belem under his heel and stabilized the situation there by at least getting rid of the raiders. In all likelihood, it would be months before the situation within the city was stable enough to expand operations to the wider state of Para.

But Skinner didn’t doubt the parrot was among the best to take the reins of the city at the moment.

It would just be a matter of convincing him the likes of a Parliamentary Empire were the better way of leading Brazil. Nothing too hard, Skinner didn’t pin him as the authoritarian type. Plus, so long that his own sailors maintained good relations with his wife, Pedro had little reason to turn against the WSU.

And on they went, going from walking through the streets to ducking inside an abandoned shopping gallery to cut across several city blocks damaged by overgrowth. With the changes that had happened to the local landscape after the Event, the place had become a maze of galleries, where destroyed storefronts shared the space with roots and ferns.

Along with a decrepit hardware store that had become the den of a raider gang, a bunch of unkempt Abyssinians huddled around a fire pit who reached for their guns when the group went past, only to stand down the moment Pedro glared in their general direction.

Skinner felt the magic, the quills on the back of the hedgefog’s neck standing on their ends and releasing electric sparks as the Emperor made use of his aura and looked at the hissing Abyssinians imperiously. One of them, a male that was their apparent leader, made a slashing motion with his paw and said something in Portuguese.

Local slang rather, because Marcos didn’t have a translation for it.

Pedro just threw his head back and laughed.

“Pare miando, gatinho. You don’t stand a chance and you know it.” The Emperor casually said. “You’re not worth the time or ammo. So just wallow in your own filth while the real leaders actually try to get us back some semblance of civilization. And while you’re stuck down here running from monsters… I want you to think. When the time comes, will you fall in line and help Brazil, or will you be among the savages we have to run out of this city?”

The feline just glared.

“Esta situação não vai durar. Be sure you’ve made your choice when civilization comes knocking.”

That was the exchange between the Emperor and the raiders. One of the underlings then pulled a lever which brought down the hardware store’s metal shutters between the two groups, and they continued their march.

It was at the very end of the shopping gallery, when they emerged out in the sunlight once more, that they finally reached the Institute. Slashing a layer of vines away with a machete at the end of their trek through darkness, he was greeted to the sight of a towering network of biodomes, sensor masts and greenhouses that occupied what once were mere botanical gardens.

Their fences still stood, wrought iron forged into intricate shapes early in the city’s history, and most of the rare and ancient trees planted there were still visible under the triangle patterns of the biodomes, but it seemed like high-tech had transcended nature there. The domes, transparent, were like bubbles that protected their inhabitants from the wilder city beyond, with container stacks and mobile labs turned into buildings under their protective bulk.

Although… protection seemed addressed in a different manner there. The complex’s entrance was visible, a round airlock right in front of them, but so was the myriad of cables that spread across the area of flat asphalt all around the botanical gardens. Each connected to antennas mounted on tripods set at regular intervals around the whole perimeter.

Oddly enough, plants seemed to keep away from the antennas from which Skinner could hear a faint buzzing.

More than the antennas, there was a single tower emerging from the top of the largest biodome, like a watchtower that merged with the complex’s chimney stack. Although shorter than the skyscrapers around it, the odd spotlight-esque contraption with a dish covered in reflective foil had a perfect view of the security perimeter.

Like a turret.

“What’s that?” Skinner wondered aloud, looking at the bizarre amalgam of technology with its apparent wiring and circuit boards.

“Defense system. Doesn’t kill anyone, but it’ll make you wish you were. According to the poor fools who experienced it at least. I think it’s based on microwaves but...” Pedro shrugged honestly. “… I’m no engineer.”

The contraption swiveled on its mount to face in their general direction, a flap on its front popping open to reveal what looked like a cone filled with aluminium foil.

“I don’t think I want to try this out...” Floyd piped up from the back of the group.

“Rest easy. I’m acquainted with these people.” Pedro smiled, regally striding up towards the airlock like he owned the place and waving a claw at a camera mast.

He really was. As he drew closer to the airlock, a pair of parrots – both blue and gold macaws- wearing lab coats emerged to greet him eagerly.

“Floyd?”

“Captain?” The griffon padded closer to his superior.

“Radio the ship. Successful first contact, no incident so far.”

“Aye sir.”





Meanwhile, on the other side of town, on Fugro, Benedita had met up with her friends. Prim and proper as she carried herself, the hen had come in carrying her eggs securely slung in a tight bandoleer close to her chest.

“You don’t feel safe leaving them at the fort?” Praveen inquired after greeting her friend.

“With neither me nor my husband there? No I’m not. Their mother’s warmth is just as good as any incubator either way...” Benedita said, warmly stroking a claw against the hard shell.

“When are they going to hatch?”

“Around February if I’m correct.” The hen told before she sat down next to Praveen and Cara.

The two felines had led her deep within Fugro’s bowels, to the same place from which the drones would normally be controlled. Benedita had to admit, the room was impressive with its multitude of screens lighting up the cold penumbra, dry air that clashed with Belem’s otherwise humid atmosphere.

In fact the only actual light in the room was a red lamp above the coffee dispenser. The rest came from the screens. CCTV displays monitoring the ship’s vicinity and linked up to a few cameras the Chief Engineer had installed around the seaport’s perimeter. Just in case. Along with those, a few screens showed wider views of the region and weather previsions for the Atlantic as a whole.

Eerie really, but the ambiance didn’t faze Cara and Praveen, the both of them comfortably installed in their seats to stand watch.

Sadly for her own entertainment, neither wore the frilly dresses Praveen had admitted they wore the one time, being clad in Fugro’s customary set of coveralls, though Cara’s set looked more like suspenders to which an electrician’s tool set had been added.

“It’ll be some challenge… taking care of kids in a world like this.” Cara commented in a soft voice, the young abyssinian sitting cross-legged in a seat made for being twice her size.

“I never was one to back down from a challenge.” Benedita smiled confidently. “And look at it this way, having kids in a world like this is just one more motive to set things right.”

“I dunno… being reduced to the size of my youngest daughter before it all went to shit means I can’t think that way for a few years at least.” Cara shrugged, fiddling with the tip of her tail.

“You had children?”

“Of course I did! I had three back home in Lisbon. Two daughters and a son.” She smiled wistfully. “I… I doubt they’d recognize their dad now, and I can only hope they’ll be alright when they come back. My eldest was an adult and I taught her a lot so she’ll be fine… but Diana and Paulo...”

“Oh I’m so sorry!” Benedita stood up from her seat.

“Don’t be. I can feel you are anyway...” Cara sighed, ears folded against her head.

Out of sympathy, Praveen reached out with her paw and scratched the smaller feline on the back of the head. Cara flexed her back at the touch and purred, throwing her best friend a small smile.

“Obrigada.”

“Always happy to help, friend.”

Benedita eyed the display with a smile, one claw distractedly still stroking her eggs on her chest.

“I’ve been meaning to ask Cara… how does it work? Your empathy I mean?”

“It’s like a normal abyssinian’s… but more powerful and with less control. Unless I actively try to stop it I can actually hear what people are thinking and feeling.” She closed her eyes. “The more people there are, the harder it is to control it. That’s why I usually stick to the bowels of the ship. Less people to annoy me, and let’s be honest: being this small is actually rather helpful when you’re going around utility ducts.”

“And...”

Cara opened her eyes again and looked Benedita straight in the eye, reaching with her paw to squeeze Praveen’s.

“I’ve read I could train the skill. But this body is far too young for that still. It could be years before I’m fully in control. Until then… a strong familiar presence can help me anchor myself and prevent me from destroying my own mind from being overwhelmed.”

“Sounds scary.”

“I’ll tell you what’s scary, it’s...”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. One of the screens started bleeping out an alarm tone that got the two sailors on their heels in an instant, rushing over to see what was the issue. That was the weather monitoring station, the one connected to the weather satellites the HPI let the WSU use.

The same ones they used to keep track of the demonic pirates’ whereabouts.

If Cara could be any paler with her white fur, she would have passed for a corpse.

“What’s the matter?” Benedita inquired, noticing a large blotch occupying the portion of the map representing the Gulf of Guinea.

As a reply, Praveen pointed at a vector that was extrapolating where the storm was heading next. The same storm they knew followed the warship that had attacked Sao Paulo.

After some time ravaging any coastal colony from Lagos to Matadi… their foes were finally heading back west across the Atlantic.
> Chapter 108: Of Divine Ire and Curses
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Horror. Horror and bewilderment, those were the emotions shared across the two veteran teams as they watched Mikhail keel over and writhe on the ground in pain, Xolotl’s curse working its way on the purple dragon. As for the canine god, he faded away almost unnoticed, cackling like a hyena as his ethereal form dissolved into cold mist.

They were all enraptured by the sickening sight of the curse enacting itself upon their comrade who could only roar out in pain and confusion as the magic remodeled his body. Bones cracking, flesh moving and swelling, forming lumps under Mikhail’s shiny purple scales and clothes.

Behind Artyom, somebody threw up, adding a nauseating stench to the scene that made bile, hot lava-esque draconic bile, rise up in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it and went to kneel by the thrashing dragon, only to be stopped by Scarface holding up his arm across his chest.

“Don’t. For all we know it’s contagious.” The gargoyle shook his head sternly.

“Wha-” Artyom snorted out a puff of acrid smoke and glared, biting back a few choice curse words in Russian. “The fuck are we supposed to do then?” He growled, waving a claw at Mikhail just as the sound of clothes tearing reached their ears.

Both turned their head in unison as they took note of the changes the stricken dragon was undergoing. Whatever sick joke the dog god was thinking when he cast his curse, it involved Mikhail remaining a dragon… albeit one of an entirely different shape. The Ukrainian’s pained roars slowly became lower-pitched, a more raucous sound that seemingly matched the increase in size they were observing.

“Scar!” Artyom insisted, grabbing the gargoyle by the shoulder.

“Uh… sorry.” He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the transforming dragon. “Divine magic. It’s… divine stuff. We need our cleric. Sri!” He yelled, swiveling around to look at the hippogriff who was observing the scene next to Bart. “Get on the radio and call Aleksei! Stat! We got a curse to break!”

Mikhail’s plight, however, didn’t stop because they were waiting for a cleric. In the minutes that it took before Aleksei finally arrived flying in through the gaping hole in the ceiling, his transformation didn’t stop. In fact, it sped up.

Before their very eyes, he swelled up and kept growing until he was roughly as big as an ox, forcing them to widen the circle they were forming around him as his limbs lengthened and his thrashing continued, even sweeping a centaur from Rhine’s team off his hooves with his tail. He had grown so large by then that his gear and clothes lay in tatters below him, exposing underbelly scales of a lighter shade of purple than the rest.

Size aside… limbs and neck lengthened and rearranged themselves. Joints were reshaped to favor a purely quadrupedal stance. Claws altered themselves, losing much of their prehensile capability in a manner that made Xolotl’s words start to make sense.

‘Savage?’

Right as he heard the swoosh of wings and the impact of hooves on stone that signaled Aleksei landing behind him, Scarface finally put the pieces together, as the spikes along his spine lengthened and his skull elongated itself into a narrow, triangular snout.

He widened his eyes.

“Everybody get clear!”

Too late. Mikhail blinked, and formerly black eyes became yellow,  his thrashing finally coming to a stop. Scarface beat his wings backwards, propelling himself away just in time to dodge the tail swipe that might have bisected him given the thagomizer at the end of Mikhail’s tail. Instead, he stumbled inelegantly, tripping over his own tail before he reached the edge of the small underground pyramid and fell.

The world spun. Roars filled the chamber. He saw a centaur being sent flying, mercifully landing with a splash in the small river at the base of the pyramid.

“Mikhail please stop! It’s us!” He heard.

“He’s gone feral! Shoot bloody hell, shoot!”

“Pavlos is down! Medic!”

Scarface came to a halt at the base of the pyramid, mind still reeling and trying to adjust, likely covered in scraps and bruises. He tried to get up and put some weight on his ar-

Bad idea.

The gargoyle’s muzzle parted in a mute gasp as he fell back down, forearm bent at an unnatural angle. The roaring continued, and he felt someone lift him up, noticing orange crest feathers out of the corner of his eye. Sri.

“Fuck this hurts.” He moaned.

“If you’re in pain you’re alive. Come on.” The hippogriff mare grunted, draping him over her back before she dragged him into a nearby tunnel.

He could see the… not quite a fight that was occurring atop the pyramid. Flashes of magic being cast. Shield spells. Fire breath being deflected.

Someone fired. It didn’t do much good. Come a certain size, and dragons not only become pretty much immune to pistol fire but to 5.56 as well.

But piss him off it sure did.

“Godverdomme!” Bart yelled, the unicorn of their team sent flying heavenwards after a swipe of Mikhail’s paw bounced off his shield.

“Stop shooting you fucking idiots, he’s one of us.” They heard Aleksei squawk out, the hippogriff’s talons aglow with magic as she tried her best to calm down the rampaging feral.

It didn’t do much good. At her skill level, the appeasement spells she knew were more about swaying already compliant persons that calming a wild dragon. She ducked under a tail swipe, falling over in the scrying pond with a splash.

“Team alpha, what the fuck’s going in there? What’s with the roaring? Over.”  Hawthorne’s voice rang out over the radio just as he heard the thudding of helicopter blades near the hole in the ceiling.

Mikhail heard it as well. Almost in slow-motion, all in the chamber that were still conscious and not knocked out watched him spread his wings and coil up.

“Ascend Hawthorne! Ascend! Get the fuck away and stay away from the dragon!” Scarface took hold of his radio and yelled.

“Say again? Over.”

“All units, do not engage the purple dragon. I say again: do not shoot. Hide! Over.”

The rampaging dragon took his leap, sending dust flying up from the air displaced as he flew off and through the hole in the ceiling, roaring.

Scarface didn’t see it, but later on he would learn Mikhail tried to attack the helicopter, only to be driven off when the door gunner opened fire. Whether it wounded him or not, nobody knew for certain, but the drake was last spotted flying off north.

Minutes later, the helicopter settled in a hover above the hole in the ceiling and a gurney was lowered to evacuate the wounded. Fractures, burns, and gashes. That’s what this all amounted to, thankfully.

Or less so. Healing potion was in limited supply, and now most among the vets had been injured in one way or another, one of their best combatants had gone feral and flown off.

Back in Coatzacoalcos, Carmelita found herself introduced to some choice words of Marathi when Dilip heard the news, and later to much the same in German when Lorelei was informed.

Not only did they not actually solve the issue with Los Lobos, but now they had a wild dragon flying about, their veterans were down for the count and they still had to tackle the demonic threat looming to the north in El Tajin.

In short? A decisive defeat, and their enemy hadn’t even needed to be present.





“Sir?”

“You heard me, Klavins. Find a transfer to the recce team to replace Scarface while he’s recovering, I don’t care who, but you need to get out there and find Mikhail.”

“You think we can get him back?”

“I do. If a god can take his sentience away, then another can give it back. Consult with your deity if you need to, but you need to track him down and turn him back. Got it.”

She nodded.

“I will do it.”

In the back of Dilip’s office, Lorelei’s eyes tracked the hippogriff like a hawk as she left. They wouldn’t lose another sailor. Not like Gothenburg. Not for a battle that achieved nothing.





Atzi grinned predatorily, showing gleaming fangs that almost lit up the dim cave in which the purple dragon lay coiled up, sleeping.

A fantastic boon for their cause.





An ocean away, in southwest France, Veillantif and Rodrigo had spent the whole day preparing for the fight against the windigos. While the locals worked gathering resources out in the woods and doing their best to keep their plantations alive despite the cold, they had prepared the terrain and Rodrigo’s gear to push the balance in their favor.

Now…

“Time to see how this will pan out...” Rodrigo muttered, watching the sun slowly descend in the sky from next to the bonfire they had built in front of the farmhouse.

He gulped. Already he could see hints of them high up in the sky, like a roiling, hissing blizzard mixed into the dark clouds.

“Nervous?” Veillantif inquired.

“Who wouldn’t be?” The Spaniard shook his head. “In Madrid there was a group of ponies, a relief team sent from Equestria to help us. That’s how I learned about most of the monsters that were sent to the planet, and the dangers that came with them. I’ll say… the windigos are one of the few they sounded genuinely scared of. Enough of them, and they were dangerous enough to bring their species to its knees a long time ago. It’s not as… benign as the maulwurfs I dispatched in the Pyrenees. And even those were no jokes.”

“But we’re ready.”

“With the means available? As ready as can be.” Rodrigo worked his jaw a few times, looking around.

Most of the locals had already hunkered down inside. The shutters were drawn tight and nailed in place for the coming battle. Some even stuffed with cloth in anticipation for the bitter cold angered windigos generated. With how thick the masonry was on that building, it might as well be considered a bunker of some kind. Only the door remained open, and it wouldn’t be for long. François stood in the opening, looking at Veillantif expectantly with a hammer and some nails in his telekinesis.

Rodrigo looked towards the sky again.

“It’s time you go inside Veill’.”

“Eh hold on a second, I though-”

“Thought what? That we were going to fight this side by side?” Rodrigo snorted. “Be honest: do you have anything that could remotely harm a windigo? Don’t answer that. I’m not letting you put your life on the line if there’s no point to it.”

“I-” Veillantif’s jaw hung open. “No… you’re right, I don’t.” He admitted dejectedly.

His companion looked on sympathetically. “I will be fine.” 

Veillantif didn’t add to that, finally turning around to join François and the rest of the locals inside the farmhouse. Rodrigo then heard the door slam shut, soon followed by the sounds of nails being hammered into place, sealing them all inside, safe from the windigos.

He stood up and cracked his neck. Up in the sky, the sun continued its descent, spelling the arrival of the spirits… wights… whatever, seconds away. Rodrigo’s horn ignited with magic and Durandal came out of its sheath, the runes on the iridescent blade alight with magic, the flames of the nearby bonfire reflecting off the metal.

Rodrigo wasn’t afraid. He was ready.

All around the bonfire, at the pull of his telekinesis, road flares mounted on poles ignited as darkness finally enveloped the little village. A necessary touch, as the windigos’ approach was enough to dim the bonfire to a fraction of what it was seconds prior.

The chill he felt was hard to ignore either, but Veillantif had seen to it that a layer of insulation be added to his armor. The makeshift retrofit wouldn’t save him in a prolonged fight, but it would let him fight if he kept it short.

Plus the new look with the added plates and components given to them by the locals gave him less the appearance of a road warrior and more that of some apocalyptic errant knight. You’d hardly recognize the K9 armor it once was before all the modifications.

It was the first attack that made Rodrigo truly realize the power behind Durandal. The first windigo came at him, a wispy equine silhouette as though it was made of pure blizzard galloping on thin air ahead of the fray, its eyes glowing angrily as it bellowed at him.

More out of reflex than conscious action, maybe even driven by the blade itself, he rolled aside and held his blade parallel to the ground.

Through his horn, he felt the recoil of the windigo impacting the blade… and it slicing right through. Angry bellow turned into pained howl and the glowing eyes faded from existence as the windigo dissolved into nothingness.

Not missing a beat, he twirled the blade through the air back into a guard stance and summoned his magic. Much like the attack he’d used as a last ditch to charge Sir Roland’s shade, magic coalesced like a lance around his horn and speared right through the next windigo as he reared up on his hooves and stabbed onward with his head.

Two down…

The rest of the ethereal herd split and formed a circle around him.

Two dozen more to go?

Rodrigo winced, feeling cold sweat on the back of his neck. He didn’t release the magic forming a lance around his horn. Whether it was sheer adrenaline or Durandal’s magic that was sharpening his senses he didn’t want to know nor cared, but the sudden acuity let him tell the equine silhouettes apart.

It also let him react in time when four of them charged at him. In a display of coordination he didn’t know he could pull off, he jumped up in the air, twisted his head to let a windigo impale itself on the mana lance, swung Durandal to cleave through another, and dodge the next two as they passed right under him, so close a layer of frost formed on his armor.

Okay so… case closed: Durandal’s magic. Adrenaline wasn’t that powerful. He landed on his front hooves, did a pirouette to swing backwards with the lance and defeat another windigo, another combat roll to dodge, before rearing up on his hind legs in a guard stance.

“What? That’s all you beasts got?” He grumbled under his breath, the air coming out of his mouth in a fog. “Eager to terrorize, but now that someone’s got the magic to fight back you’re just getting slaughtered? That really all you got?”

Let it be known that though monsters don’t understand Spanish, it wasn’t all they had.

Sometimes it’s best to just shut up and don’t waste time, because Rodrigo soon started to feel why he really needed to keep the fight short. Ice had started forming in place of frost where the windigo had brushed his armor, the thin layer shattering and breaking off in a motion… but he could already feel the warmth escaping his body.

For a brief moment the edges of his vision went dark, before he pulled on his magic which ignited like a blazing aura around him, Durandal much like a torch swung around in his telekinesis. Of the nearby bonfire, which previously burned intensely, only weak embers remained.

But the road flares and his magic were still there to provide light.

Rodrigo remained on his hind legs, somehow using his telekinesis on himself to stand up and cast his eyes around at the windigos that circled around, seemingly having decided to remain at a distance…

… and let their aura do the work?

He looked down at the ground. The grass was covered in frost and ice crystals that were forming by the second, the heightened cold only enhanced by his foes’ fury, frost that was ever so slowly creeping its way onto his armor and mane despite the blazing aura of magic.

“Yeah no chance I’m letting you do that.” The unicorn stallion practically growled before leaping into action.

The next two minutes were, at least by Rodrigo’s reckoning, like condensing all the action of the battle of Roncevaux Pass in a mere few instants. Where the fight against the shades had been a matter of endurance and reaching his objective without taking too much damage in return (yes, the latter part wasn’t even that successful)…

Here it was a matter of swinging lance and sword and leaping through the air to kill everything around the farmhouse as fast as possible while his energies were being sapped out of him by the windigos’ aura. Jump, slash, stab, gallop after that one before it escapes, Durandal’s power turned the otherwise normal (if competent in a fight) stallion into a powerhouse…

And being a powerhouse was needed then and there, because he could feel his energies leaving him as the windigos died by his hooves one after another. His armor would crackle at every motion from the ice that was forming over his form, and his movements grew sluggish on the very last few of them.

Sluggish enough that one grew emboldened and changed its mind on letting the aura do the work.

‘Bonk!’

Its charge found itself halted by a translucent wall of magic. Rodrigo’s shield, heater shaped like the one on his Cutie Mark.

He allowed himself a smirk.

“I... win.”

Durandal came down onto the windigo, dispersing it into a frosty mist before planting itself into the cold ground, still shining with magic like a torch.

Then, after one look around to ensure all the windigos had been taken care of, he dropped down onto his belly, magic fizzling out from exhaustion as he passed out, still smirking. Nearby, the bonfire, freed from the windigos’ aura, blazed once more as the road flares expended their remaining fuel, its warm glow mixing with Durandal’s aura.

And at long last in Marquèze, thermometers began creeping upwards.





With Pedro vouching for them, it wasn’t very hard to convince the folks of the Amazon Institute that Skinner and his subordinates weren’t mere raiders. In fact, they had heard of them before their arrival, their little stunt fighting monsters while clearing out both the seaport and the oil terminal had garnered the attention of a couple scavs who passed on the rumor.

Which eventually landed right in Professor Lison’s lap. The blue-and-gold macaw of an Ornithian was the unofficial ‘head’ of the little group the Institute had formed in the former botanical gardens. Fairly tall for a male of his species (which still barely put him at shoulder height compared to Skinner), his lab coat swished behind him as he led the newcomers through an airlock and inside one of the biodomes that made up his compound.

“I must say, things have been considerably easier thanks to the cipactli being… taken care of.” The parrot commented. “Right before you came I had a team come back from recovering samples where its territory used to be. Fascinating results too.”

“Oh really?” Skinner folded his paws behind his back. “Fascinating though it may be as you say, I must confess I’m not fully sure of what your… group gets up to. Pedro here was kind enough to give me some succinct information, but it remains how I said it was: succinct.” He cast a look around the biodome. “So, out of curiosity, how did all this come about?” Skinner inquired, waving a paw at their surroundings.

Which were actually rather impressive. Where parts of Belem ranging from colonial district, CBD or even the uglier industrial underbelly and favelas all sported an ungodly amount of overgrowth… here it was the absolute contrary: crisp white plastics, fresh concrete, glass and aluminum all contained tidy plants in grow beds and smaller controlled atmospheres and aeroponics. A sight worthy of science-fiction under a dome made out of transparent hex panels that refracted light as it passed through to enter the carefully tended environment.

In a way, it reminded Skinner of the drawings architects and designers would make of projects before engineers got down to it and made them practical, except in this case it was no drawing. Structurally, Skinner could also see the general layout: a main dome with a towering spire holding it up which held the main airlock they had just entered through, and small tunnels that spread out into what once were mere botanical gardens but now held all the structures that had been added over time. Containerized buildings even, piled up between domes, likely labs and habs.

“Impressive, isn’t it? What you’re seeing here is the kind of stuff that can happen when a bunch of undergrads and a couple professors are left free to take the resources and put some long waiting projects into action. Granted, a lot of it was conceived by foreign faculties prior to… well I needn’t explain the catastrophe that swept the planet, no?”

“All that?” Skinner raised an eyebrow in disbelief, his tail swishing behind him to match.

“Prefabs and containers aren’t that hard to come by you know. As for the rest...” He shrugged. “Belem is a gateway to the Amazon, and you had plenty of companies shipping materials and equipment there to study the ecosystem. Always the ones to come and ask for guidance by someone from around here. Given we all knew about it… it wasn’t too hard to gather and collect all we needed. Assembling it was the hardest part.”

The Scot looked at the dome above them.

“Yeah… I can figure that. So how did you come back? I’m getting the hint there are several of you from the same faculty so...”

“Take a bus loaded with us coming back from a seminar, that’s how.” Professor Lison shrugged. “Lucky us, we only popped back some… fifty kilometers away from town? That wasn’t a fun trek through the jungle, much less given what it’s become these days, but we made it with twenty five of us. Students and teaching staff. The original facility was badly-placed to turn into a base of operations, so we dusted off all the fancy projects, dug around for a bit, and then paired up with some regular folks we crossed paths with to help us build all of this. And we’re lucky it was a few months prior, because the overgrowth had yet to become this bad.” He explained, motioning with his claw as he led the group on a little tour of the facilities.

One thing was for certain, these guys had thought this through thoroughly and landed themselves in a pretty stable situation. Probably thanks to having so many tech-savvy and inventive members on hand, all of them either Ornithians or Abyssinians.

They also had, in addition to the obvious water purification and waste processing systems any colony needed to set up, some pretty interesting bits of technology. Safely housed under the central spire of the main dome, was their biomass reactor. Because indeed, they elected not to use oil-fired generators to power their settlement, but instead decided that given that obnoxious rate at which plants grew in this era, they could just exploit it to their advantage.

As a result, the system they wound up with would extract methanol from plants cultivated within their domes to fill up the dozen or so fuel cells that fed into the reactor, while also leaving the remaining residues as viable components for the polymers they made to expand their own base of operation and manufacture basic bits of gear, some of which they even used to create the microwave gun they used to ward off both monsters and raiders, along with the white noise emitters they mounted on antennas to curtail plant growth around their base.

“I would never have believed this could be viable myself, but the plants don’t just grow faster nowadays. They are, in fact, wholly different. Part of why we keep sending teams outside to sample the vegetation.” Lison explained as he approached a grow bed under a UV lamp filled with small saplings. “Take these ones for instance. They’re the same species as the giant trees you’ve likely seen growing around the place… it’s a mutant variant of the dinizia excelsa.”

“Not sure I’m following here.” Skinner admitted.

“We’re only just unveiling the first few details in this… but get this: this species, which already was the tallest known in Brazil, has started drawing metal from the ground and from ruins and is using it to reinforce its structure. Not only at a cellular level, mind, because you’d break your chainsaw trying to cut through those. They’re forming supports to reinforce themselves and grow ever higher. And they’re only one of many species having undergone such changes, which I wager is due to plants being that much more receptive to magic. We think it’s something to do with cellulose, but we have yet to confirm it.”

“And ultimately?” Skinner inquired, earning himself a stare from the Professor. “Apologies if that sounds callous, but unlike you I’m no botanist. I’m a sailor in a fleet that sails around the world to link the world back together, I don’t have – nor need to- the education to figure out how plants changed.” He said, putting his paws up apologetically.

“Look, I’m just saying, this runs deeper than just the plants accidentally introduced to the planet when those relief teams gave former humans the materials to make potions. And believe me that’s a mess in its own right because those from the airship we met in July admitted they somehow lost a load of seeds that may or may not have been spread in the upper atmosphere for gods knows what reason. Years of knowledge accrued on all the local vegetation have been thrown off balance, but this also means the new plants can be exploited in our favor and not just impede the rebuilding of civilization. Potions are one thing, but what if I told you that mining may be obsolete if we have trees extracting specific metals from the ground? Or even any landfill you plant them on, for recycling?”

“Then I’d tell you you’d need to make these plants grow damn fast to outdo a furnace.” Skinner countered with a shrug. “But potions… those are something I know is damn useful. Hard to come by, too.” He said, fishing a glowing vial of healing potion from a pouch on his vest. “We only have one ship with the hydroponics to grow the components, so the supply is rather limited.”

Both looked at each other with dawning smiles on their features.

“So...” Lison started.

“We have a trade network. You have valuable productions, and a need to fuel your faction’s research.” Skinner grinned. “Seems simple to me.” He bobbed his head, not noticing Floyd come up behind him, his griffon subordinate just done calling the ship… and sporting a grim look on his beak.

“There are a lot of things we could make use of I’ll admit. It’s hard to source everything from around here, and manufacturing it ourselves can be time consuming.” Lison conceded.

“Sir?” Floyd tried.

“Canned food we can get you in bulk from Cuba. Mexico should have some availability for textiles, maybe even some chemical compounds you might need if that can be derived from oil. Ammunition? We got a colony in Georgia for that. Machined parts? We got contacts with workshops in Ireland. There’s even a group in Norw-”

“Sir!” Floyd squawked more forcefully this time.

“W- Oh Floyd, sorry. How did the call with the ship go? Everything going good I hope?”

“Yes and… no.” He scowled. “There was an update in the weather charts. The pirates, they’re coming back across the Atlantic.”

“Pirates? What pirates?” Lison butted in.

Skinner crossed his paws behind his back and started pacing, a frown on his muzzle.

“Captain?” Both Lison and Floyd insisted.

“How long do we have before they make landfall?”

“Anywhere from just over a week to ten days. It’s the one that attacked Sao Paulo.”

“Then we can’t afford to waste time. Get Marcos and tell him to pass the message to Pedro, wherever he went. We’ll have to hurry up and get those Bofors guns from the naval base as soon as possible.” Skinner finally said in a firm tone, swiveling on his heels to face them, tail swishing behind him and betraying his nervousness.

At least for once the scottish accent wasn’t seeping through.

“And I don’t care where you get the contact from, but have someone call Sao Paulo. Anything they can tell us about that pirate ship could sway things in our favor. Lison...” He paused. “There’s a battle coming. Pirates from the same world the relief teams came from, only those got the backing of an actual demon. You might want to tell your folks about it.”

A distance away from the Institute, back on Fugro, lines were drawn on a chart. Extrapolating the course of the storm surrounding the demonic pirates… which would soon make landfall in Brazil.

They would be ready.





Rockhoof passed the pair of binoculars back to Miles, the frown on his features not fading away as a picture of the situation resolved itself more clearly in his mind.

It wasn’t very complicated.

Some five kilometers north of Trecesson, beyond the Golden Tree, was a quarry, which fell well within the borders agreed upon with the Followers of the Lady in Comper.

And they needed stone. To build the temple for Cernunnos. To carve out menhirs and fix the stone alignments in Carnac. And generally speaking to get any amount of construction done.

Again: not very complicated. With Starswirl having recently solved their logistics problem by making it possible to have sky carriages, they just needed to secure it.

But it wasn’t simple.

The quarry was old, looking much like a badly healing wound that split across the verdant forestry which had yet to grow over it. Shallow and long, its pale exposed cliffs and protruding rocks were among the few things that could halt the magic-induced growth of the enchanted forest, with various pieces of machinery left behind to rust away like an office trailer whose corrugated flanks lay half-sunken in a pond of rainwater.

Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with elbow grease.

What made him frown was the knot of quarray eels lazily sunning themselves near the pond, thankfully unaware of the group of ponies and deer watching them intently, weapons at the ready.

“How many?” Rockhoof calmly asked.

“We counted six yesterday. One male. Two females. Three juveniles, so...” Miles looked at the eels by the pond. “That’s one female missing. Must be in their main tunnel, over there you see? Behind the fallen water tower.” She said, pointing with a primary feather.

A slight detail with the Lieutenant. With Miles only being a wingless pegasus when she elected to take on a male form, she wound up – not without expressing much frustration over it- having to stick to her mare form if only so she could have wings and extra mobility. And the ability to shoot her lever-action.

“Yes, I see it.” Rockhoof frowned. “O-kay, I’m getting the picture here. Come.” He told the group, turning around and sliding down the slight incline they had used to observe the quarry.

For a pony his size, the stallion could be deceptively quiet when moving through the underbrush. The ferns hardly rustled as he rejoined the rest of the guards that were accompanying them for this endeavor. Just half a dozen armor-clad ponies and deer that blended in with the forestry thanks to their thick camouflaged cloaks. Each, in addition to chainmail and gambeson, sported hunting rifles and halberds, ever the mix of modern and medieval that was Trecesson’s tune as of late.

“Al-right peeps!” Rockhoof spoke up, switching to French. “Form up and grab your weapons, because we can take these eels and we’ll do it the right way. That means we draw them out one at a time, we stay grouped up, and we watch our fire. They’re not small, and they’re tough, so remember: when you shoot them, it’s eyes first, then inside or underside of the maw, then underbelly closer to the head if you don’t have a good shot. Don’t bother otherwise, you’ll just hit muscle. If they get close, don’t panic. That’s what the halberds are for. It’s like with giant hogs: limber up, plant the shaft in the ground and use the mass behind their charges against them. You all understand?”

	There was a short chorus of assent as his subordinates got on their hooves and prepared. Some in the sextet of guards looked eager to pick a fight with a new kind of monster, others were more apprehensive, but none looked like they’d run off mid-fight.

That’s about what he wanted from his guards. He twisted his head to look towards Miles and nodded, unslinging his signature combat shovel. The mare took off and began circling above the quarry, which immediately earned a response from the quarray eels: roars and hisses, as the intruder and potential snack was detected.

So long that she did her job well, then Rock and the rest of the guards’ would be considerably easier.

Shifting their pace to a brisk trot, the seven equines and deer posted themselves on the side of the quarry opposite the eels and the pond, with the surrounding cliffs keeping their flanks secure. Up in their air, they watched Miles twist and turn, making quick dives to taunt the eels a couple times – and barely evading their snapping jaws at that- before she finally fired her rifle. A single shot, before rolling over and diving towards Rock’s group.

As planned, a single eel came barreling towards them, the male, sticking to the surface to keep an eye on the airborne harasser… which in turn left it wide open for the line of rifles it ran into. It didn’t matter if Miles’ shot had actually injured it, only that the mare pulled the monsters towards them one at a time.

One at a time they could manage. They were good shots, and well-placed high-caliber shots in the weak spots did well enough to cripple a quarray eel. The shots rang out, the sound reverberating around the quarry like thunder as blood erupted from the male eel. It hissed and roared, spitting at them.

To little avail. When the guards interrupted their fire to reload, Rockhoof jumped in, swiftly jabbing his shovel at the monster. With deadly precision, the blade impaled itself through the roof of its mouth, ending its life in one swift strike.

Ending the male only emboldened his troops and spurred them to shoot that much faster and more accurately. The first female impaled itself on a halberd before Rockhoof had the time to jump in, and when the second one came charging wildly, forcing the stallion to duel it and jump all over the place to fend it off, the three remaining juveniles went down to accurate rifle fire, one even nailed right in the eye from the air by Miles.

All in all? Barring a few cuts and scrapes and a minor injury that could easily be fixed with the right potion, the skirmish was a decisive victory that only cost them under two hundred rounds of ammunition.

“Bon travail tout le monde.” Rockhoof congratulated them, already seeing the first sky carriage come over after Miles radioed the castle. “Tonight will be the time for a party at the castle, and you all did some fine shooting there. Now I know this isn’t the most pleasant of things to do, but let’s get down to carving up those eels for components before we leave. Soon as we’re back at the castle, it’s maintenance for everyone, then you lot are free to go as you like, got it?”

	He didn’t stick around to hear their reply. With the battle over, their job may be over, but his wasn’t. Now he needed to figure out who could be transferred from work around the fields to working at the quarry, how much work would need to be done before they could start extracting anything useful from it, how many guards would need to be assigned to keep it secure from wildlife and monsters…

Rockhoof ran a hoof through his mane, accidentally smearing it with eel blood.

“Rockhoof?” Miles landed behind him.

“What now?” He grumbled, turning around on his hooves.

Miles pointed towards the other side of the quarry, where Paladin Catherine’s plate-clad figure could be seen over the edge of a cliff.

“She just arrived. Not contesting our grip on the place, but she says they need stones as well and have the coins to trade for it.”

“Well then I’d hate to disappoint.”
> Chapter 109: Gods, and those that act like they are
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dilip looked at the notes on his clipboard, a scowl marring the D-Dog’s features as the gears turned in his head and the delays kept piling on. That an operation that had achieved as little as their latest stunt could setthem back this bad… was downright infuriating.

“You know, it really shows when you’re upset.” Carmelita piped in from where she was sitting, nursing a cup of tea on the couch of his office.

“Does it, now?”

“It’s the way you curl your lip. Wouldn’t be surprised if you snarled at this point.”

“Well, apologies if I’m not in high spirits at the moment but us sailors are considerably worse off than your underlings after this whole affair.” He sighed, shaking his head and dropping the clipboard on his desk before he folded his arms behind his back, pacing around the office. “Lorelei is still asking around with her medical crew, but now it’s either we take our time to let the vets – our best fighters, lest we forget- recover, or we burn through a third of our stock in healing potions to speed things along… for injuries that aren’t even critical. Neither is something I’m too keen on. Those things take time to make you know?”

“I don’t.” Carmelita casually reclined on the couch. “But don’t you have a… you know, that hippogriff in the robes? The priestess?”

“Cleric.” He corrected.

“Semantics.” The border collie rolled her eyes. “Can’t she heal them up?”

He shook his head.

“Not really. Don’t get me wrong, she can do some healing to a certain extent, but her domain is fertility. Most of the spells she told me she can do are either for lighter wounds or stabilizing patients, or simply midwifery. And being thrown around by a dragon doesn’t get you pregnant or transmit STDs. That, and I ordered her to do something else.”

“What then?”

“Figure out how to get Mikhail back. Last I checked she was about to convene with her goddess to see what they could do.” Dilip explained before finally coming to sit down on the couch across from Carmelita. He picked up a tea cup left on the coffee table between them, leaving a brown smudge on the map of Mexico it had been carelessly left on.

“You think she could track him down?”

“With the proper ritual? Yes. Mikhail’s shipmates already provided a few leftover scales to help her track him down. We’ll get him back. Eventually.” Dilip told confidently whilst sipping his tea. “That said...” He looked down at the map spread out between them.

In bright red, someone had already drawn a circle around El Tajin’s location.

It wasn’t that far… but still a solid five hundred kilometers away to the north, beyond Vera Cruz. Mexico was no small country, and while close enough for aerial recon and light bombing… staging an attack would prove… complicated.

“Won’t be easy, will it?” Carmelita crossed her arms.

“Now ain’t that an understatement.” He sighed. “I know this isn’t the official meeting just yet, but it doesn’t hurt to look into either.”

She smirked.

“Look at you. One battle over and you’re already looking forward to the next one. For a merchant you’re more of a warmonger than you’d like to claim. I like that. I like that a lot.” She said, smacking her lips.

Dilip stared back in mild annoyance.

“Lita, please?”

“Oh you’re no fun.” She chuckled, standing up. “There really is no sense doing this so early. Your cat would look it up anyway, and Lorelei and Samuel have as much of a role in the planning as you and I.”

“You’re going?”

“Oh no, far from it.” The larger border collie shook her head before she switched sides and sat down next to him before she draped an arm over his shoulders. “I’ll entertain you. But you, you’ll have to entertain me.” She said more quietly, whispering in his ear. “Two way street, understand?”

For a second Dilip contemplated the mess of choices that led to him being some kind of boytoy for a colony leader down in Mexico… But only for a second. He probably got as much pleasure out of it as she did.

He nodded. For a change he would be the one to change his sheets come morning. If they lasted long enough to make it to bed.

“So… what do you want to know?” She cocked her head, pulling him closer into her thick fur.

“A sounding board I guess? Uh… hear me out. We know where they are, but getting there is another thing entirely. If we were to pull what we did with the warrens, then the combat vehicles would run out of fuel right before they made it into combat. Evacuate a casualty? Might work on the first one, but as soon as the helicopter leaves then it’s...” He drummed his digits on the map. “Two hours to Coatzacoalcos from there, two hours back. You see where I’m getting?”

“I do.” Carmelita nodded. “A forward base in a way. You could send a convoy along with the actual fighters to...”

“Lita. We. Have. Ships.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Yes, that does turn things around.”

“So is there any port north of here we could use? I was thinking just drop off the combatants and then move back off the shore just close enough for the helicopter to drop off casualties and pick up ammunition.”

Carmelita scratched the underside of her jaw, thinking.

“Yes. Yes there actually is. So… remember how here there is a naval base because the offshore oil fields need protection? There are a couple more I know of, including one in Tùxpam.” She announced, pointing to a spot of flat shoreline with a set of three little islands off the shore. “Never been there myself, but there were always navy ships coming from there to patrol the bay of Campeche. And if you move in from there, that puts you north of El Tajin. The opposite direction from where they would expect an attack.”

“That’s exactly what I was looking for!” Dilip smiled, standing up and finally downing his tea in one go. “I must tell the oth-”

His plans, however, were halted when he felt the tug of Carmelita wrapping a paw around his tail. He twisted his head around, finding the larger border collie grinning at him predatorily.

“What you must do now… is get in that bedroom.” She jerked her head towards the door at the back end of the Captain’s office. “Two way street, ‘member?”

He gulped. She blew him a kiss.

“I’ll drag you there if I have to.”

To be fair, it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy it.





Walks through the Otherworld were something Aleksei doubted she would ever be fully-accustomed to. The realm was just far too alien for mortal minds to allow that, and even though she had become somewhat familiar with Epona’s plateau, there always was this vibe to it that reminded her this was a place of power.

Being there in ethereal form for the vast majority of her visits didn’t help either. Looking down at yourself to see your own translucent chest just added to the overall weirdness.

Be that as it may, the fact remained each and every visit came either with a very useful kernel of information, new skills, more powers, or simply entrenching her position as one in Epona’s favor.

As she did every time she visited, she inclined her head in a low bow upon reaching her deity’s scrying pond.

“Greeting milady.”

“And my greetings to you, Lady Klavins. What fair tidings bring you among us today? Inquiries about your pregnant griffon friend, mayhaps?” The divinity’s voice rang out inside her mind, warm and maternal as ever as the humongous equine figure lay down in front of her.

Even laying down she was a lot taller than Aleksei, and the cleric was tall even by hippogriff standards.

“Not quite. Micha’s situation is stable as far as I can ensure thanks to the abilities you bestowed upon me. I don’t expect her health would pose much trouble, at least in the near-future if she keeps to what I told her...” She trailed off, rubbing her talons behind her neck.

For all she knew that side of affairs could change really fast. Navigation in itself was rife with stress, made only worse by the world’s current situation. There were a lot of things that might pose a threat to an expecting hen’s health, and even that was if she was agreeable and accepted taking a back seat.

Knowing Micha, the latter in particular might prove difficult, let alone keeping her away from coffee.

Although… parts of Aleksei that she wished she could reject to the dark recesses of her mind couldn’t help but be envious of her griffon friend’s predicament. Morvarc’h came to the forefront of her mind for a brief instant before she shook her head and pushed away the memories of their night in Cuba.

Epona smiled knowingly at the display. Geas or not, the signs her plans were coming together were right there.

“Your friend must be delighted. Bearing children is, after all, life’s ultimate calling.”

From an outside view, Aleksei must have looked pretty odd then and there, eyes widening and talons digging in the ground beneath her as her mind oh-so-unhelpfully conjured images of her in Morv’s embrace swelling up to motherly proportions.

“Apologies milady, but my presence here today has less to do with matters of fertility and more about matters of magic. Curse breaking possibly.” She finally spoke up, a bit awkwardly.

A cold shower might be in order when she made it back to the material realm.

“Curse breaking? An odd request, what has happened, then?”

She knew exactly what. She just didn’t want to alert Aleksei to which extent she followed her actions.

“We had an encounter… with a foreign deity. Of Aztec origin. One of ours said something he took offense to and cursed him with a feral form and mind. I wanted to know if there were any rituals to… track him down and cure him? If that’s even possible, of course.”

Epona snorted and Aleksei noticed a cold look in the mare’s eyes. Enough to make a chill run down her spine, even though it wasn’t directed at her.

“I expected this would happen eventually...”

“Milady?”

“Not all divinities you encounter are benevolent, and given how many among you sailors haven’t pledged yourself to any divinity… most of you lack any form of protection against curses. More than that, and it is something the Morrigan pointed out already, this also means we now are in an age where divinities that otherwise would never have interacted shall enter conflict. The coming years might prove… interesting.” Epona paused. “But ‘tis a matter for another time and place. Ogma would be a better God to seek council from if you’re trying to learn a ritual to track someone down, but I figure you do not have the time for such an extended trip in the Otherworld… do you perchance have any items belonging to the cursed one?”

“I do. One of his scales, he’s a dragon.” Aleksei quickly dug her talons under her robes and held it out reverently towards her superior.

She could feel the deity’s attention home in on the item, and with a shimmer, she watched the scale shift from the same translucent ethereal appearance she currently sported, to an actual material form, as if Epona’s will had drawn it inside the Otherworld.

“Good foresight. Scales, nails, hair, those usually contain much more essence than mere belongings. This will make it far more accurate.” Epona said, bending her neck down to touch the scale with the tip of her muzzle.

Instantly, the scale became wreathed in an amethyst glow that made Aleksei avert her gaze as she felt it reform in her talons, the hard material softening like clay before taking on the form of a small needle.

“Here. Now listen. If you want to cure this dragon of the curse, you must lay down this needle in a bowl of water. It will point towards him. Then, and you should know the ritual, ensure that the afflicted sailor is sent to the Otherworld. You do * not * have enough power that you could remove a curse cast by a god, understand?”

“I do, milady, and I thank you for your advice.” Aleksei bowed deeply, pocketing the needle. “It shall be done.”

“I, however, am not done yet.” Epona raised her head and looked off in the distance at the Otherworld’s eldritch skies. “It is something you must absolutely be made aware of, as it pertains directly to my domain of fertility. The information you provided me on the mating preferences of various species has proven invaluable among our pantheon in adapting our values and rites to the realities of this world. As a common faith, it is crucial that all present a unified front in the matters of beliefs and customs.”

“Should I understand that the concepts of the six values and Brehon law are not something I should be preaching?”

“No. Of course not. Those remain a founding tenet of our faith. What I was referring to is that we have agreed upon a wedding ritual that should fit most species. Your spell tome will be updated with the process when you wake. Ultimately, we opted for a ritual we believe will favor more stable families, curtail adultery to favor a more stable society, and ensure all parties are satisfied. You’re aware of how griffons already mate?”

“For life. The ones I know seem pretty content with their situation. I mean...” Aleksei shrugged with her wings. “It’s not perfect, but I do believe it solves more issues than it creates. Save maybe for the part where if one dies the other does too.”

“Then you’ll be satisfied to know what we opted for mirrors griffon mating with minor tweaking. The ritual is more flexible in that it allows any number of parties from any species to be bonded together in mating. The bond however doesn’t come with the caveat of death that griffons deal with. In such a case that they would express dissatisfaction towards the bond, a judgment according to Brehon law enacted in the Otherworld can rescind it… although I don’t expect it to occur frequently given the guarantee of eternal love.”

“Any species, any number?”

“It is as you told me. Not all species are monogamous, and interbreeding is possible and likely shouldn’t be discouraged for the sake of peace between species. Do remember, however, that a wedding bond is not simply to be considered a declaration of love but, by our holy beliefs, a union of two beings with the purpose of siring a family and providing the stable foundation required to raise the next generation.”

“I understand milady. No frivolous unions.” Aleksei bowed her head deeply.

“Those would violate the sanctity of the ritual. It is the union of two beings for the purpose of supporting something greater, not a selfish bond sought out for the pure sake of pleasure. And… Lady Klavins...” Epona lowered her head until her eyes were level with her cleric. “Much as I would love to promote reckless breeding as per my domain of fertility, animals are not civilized beings. Celtic faith must promote a set of beliefs fit to support a society, and it is important that our domain of fertility remembers offspring have to be raised too, just like the domain of war must remember the wisdom in seeking the peace, and the domain of death, the value of life.”

“Milady, I shall take these words to heart and abide by your will.”

Epona smiled.

“Good. A bit wordy however…” The mare chuckled, nuzzling Aleksei’s crest feathers like one would a child’s. “Go now, I know of a stallion who wishes to meet with you.” She winked.

Aleksei turned around on her hooves, feeling herself already departing from the divine realm… to come face to face with the ethereal silhouette of Morvarc’h. She couldn’t help but blush demurely, albeit cursing herself internally for the very gesture.

She opened her beak as to speak up, but found herself struggling for words and disappeared from the Otherworld before she had the time to say anything. Except when she opened her eyes back inside her cabin, Morv was still in front of her, except now the large demigod stallion was material.

Morv. There. The two of them. Alone. Inside her cabin.

She did a sharp intake of breath, accidentally filling her nostrils with his scent.

“Oh… hi Morv...”

The stallion took a step forward with a confident grin.

“How did you get here?” She whispered softly.

“My gift to you.” He said, sensually reaching out with a forehoof to lift her wing and reveal the pendant he had gifted her in Cuba attached to its base, stroking her feathers in passing. “I felt your need for me a few minutes earlier… I couldn’t help but come. The letters we’ve been sending each other are just so impersonal, aren’t they?”

	Ultimately… it would be a few hours of delay in the quest to retrieve Mikhail. Not that Aleksei’s superior was in any position to complain, given what he was doing with Carmelita a few decks above.

Or rather what Carmelita was doing to him, Diamond Dog oblige.





In all fairness, Rodrigo got off considerably better fighting the windigos than when he did the shades in Roncevaux Pass. He didn’t need a week or two to recover. He wasn’t too badly injured. But windigos drained your energy, your lifeforce, and short as the combat was it still took an entire day before he finally woke up back in the hay loft inside the farm house.

And to make it worse he was nursing a fever. Should have expected that one really, particularly when Veillantif told him later that the temperature dropped below -35°C during the fight.

“Well the armor did its job then, though I think we’ll have to remove the extra insulation now.” Rodrigo glumly said while drinking some broth his companion had brought him, shivering inside his sleeping bag.

It would be a few days more of feeling those chills after such close exposure, but he had the comfort of knowing the situation here in Marquèze was more or less solved. The land remained inhospitable and marshy, and the bitter cold generated during the fighting had killed what few plants remained in the greenhouses near the farm, but now the locals should be able to once more cultivate out in the open. The temperatures were rising, once again making for the mild autumns and winter of southwest France.

“I figure I could do that while you recover. If we stay here one day more, the delay before we reach Brittany shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” Veillantif mused, tapping a hoof against his muzzle.

“Fan-tastic. Feels like I’ve spent half my time recovering from this and that ever since I met you.” Rodrigo drawled before sneezing loudly. 

“I think the experience’s been rather interesting so far, no? I mean, I don’t think I’m doing that bad a job.”

“You aren’t. It’s...” Rodrigo sighed. “How do I put it? It’s on me, but when François explained the situation, I just felt I had to reach out and help them. Understand? I just couldn’t shrug and keep going.”

“Seems normal to me. You’re an Element Bearer, and the whole reason why you were picked and that there are Elements to begin with was to defend the planet from evil. But don’t ask me if it’s just you or your status affecting your decisions.”

The stallion reclined back in the hay with a groan.

“Not the magic unfortunately. The blame’s all on me. It’s not even the first time I get injured jumping in to help people out. I even got stabbed once doing that.”

“Really?”

“A lady was being mugged in the metro, what was I supposed to do? Walk away?”

“Not really your type.”

“Not my type, no.” Rodrigo hissed, bringing up a hoof to the base of his horn.

Headaches were always that much worse for unicorns he’d heard. The rumor was true, and a headache made simple things like using telekinesis excruciatingly painful.

“Say… I was meaning to ask. I understand you didn’t want me out there to fight the windigos, but do you think I could be of some help fighting in the future?”

“Depends what we’re up against.” Rodrigo kept rubbing the tip of his hoof in circles around the base of his horn, grimacing. “Back in Madrid I saw a pegasus with some kind of rigging to fire a crossbow. If we could make something similar with my shotgun, then it’s yours. I-”

The two were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

“Entrez!” Veillantif called out loud.

The hay loft’s heavy door opened with a groan of protest from its hinges, revealing François, followed by a doe and a mare a few steps behind. The mare they recognized having already seen around Marquèze. The doe, however, was definitely a new arrival.

“Something the matter?” Veillantif politely asked, stepping aside to let his bedridden companion get a glimpse of the visitors.

“We… we wanted to give you our thanks. Without your help to take care of the windigos most of us here would have died or eventually been forced to move and relocate. You saved us.” François began slowly, throwing glances back at the two females behind him, looking… ashamed maybe?

On the bright side he didn’t look as drained by the continuous influence of the windigos as when they arrived. Veillantif nodded and smiled politely, turning around to translate for Rodrigo.

In turn, the Spaniard replied helping was the right thing to do and that an attitude of giving the cold shoulder and trotting along to leave them to their fate was the exact kind of attitude that drew windigos to Marquèze in the first place.

“That’s a… a fair point actually.” François rubbed a hoof on the back of his neck. “Which I guess brings me to what I was meaning to tell you. While you were out of it, we got back in contact with the deer I banished.” He said, guiltily looking at the doe.

She, in turn, seemed to be trying her best to avoid looking at him, rather awkwardly so.

“Not only did my decision lead to the death of several of us because of monsters, but I also banished a large group of fellow sentient beings, without resources, at a time of the year when growing new crops become nigh-impossible...” He sighed and shook his head dejectedly. “And I didn’t even think about that...”

	That actually made the mare beside him, not the doe, surprisingly casthim a mild glare.

“… because of this, it has been decided when reuniting both our groups that I am to step down from my position as leader of this settlement. In my stead, one representative of each species living here will lead us both and ensure no decision will be taken that would pose harm to any of the two groups.”

	There was a pause where the three looked at Rodrigo and Veillantif expectantly after the latter was done translating.

“Well?” The doe spoke up.

“I dunno? It’s great. You’re taking steps towards ensuring windigos won’t attack again and keeping the colony stable. But why tell us that? We’re just travelers passing by and trying to help.” Veillantif shrugged. “Soon as Rodrigo is fit to walk we’re just going to leave.”

“But what if you didn’t?” The doe cocked her head. “Some of us saw you in the workshop. We saw your friend fight through the gaps in the shutters. We could always use stallions like you around here to defend and build up the settlement.” She offered.

Veillantif and Rodrigo shared a look. The latter shook his head slightly.

“I’m sorry ma’am, we’re grateful for the offer but my friend and I need to get to Brittany shortly. Really, our work here is done and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were settlements much like yours between here and Broceliande that could use our assistance as well. We will make sure not to bother you for too long, Rodrigo should be well enough to travel soon.” He declined her offer with a polite smile.

“Oh...” The doe’s ears twitched. “Quel dommage. Wherever it is you two eventually wind up, I’m sure their settlement will be all the better because of you. Still, if we can’t offer you a place among us, then I believe a reward is in order.”

	As rewards went… it wasn’t even like they needed much. Money wasn’t worth much with no banking to back it up. Gold wasn’t too important since stopping by in any random house for loot would yield a few pieces of abandoned jewelry.

And neither did Rodrigo want much.

So instead they settled for supplies, a few tools and rounds of ammunition for the shotgun, and advice on how to best reach Brittany. When they finally left a few days later, fresh and eager to resume their travels, the locals made sure to point out on their map how they’d need to move further inland and pass east of Bordeaux.

Most of the settlers coming from that same city, one thing was for certain: the city was to be avoided. Too many cave trolls. No sane person left living there. Passing through, shortcut or not, was simply not worth it. It wasn’t like bridges crossing over the river Garonne were scarce.

The road after that would be relatively simple. Keep going north until they left Aquitaine and entered the Pays de Loire. Then they could either aim for the cities of Nantes or Saint-Nazaire to cross the river Loire itself and enter the Breton peninsula.

After that? A straight walk to Broceliande.

It wouldn’t take them more than a week or two before they finally reached their goal.

…

If they didn’t cross paths with another colony in that span of time of course. Or monsters.





Deep within the bowels of the HPI’s North American facility, safely sheltered by millions of tons of solid Appalachian stone and concrete, Lexington was pacing, thinking. The office around him was dark, lit only by the myriad of screens showing off processes currently underway in his nearby lab. 

Some of it he wasn’t too concerned about. The exoskeletons? Simple enough. He had plenty of incremental upgrades at the ready to feed anyone who came asking, precisely so his superiors wouldn’t pry into his other projects.

The ethics thereof chiefly. The current head of the Upper Echelon had held a speech on how humanity shouldn’t lose itself in its quest for survival.

Lexington wasn’t of that opinion. The figures were there: there were hardly any humans left. Actual humans that is, not the new species people were coming back as. If they didn’t take the right steps and make some hard calls… humanity as a species would be condemned to become little more than a footnote in history.

It didn’t matter that they could maintain a population underground and prevent inbreeding through technology and gene scrambling to stretch out their gene pool. A species doesn’t ever thrive underground.

Humans needed to walk the Earth again someday. Safely. Without the need for shields and EVA suits.

That, obviously, was going to take a lot of work. Some of which Lexington would need to do under the proverbial radar unless he wanted to draw unwanted attention and lose the amount of leeway he had accrued weaving a complex network of blackmail, connections, and backroom dealings.

Not that he didn’t have a plan if the Upper Echelon caught word of the Uplift Project. He’d just rather not have to put his protocols into action. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be necessary just yet.

Lexington stopped pacing around the room and turned to look at one screen in particular.

It was only recently that the practice had spread around the HPI to listen to the various radio station survivors had created and were now using to broadcast. WSU radio in particular had caught his ear one day with the tale of one Texan sphinx stuck with a pride of lions in Tanzania.

One week later, and he had a steady exchange of information regarding the development of sentience among animals with Miss Naomi. He would compile data she couldn’t do herself all the way out in the wilderness. She would provide reports on her own research which happened to provide a wealth of data to help the Uplift project along.

What was it all about?

Some would say he was playing God.

Lexington himself would qualify it as studying the development of sentience in mice when exposed to thaumic radiation to better understand how to later modify the human genome to survive thaumic exposure.

He was covertly trying to uplift lab mice into sentience. Multiple batches of them. The baseline mice, protected from any influence. The one only exposed to thaumic radiation. And then… the genetically modified breeds. Designed to incorporate samples of genetic material provided by the WSU across multiple breeds of… questionable viability.

Maybe one attempt that involved dragon DNA didn’t yield a single DNA embryo.

The next few were more complex. This bit of human DNA. That of pony. A sprinkling of hippogriff and griffon genetic material. Nothing to such an extent that the mice looked outwardly different.

But already those few batches (the ones that were actually viable and grew to maturity that is) were demonstrating behaviors not customary of unmodified mice. At an accelerated rate compared to the pride of lions Naomi was studying actually.

The increase in cognitive ability was notable. Most specimens so far were displaying increased problem-solving skills and also looked as though they also had a slight increase in lifespan.

More interestingly…

One screen replayed a recording from this morning’s experiment. On it, a little black mouse was visibly guiding its brethren through a set of puzzles laid out for the experiment. The others would then pass on the information and even ensure all of them went through the labyrinth.

Lexington rubbed his chin in thought. For a pet project barely past the starting blocks, this could actually yield much more information that he’d initially anticipated.

Not as much as they would if they located intact samples of ancient human DNA, but locating that was a challenge in and of itself, let alone using it for information afterwards. No, if he didn’t waste his time his venue of research might actually start yielding information soon than the more ethical options the Upper Echelon would rather have him take.

And then…

It would have to wait before that avenue opened up, but snooping around revealed some sailors down in Brazil had unearthed a faction of botany specialists.

That could have its uses too.





	Unlike what Lexington was thinking, hardly anyone in Belem had research on their mind at the moment. The news of the demonic pirates heading back across the ocean were what occupied their thoughts right then, and for very good reasons: Belem didn’t have half the amount of organization that Sao Paulo had back when it was attacked.

If they didn’t do something soon, the fate that would befall the few returnees dwelling among the ruins would be grim indeed.

Did they have any hopes as to whether the pirates would veer away from their current course and possibly attack another city along the coastline? They may have, but hourly updates from the weather charts showed it was becoming increasingly unlikely that Belem wouldn’t soon be hit.

In a way, given the time it would take for the pirates to reach Brazil, the crew of Fugro could simply have dropped all pretenses, grabbed the guns they were there for to begin with, and left the locals to their own devices.

Colonies were, however, rare enough that they couldn’t really afford to abandon them. The demons’ followers had proven time and again that they would hamper their efforts regardless of where they went. And coastal colonies would continue being attacked unless they started pushing back.

It wasn’t even the kind of decision Dilip or Lorelei objected to when Skinner called his fellow Captains to report on the events that had occurred so far in Brazil. The two were about to tackle a demonic threat themselves – and were rather short on details come to think of it- and gearing up for a heavy fight.

So would Skinner then.

In the days that followed, battle lines were drawn. Groups formed. Supplies and gear recovered from all around the city. And whatever scraps of information they had on the incoming foe was gathered.

“So… with this trip we’ve successfully recovered the following artillery pieces from the naval base on the northern side of the city, near the airport: over fifty units of 40mm Bofors autocannons – 70 calibers- with assorted ammunition, each with a trailer mount. Most in a disassembled state.” Quinn – the short black dragon that served as Skinner’s Chief Officer- recited. “Fifteen of which have been handed over to the locals under the banner of Dom Pedro III. Along with those, we have recovered for our use over 20.000 rounds of small arms ammunition and a dozen Mk.46 torpedoes which we ought to keep for later distribution among the fleet. I will also note that, along with the obvious weapons, the locals also seized a dozen field guns found on the base. Four of which were heavy 155mm howitzers, the rest being of a lighter, 105mm model.”

“Excellent...” Skinner brought his paws together, sitting behind his desk looking down at all the incoming reports. “How fare our current modifications? Can we rig some mounts for the Bofors?”

Quinn shook his head.

“Not if we want them in time for the fight. Would they make a difference?”

“Unfortunately… no. How long do you reckon we would need?”

“I ran the stability checks with the Chief Engineer. We have enough room and the resources to mount four single barrel Bofors on the ship – two forward just behind the helipad, two aft on the back of the accommodation-, but if we want to do it the right way it’d take just over two weeks of work.”

“Too long indeed.” Skinner frowned. “But… I’ve made sure we contacted Sao Paulo to get as much information on the pirates as possible. I had Emily cross-reference that with Jane’s fighting ships to figure out what we’re up against.”

“And?”

The hedgefog’s frown didn’t lessen. If anything it got worse.

“It’s not something we would win in a straight fight against.” He said, tapping a digit on a side-on drawing of a long warship with a lean profile and four short funnels. “Seems like they somehow got their hands on a museum ship because what we have is a match for a light cruiser according to our books. We’re not too sure whether she’s WW1 or Interwar but either way a light cruiser isn’t something Fugro can outspeed or outmaneuver, in a cruise on in a sprint. And that part isn’t just the data: we clocked her on the weather chart.”

Quinn crossed his arms and sat down across from his superior, looking at the drawing.

“How is she in a fight then? I figure that’s the part that matters now since it sounds like there will be fighting.”

“Ships from that era and class usually sport an array of a dozen deck guns, shielded or not, ranging from four to six inches. She won’t be able to bring all of them to bear on the one target, and our records of what she did in Sao Paulo seems to imply age or decay damaged the guns or the fire control. Accuracy isn’t top notch and she needs to get up close and personal. Works to our advantage.”

“It does?”

“Yes. I have already talked about it with Pedro and Lison. Fugro wouldn’t survive a straight engagement, so the idea is to lure her in where we can hit her with shore fire. Seems like they’re already working on their part with the field guns.”

Quinn’s yellow eyes didn’t leave the drawing, intently studying the picture of what had already set several colonies back and only promised to hamper their efforts in the future if they didn’t act there and then.

“And what’s our part in that plan?”

“It’s twofold. You see that corvette moored next to Pedro’s fort? The one they use as a power generator? I know it’s an old craft, but it’s got a shallow draft and can move fairly far upriver. We will patch it up quickly and use it to move all the non-combatants away from the city where they’ll be safe… -er from the combat. That includes anyone not willing to stay and fight on the crew, so I want you to start asking around when we’re done.”

Quinn nodded before looking at his superior expectantly, waiting for the second part.

“Then we know the guns wouldn’t be that useful even if we finished mounting them in time, but we still have the torpedoes we can fire through the moonpool. Remember: they’re wire guided, and can be programmed with waypoints before launch, so we’ll do a little trick to stay out of the line of fire. Here...” Skinner paused to pull out a small set of schematics depicting a buoy along with a map. “Sonar buoy. We will anchor it over… there. A fair distance away from the city, to relay targeting data to the ship which will stay connected to it via the same kind of cable we would use with the drones. That… lets us target the enemy ship while staying safely out of its ability to detect and shoot us.”

“And because it’s an old light cruiser...”

“The torpedoes will hurt it. A lot. Maybe even cripple it enough that the field guns won’t be in harm’s way when they open up.”

Skinner’s subordinate didn’t look as convinced as his superior was. His gaze lingered on the drawing of the warship, amidships chiefly, where several question marks had been written next to what appeared like to be some cancerous growth where the boiler room would be.

“There’s still some unknown in this...”

“The demonic influence, I know.” Skinner sighed. “The one wildcard in all this plan. Sad to say, there isn’t much we can do about that except go in there with extra firepower. I wish we had the resources the others have in Mexico, but even then I heard the situation wasn’t necessarily going in their favor, so...”

“It’s going to be bad isn’t it?”

Skinner winced.

“I wouldn’t say that… but I wouldn’t blame you if you opted to sail with Solimoes and go hide upriver during the fight either.”
> Chapter 110: Guns of Belem - Gunnery Skills Not Included
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting a quarry restarted was, quite obviously, not quite as simple as just clearing it of any monsters that may have dwelled there. Once Rockhoof’s guards were done, and the bullet-riddled corpses of the quarray eels carted off back to Trecesson to be processed into whatever materials Meadowbrook might see some use for in her potions, or anyone around the castle for that matter, it would be on to the next problem. Given how the monsters were, their bones, hide and sinew might see some interesting uses.

“I will have to consult with Lady Vivian on that.” Paladin Catherine commented as she and Rockhoof watched Meadowbrook and Martin busy themselves over the dead eels, the mare showing the – understandably queasy- fawn how to extract and bottle blood and cut chunks of fat to later process into oil. “Our Lady may have some use for potion ingredients as well. We could pay you for those.”

“I’m afraid she will have to get in line for that, because Lady Morgane already sent a raven expressing the exact same desire.” Rockhoof noted. “Though I’m sure, given the sheer amount of raw materials we just obtained, she’ll get her ingredients eventually. Once they’re processed. Though if I may, I believe my lieutenant mentioned you mainly came for the quarry?” The large stallion waved a hoof at their surroundings where a small group of deer and ponies had already come to – for now- look around and poke at abandoned machinery.

“Aye.” The plate-clad mare nodded. “You’ve seen Comper castle with your own eyes. We still have much repairs and construction ahead of us, before the place can become truly comfortable.”

“Didn’t you guys have a few buildings to salvage for stones?”

“We did, and we ran out expanding the settlement. But the castle’s walls are thick, and unless we want to weaken the whole structure it’s better we use stones cut to the right size.” Catherine explained. “Hence why I came as soon as I heard you were taking care of the quarry on your territory.”

“Rather quickly I might add.”

The mare shrugged, a gesture that made her barding clink lightly.

“I expected to be there on time to be of use in the fight, but you know how traversing the forest goes. Be as it may, do you think we can settle on an agreement?”

“You do realize you’re not the only ones in need of stone, right? Even if you have the coin for it, it will be a little more complicated than just that.” Rockhoof pointed out flatly.

Catherine just nodded. For a moment, both looked down at the quarry from where they were standing atop a short cliff. It was in a sorry state. Here and there, ponies were poking at broken machinery and staring at the entire pond of accumulated rainwater.

It wouldn’t be impossible to fix, but it would take some effort. They might even need to scavenge around in nearby villages for replacement parts for the machinery. And pumps to evacuate all that water.

“It’s not just yours and mine colony that need stones. Remember Trixie and Starlight? They’re in Carnac fixing the stone alignments, and they’ll need some replacement menhirs once the quarry is operational.” Rockhoof continued. “And I can tell you in Trecesson we need the stones to erect a temple by next year. We’re all busy.”

The paladin stared for a second before looking back at the quarry beneath them just as the first sky carriage arrived to pick up the dead eels. From a distance, they saw Meadow and Martin start packing the enchanted cart to the brim with blocks of eel fat and vials of blood.

Martin even pulled out his training staff and used telekinesis to get the job done.

“I still think we can come to an agreement. Yes it’s more complicated than just buying the stones but...” She paused, looking back at the forest after hearing some rustling, only then noticing the White Stag as the creature observed Martin vigilantly. She shook her head and ignored it. “Manpower is something we’re all short on right now. Let’s say I dispatch a few souls to help you fix up the quarry and we agree the Equestrians get the first batch of stones so they can get back home soon. Then, once the quarry is fully operational I take back my men, you get the next delivery because it’s your territory, but we get our first for free. Next ones we pay for.”

Rockhoof frowned but motioned with his hoof for her to continue.

“After that, there’s still some trading you might be interested in. Stones need cement if you want your buildings not to fall apart, correct?” She paused. Rockhoof nodded. “As you may have noticed, we in Comper have access to a limestone pit, and are currently looking for a clay pit in our part of the forest. I know you have a charcoal kiln. If we combine the ash with the clay and some lime, we can make a cement that’s half-decent. Better even if we mix it with mortar bags we salvage from hardware stores.”

“I’m… not sure.” Rockhoof mused. “Don’t you need some gypsum too?”

“Nearest quarry for that would be around in the Marne, near Paris. Bit far for us, no?” Catherine tilted her head.

“Indeed. I’ll get back to you on the cement part, have a look at it myself in the castle’s library if we have anything on that. Worst case, we can just try out how it goes in a batch if you manage to find that clay pit. Otherwise even if that doesn’t pan out, that coinage you told me you introduced holds a lot of potential.” He looked at her more intently. “And I’m not mincing words. You do realize you will have to be extremely careful with just how many coins you produce? Economics is no easy topic.”

Depending on how it was handled, having an actual economy could turn into a boon just as quickly as it could into a wholesale catastrophe.

“I do.” Catherine asserted confidently. “So can I take that as a ‘yes’ for the whole deal?”

Rockhoof shook his head negatively.

“Not quite.” He rumbled. “I may be Lord in Trecesson, but decisions like that must be presented before a thing so that everyone can be made aware and weigh in on the matter. I figure… I would be surprised if they outright said ‘no’, but come back tomorrow evening at the castle and we’ll invite you to the assembly to negotiate and write this all down. Does that work out for you?”

“It will. Thank you. And congrats on those quarray eels. Your LT’s trained your guards well.” Catherine said before departing.

“That they have.” Rockhoof nodded with a small smile before he grabbed his shovel and hopped off the cliff to go join Meadow and Martin.





	Scarface being injured and unable to join up with the rest of the recce team didn’t mean their missions were put on hold. Quite the contrary. They still needed to track down Mikhail, and that was a task they needed to get done before they started their assault on the demonic cultists far off to the north in El Tajin.

So when her team and her piled up inside a Defender the day after she consulted Epona (and received a visit from Morv), two new additions filled up Scarface’s slot on the team.

Sri and Bart. The unlikely couple of one Indonesian hippogriff and one Belgian unicorn that had formed among the veterans and was becoming increasingly harder not to notice.

Well if they kept to the back of the truck and she didn’t look in the mirror too much she might have a chance to ignore that neither of the two seemed like they could keep their hooves/claws to themselves.

“So what’s the plan boss?” Radiant asked once they were out of the refinery and driving towards the nearest highway.

The Equestrian-born pegasus likely had it worse, sitting in the back.

“That is the plan.” She let go of the steering wheel with one claw to tap a talon against the dashboard where she had placed the enchanted needle given by Epona.

She had placed the item in a jury-rigged compass of sorts made up of a small petri dish filled with water layered over a compass taken off some spare parts kept for Rhine Forest’s auxiliaries. The needle wobbled slightly at the tap. Or maybe a bump in the road.

“Oh, so we just follow the tracker to Mikhail and we’re good?” Sri piped up from the back.

“Not quite.” Aleksei clicked her beak.

“Yeah…” Thanasis – who was sitting in the passenger seat- noted, the sphinx momentarily stopping his fiddling with the settings of the radio. “Aren’t we heading perpendicular to where it’s pointing?”

“Correct. And why do you think we’re doing that?”

“We… ah I see. You’re taking bearings to triangulate his position, right?” He inquired with a tilt of his head.

The hippogriff behind the wheel nodded simply. She had already taken the first bearing before they left. They’d move some ten or fifteen kilometers away from Coatzacoalcos for a second bearing. And if the angle was too small because their feral dragon of a shipmate flew too far, keep going for a more accurate reading.

And depending on the result they might even go ahead and immediately try to get Mikhail back, if he didn’t go too far.

“It’s simple geometry really.” Aleksei shrugged with her wings. “Drawing triangles on a map. Can’t get more complicated than that. The needle doesn’t even need to account for stuff like magnetic variation and deviation.”

The only issue you could really complain about with the method was that it was rather time-consuming to pull it off and that one needed to be extremely accurate when taking a bearing line unless they wanted the result to be off-position by a few dozen kilometers.

And by that logic they drove, venturing west, deeper inland all while they kept an eye on the needle. Around them, along the highway and then along the decrepit roads they took, the landscape slowly changed from a mix of marshlands and jungle to an area that used to be mostly pastures and farmlands but had now twisted itself into vast, somewhat dry grasslands that swayed in the wind, where the magic-fueled overgrowth had yet to really establish itself.

Spread out in the middle of all that were small towns and villages they passed by. Most weren’t much to look at: they may have once been colorful and lively, but the blocky one-to-two floors high buildings with flat roofs were now only covered in cracked paint and dust, the deserted streets strewn with detritus and weeds.

A dreary sight really, particularly when compared to the rather lively and colorful hacienda the workers from Coatzacoalcos lived in.

They did, however, fill up on snacks at a gas station they passed by. Where most foods would have long rotted by then, you could still rely on the chemical-filled airtight-sealed nasties to have kept. It was really just indulging in the team’s gluttony.

“Here… sour cream and onion for you.” Radiant said, putting down a green cardboard tube on the Defender’s hood, watching the hippogriff mare as she was hunched over a map of the region. The vehicle currently stopped at a gas station, sheltered from the blistering mexican sun in the shade of the awning.

“Thunksh” Aleksei inelegantly replied with a pencil in her beak as she carefully drew a bearing line along the map. Radiant hovered in the air above her, watching intently as her claws worked their wonders on the map.

She finally drew the last bearing line and had a look at where they intersected.

She did a double take.

“Well...shit.”

“Something wrong?”

“Damn right there’s something wrong.” Aleksei frowned, popping her Pringles open and shoving a few in her beak. Stale, but edible. “Look at where it’s saying Mikhail is.”

The pegasus did… and immediately winced. It hadn’t stayed secret for long that there were demonic cultists in El Tajin. He knew what it was all about.

That Mikhail had seemingly gone there, of all places, made recovering him that much more of a problem.

“But… why? A feral dragon I could picture going into the mountains or somewhere remote. But why go for… there?”

“I… I don’t know.” Aleksei drummed her talons on the map pensively. “It just doesn’t make any sense. It’s Xolotl that cursed him, so why he’d go there right in the clutches of demon worshippers that have nothing to do with the Aztec pantheon...” She shrugged. “Maybe they captured him?”

“Possible. But unlikely. Looks more like he flew a straight line there rather than wander around until they just happened to find him.” She tilted her head. “Though since they use monsters so much, it would fit the Four Horses’ playbook to capture a feral dragon.”

“But, not for said dragon to mysteriously fly a straight line towards the same group that would capture him. So why would he do that?” Thanasis piped in as the large tan sphinx exited the gas station carrying a burlap sack filled with snacks. Using his telekinesis, he unwrapped a Twinkie which flew straight into his waiting maw.

“I… don’t know. I really don’t. By the way, where are Sri and Bart?”

“Caught them sneaking off to the toilets out back like teenagers.” Thanasis jerked his head towards the back of the gas station. “It’s best you give them a minute or two.”

Aleksei sighed. And… there was the tingle of magic she could perceive as a fertility cleric dashing any doubt she may have had as to what they were doing.

What even brought a Belgian unicorn and an Indonesian hippogriff together in the first place? To spite the Dutch?

Whichever… Aleksei shook her head and started to fold the map. Scarface had better recover quickly, she’d rather hear his self-loathing about having illegitimate half-breed children in Ireland than the horny veteran couple right there.

“Say… what if...” Thanasis started.

“What if what?”

“So it’s just a theory but… We know Los Lobos had left when we came, right? And… it’s their death dog god that cursed Mikhail, right?”

“Not quite sure I’m following.” Aleksei blinked. Behind her, still hovering midair, Radiant nodded as well.

“Bear with me. The Four Horses, we know they somehow set up in El Tajin. Ancient temple city. So… wouldn’t that piss the living hell off Los Lobos? Demonic cultists setting up in one of their holy sites?”

“So?”

“So all I’m saying… is that maybe bad guys number one went on a crusade after bad guys number two rather than wait for us to come knocking. And when Xolotl cursed Mikhail… maybe, just maybe...” The sphinx paused and ran a paw through his red mane. “He felt like a big damn dragon would help? Wouldn’t that explain why they were gone and why Mikhail somehow wound up near El Tajin? I mean… the map shows it. He’s not exactly in the ruins, just a few kilometers nearby, yes?”

Aleksei slowly nodded. Not quite among the ruins but a few kilometers nearby in a spot of jungle.

“I hate to be that pony...” Radiant countered. “...but that’s a lot of guesswork for a theory we can’t really confirm. How would you even prove it? All we know is that Mikhail is near El Tajin, not what faction he may or may not have joined or even why he did that.”

“Fair enough. Though now that you mention it, it’s rather concerning we don’t even know where Los Lobos went.” Thanasis conceded. “Anyway… that’s our first part of the mission done. What’s next, boss?” He asked Aleksei.

Not a whole lot actually. They snacked for a bit waiting for the two lovebirds to come out of the toilets looking a bit disheveled, then they drove off a bit further west to look around and see whether or not there were things they could bring back that would be of use.

Ultimately, it would land right in their lap. After continuing on their way west for a couple dozen kilometers, they found a hardware store by the side of the road which they marked on their map for later use by dedicated salvage teams. They still filled the back of the Defender with a load of tools and finer components like screws and reels of wire.

Too bad this world didn’t afford you peace and quiet for too long. Just as Thanasis was tying a workshop trolley to the roof of the truck, they heard the first howls converge onto their position.

Monsters. Chupacabras specifically, though of the Equestrian sort. They certainly didn’t match the description of the ones from Latin American legends. They were vaguely canine in appearance, having the silhouette of a wolf that was roughly as large as a griffon, maybe even a small sphinx for the larger members of the species.

From a closer look… they were more reptilian than canine. Their bodies from the tail up to their chests were entirely covered in thin scales, a very light shade of purple with a green underbelly, which accompanied serrated claws and the ridges of thin spikes that grew along their spines and tails. From the chest up the scales were replaced with shaggy blue-ish fur that clashed sharply with the acid green glow of both their eyes and thin fangs.

In all fairness, despite their… odd appearance, they had a few abilities going for them, according to the bestiary. Amphibious. Extremely quick on their legs. Even a fear aura to make sure their prey couldn’t escape their vampiric clutches.

Too bad Aleksei’s team could nullify most of those. As soon as they heard the howls, everyone dropped what they were doing and retreated inside of the hardware store as the first monsters rushed out from between buildings and out of the tall grass. Aleksei dropped down to her haunches and conjured up an aura of her own to bolster their forces and incidentally nullify the chupacabras’. 

Thanasis cast his magic as well, the sphinx putting up a telekinetic field in the doorway that would slow any movement to a crawl.

And lastly, Sri and Bart showed their purpose filling up Scarface’s spot on the team. The two vets bringing their guns up and practically mowing down the monsters that did what monsters do: poor strategy and rushing down their opponents. 

It worked out poorly for them. So poorly than even as bad a shot as Radiant was, the pegasus managed to score a few hits and contribute to the team.

Chupacabras, scales or not, were very much lightweight monsters.

Not an hour after that, the recce team’s Defender was seen leaving the premises with a few chupacabra carcasses strapped to it like trophies.



	

	Meanwhile, back in Coatzacoalcos, the assault on El Tajin had already entered its planning phase. As Dilip had already sort-of decided the day prior when talking to Carmelita, the assault wouldn’t be carried out by road, but by moving Rhine Forest to Tùxpam north of the Four Horses’ base of operations where the barge carrier would deliver the fighting force and its vehicles before moving further off the shore in safer waters. From there on, Rhine Forest would serve as a resupply point for the helicopter which would fly in with ammunition and fuel for the attackers, and fly out the wounded to the safety of Rhine’s clinic.

As for Amandine, the Ro/Ro was to stay in Coatzacoalcos with a skeleton crew and ensure the refinery remained in safe hands while the battle played out to the North.

There wasn’t quite as much up for debate this time around, except maybe for the amount of troops that should be left behind given that Los Lobos were still out and about.

And maybe the decision to use the helicopter instead of the plane for air support. Some like the chief of the refinery’s militia and Rhine Forest’s Chief Officer argued missile attacks would be more valuable to support their assault than having a helicopter in the sky.

It was argued back at them that not having a helicopter up in the air would mean having to set up an outpost and divert more troops away from the actual fighting when their manpower was already limited.

Not exactly the kind of decision they could afford.

“Fine.” Samuel, the chief of the militia, finally relented, the Abyssinian crossing his arms. “But that doesn’t solve the issue we had with the wounded. You really think we can launch an attack without your best troops?”

	Once more gathered in a meeting room at the refinery’s HQ, Carmelita translated for the non-English speakers – the sailors that is-, then watching as Lorelei and Dilip shared a look. They held it for a few seconds before Lorelei deflated, the filly bearing a grim look uncharacteristic of a pony her age.

Physical that is. The mind inside that body definitely didn’t fit the description of ‘young’.

“I had Doctor Delacroix and Asha run the figures on our potion stocks. Best I can say for now is to be patient. Using them now to accelerate recovery time is fine and dandy I get that, but… doing so would also burn through a third of the potion supply we’ve built up so far. Not using them, given some of the injuries were fractures, would lose us several weeks. The best I can suggest is to cut down on the amount of potion used, reduce recovery time down to one week which would amount to roughly ten percent of the potion supply, and use that time to plan this operation a little better.”

“Implying it’s not well-planned?” Dilip quirked an eyebrow.

The grim look faded and Lorelei rolled her eyes.

“Really? You just have the concept of a plan right now. Not an actual one. We’re still missing all the details, communication plans, team rosters and the logistics detail. Knowing that it doesn’t sound like too much of an issue to me.” Lorelei leaned back in her seat with an air of finality. “Or maybe you feel like we have to do something now because the guys down in Brazil are about to have an encounter with demonic followers too.”

“Excuse me what was that?” Carmelita interrupted.

“Third ship in our fleet.” Dilip shrugged. “Skinner… doesn’t really have a streak of good luck I dare say. He went south and got himself captured by tribals in Dominica. Attacked by heavyweight-size monsters on arrival in Brazil. And now he’s got to deal with some followers of Charybdis… but I don’t really know how that compares to Scylla’s ilk we’re dealing with here.”

“You forgot the part with the lunatic that calls himself Emperor.” Lorelei chuckled.

“Frankly? To me that sounded more endearing than concerning. Might even have some potential in the long run too, unless you forgot the part about Imperial magic and nature spirits.” Dilip shook his head. “Be as it may, long story short: fellow sailors down in Brazil. About to have a fight with demonic pirates. Against a warship no less.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Samuel commented after Carmelita translated the situation to him.

“And attacking cultists holed up in what very likely is the active holy site of a religion known to do mass blood sacrifices isn’t? Known to use chupacabras and hydras as chaff to defend themselves?” Lorelei pointed out. 

The feline across from her made a face. She wasn’t wrong. The difference was just that they were actively seeking out a foe, whereas Belem wouldn’t get the opportunity of avoiding a fight.

At least this time around planning out the assault went a lot smoother given they already had the experience of the previous (admittedly futile) attack on the warrens.

When Aleksei came back with the news of Mikhail’s presence near El Tajin… That brought a whole new line of questions with it.

Why couldn’t things just be straightforward for once?!





Down in Brazil, one of Fugro’s boats was seen sailing up to the little pier where Solimoes was moored, right next to Pedro’s fort. Stepping off onto the pier, Captain Skinner took a moment to survey his surroundings. Sparks were coming out of the nearby corvette accompanied by the sound of grinding and power tools as it was being retrofitted to evacuate all non-combatants further upriver.

Turning his head to the fort itself, the scottish hedgefog took note of the brand new guns replacing the rusty muzzle loaders that previously occupied the battlements. Apparently this was where they had decided to take the 155mm howitzers.

Where the Emperor planned to set up the other, smaller field guns, Skinner didn’t know but very much intended to ask. With Marcos by his side as usual to act the role of translator, Skinner confidently walked up the pier and then through the small postern that linked the pier to the inner fort, passing a few locals carrying crates of supplies towards the corvette on the way.

“They look busy.” Marcos commented.

“They have their reasons, cook.” Skinner replied. “We only briefly talked to the guys in Sao Paulo. As far as I know, they kept calling and asking questions until they got all the nasty, gritty details on the raid. And trust Pedro to use that to unite the local scavs and get them to man his guns. See my point?” He concluded by waving his paw at a howitzer in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by a small group of Ornithians and Abyssinians being shown how to use it.

Most… looked exactly like you’d expect scavs to look. Mismatched, cobbled together gear and weapons, covered from head to toe in protection gear that varied all the way from actual body armor to just sports gear or even motocross armor. An Abyssinian in the group was even wearing what must have been the hide of some kind of monster.

Funnily enough they also kept throwing looks back at the pile of backpacks in a corner of the courtyard by the command building. As though they were expecting someone to make off with their gear any second from now.

And…

“Did he really manage to recruit a raider gang?” Skinner vaguely waved towards a group that kept to themselves.

Although… the bunch of cats looked more like football hooligans armed to the teeth than actual raiders. All six of them wore the same black and white striped jerseys bearing a blazon with the letters SFC inscribed on it. Of course it wasn’t the only thing they wore, having seemingly managed to loot the riot police gear to armor themselves with, along with hunting rifles and grenade launchers.

“Sir… you just explicitly said the exact reason why they would join up to fight the pirates.” Marcos politely replied after taking a brief glance at the group. 

“Because Pedro told them about Sao Paulo?”

“Of course.” Marcos crossed his arms and shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re football fans after all. And the pirates attacked through the port of Santos. Sounds obvious to me.”

“Not to me.” Skinner replied flatly, raising his arm to wave at one of Pedro’s original team up in the battlements. The Ornithian recognized them and went to fetch his superior.

“Why, Santos and Sao Paulo are like… the mecca of football around here? Santos FC is one of the most popular and successful clubs in all of Brazil’s history. For Christ’s sake, they’re Pelé’s club. They’re even behind the rise of Neymar. And that’s just Santos I’m talking about, don’t get me started on the other clubs in Sao Paulo. You attack them, you’re attacking Brazil’s soul.”

“You sure you’re not overdoing it there?” Skinner laughed.

“You think I am? ‘cuz right over there you have a group of fans reeling for vengeance because demons dared to attack Santos.” Marcos replied smugly. “I mean no offense sir, but you have to face the facts: some do think it’s important enough to raise arms.”

Skinner stared back at his subordinate. The eclectus parrot may be right… but that didn’t mean it didn’t sound silly. And the Scot was acutely aware of the kind of shit hooligans could pull off for the sake of the Rangers back in his hometown of Glasgow.

He sighed.

“The entire world’s just done crazy.”

“Takes a bit longer to notice for some.” Marcos’ beak parted in a grin. “It only dawned on when tribals started debating whether to turn me into a chick or toss me into a volcano.”

Skinner made a face, a spark of electricity running down the hedgefog’s quills at the memory of Dominica which he’d done his level best not to remember so far.

“Bom dia capitão!” Pedro squawked out loudly as the Emperor finally emerged out of the command building with his wife in tow along with a few members of the Institute. “What brings you among us today? Taking news of the situation?”

“Warranted, don’t you think? I can keep tabs on my own end of the deal and we’re still assembling the sensor buoy to shoot our torpedoes from behind cover. How it’s going for you...” Skinner shrugged. “Are you down to levying football hooligans?”

“Mayhaps. But I don’t see how that would be a problem. You’re looking directly at the matter of the pirates attacking. I, however, need to look at issues beyond that and how this crisis can be used.” Pedro crisply folded his claws behind his back. “We must see this as the opportunity needed to anchor down all the scavs and raiders and unite them under a common banner. They wanted to destroy this town. But Belem will only come out of this stronger.”

Skinner quirked an eyebrow at that. First at Marcos when he got the translation, then at Pedro for confirmation, his wife and the Institute nodding behind him to confirm he hadn’t misheard.

Can’t let a crisis go to waste… Yeah, eccentric though he may be, Pedro might not struggle as much with statecraft as Skinner initially assumed when he first met him.

“If that goes for you. It’s not something I’m allowed to meddle with according to the WSU’s charter. How you choose to govern yourselves around here is up to you. But what matters right now is ensuring everything goes as planned and we live to tell the tale. Once more: how are things going with the field guns? Will we have the coastal batteries in place on time?”

“For the fort? No issue with that. We already have them in place and are training the guns crews and the fire coordinator right now. We’re not professional artillerymen so don’t expect it to be too accurate.”

“And for the other guns?”

“I have crews for a few of them and we’re picking the positions to set them up. The cityscape isn’t making moving them around easy however, so maybe we could use a bit of help on that front. Your ship has a crane, right?”

“We can arrange that, yes.”

“Excellent. That should save me enough time to actually go and recruit those last few raiders I think can be swayed to man the guns. You will have all coastal batteries in place on time. As for Solimoes… give it a day or two and the repairs should be done… -ish.” Pedro grimaced. “It’s an old corvette and we’re doing our best patching up the engine with what we could find around town. Don’t expect miracles when you sail upriver to evacuate the non-combatants.” 

“Then I’ll make sure to warn my sailors of that detail. Just remember that we also need a local chart and a destination. The river delta is a maze we don’t have data on.”

“In due time, I promise.” Pedro reassured. “We have time still, before the pirates make landfall. It’s best we not hurry too much and pace ourselves. Otherwise we might make some costly error we can’t actually fix.”

Skinner threw a look at the scavs currently being trained on gun handling.

“Like accidentally blowing up your own gun battery because someone slipped and dropped a shell?”

Pedro could only nod slowly as one of said scavs tripped over themselves and banged the tip of a shell against the rammer with a resounding ‘clang!’.

An inert practice shell, fortunately.

“They will need all the training they can get before the attack commences.”

“Well good luck teaching glorified hobos and football hooligans the intricacies of landing artillery shots five miles away.”

“We’ll be lucky if we hit anything past three miles and you know that. The pirates must be drawn in as close to the shore as possible before we open fire, and the guns will have to be positioned in such a way as to surround it when we open fire.”

“You know they might try to run away when they realize we’re actually fighting back?” Skinner pointed out.

“We also… might have something against that. No guarantee though.” One of the Institute members, an Abyssinian, took a step forward, hesitantly fiddling with his whiskers. “A weapon that could have some use against them.”

“Do tell, then.”

“Professor Lison is working on it with a few undergrads but… you saw the microwave gun and our white noise generators?”

“You want to use… those? Against a warship?”

“One thing we know about it is that there’s some kind of demonic infection on it, right? Well… it’s just a theory but if it’s even somewhat biological in nature then our tech might have some use. It’s been proved that microwave weapons can cause great damage to biological tissue if it’s in direct contact with metallic objects superheated by the waves. We amp up our system. Mount it on a boat. And...” The feline rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s ballsy as you wouldn’t believe but that could immobilize it. Even damage it. We gotta try.”

“And you could finish it on time?”

“We just might.”

Skinner looked off in the distance, in the general direction of Belem’s colonial district where scores of decrepit river boats lay on muddy shores near collapsed quays and jetties.

“Send one of your men later in the afternoon over to Fugro. We’re moored off the seaport. I’ll dispatch a team to accompany him and pick a ship that’s suitable for repairs onto which we could mount the microwave gun. Try to get a few white noise generators to us too. We’ll slap those on buoys. If we’re lucky, they should help us corral the pirates right where we want them. Or keep them there. I’ll think about it.”

On the other end of the fort, where the main gate was, more scavs were coming over, ever careful of their surroundings. Some were there to fight. Others, to get a place on the corvette when it left.





“You sure you don’t want some help?” Rodrigo calmly quirked an eyebrow at the scene unfolding before him with an ever-so-subtle hint of amusement on the stallion’s muzzle.

“Nu-uh!” Veillantif grunted back, the reply muffled by the handle of the comically large sledgehammer he was holding in his mouth. “Ah-ff goft dis!” He insisted, pivoting on his hind legs to swing his weapon and turn a timberwolf in a rather spectacular ball of splinters.

In the Earth Pony’s defense, he was doing impressively well fending off the wooden monsters and keeping a good eye on his surroundings to prevent them from getting a full surround. The funny part was really just how futile it was.

The timberwolves were just a small group of four that had the misfortune of crossing the duo’s path soon after they crossed the Loire and entered Brittany. Now… they were probably regretting picking a fight with them. Or Veillantif more accurately.

Really impressive how much stamina an Earth Pony can have. It was like the green equine just didn’t care that the timberwolves kept reassembling themselves. He swung and smashed, and the monsters just kept coming.

“Need to work off some steam dontcha?” Rodrigo chuckled.

His companion spit out his hammer.

“Yes! Yes. I. Do!” He cried out, shifting his weight onto his forelegs before bucking another of the wolves over the railing of the small stone bridge they were standing on. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Well it seemed obvious at the time. I figured it was just because she wasn’t your type.” He shrugged, keeping Durandal up in the air with his telekinesis, ready to end the fight, trusting his sword’s magic to keep them down for good.

“Not my type? Did you look at her or did you bonk your head somewhere?” Veillantif grunted, grabbing his hammer in his teeth and chucking the tool so hard at the next wolf that the beast shattered into pieces and the hammer kept going until it left a large dent in the bridge’s railing. “Gah, why does it have to be so complicated? It wasn’t like that in my time, no galloping around the issue. It was just… she lifts her tail and we know we’re in business.”

“Careful buddy, you’re rambling.” Rodrigo pointed out, swatting an attacking wolf with the flat of his blade to redirect it towards his frustrated friend. “Also you gotta face the fact you’re not an animal anymore. Things are a tiny bit more subtle among civilized beings.”

And loathe as he was to admit it, he could relate with the feeling. Though in his case, it had taken him a week and a pint with a friend to realize that the gal from Barcelona was actually into him.

In Veillantif’s case it hadn’t been half a day since they left that colony on the south bank of the Loire behind that he facehooved in realization at his own stupidity. A unicorn mare with a distinct ‘girl-next-door’ vibe that had been rather thankful the two cleared out a yachting depot from the bufogrens that infested it.

“Well maybe civilized beings could learn a thing or two in terms of simplicity.”

	Another grunt, another timberwolf smashed. Rodrigo was starting to question who was attacking who.

“Maybe the argument has some validity. Or maybe you just need to calm down.”

“What in the blazes do you think I’m doing here?! Venting!”

“Aye, and for the first time in my life I’m starting to pity monsters.” Rodrigo laughed. “You done yet? It’s still over a hundred kilometers to Broceliande and there was an old convent I think we could use for shelter halfway there.”

“Alright, al-right. Sheesh.” Veillantif cracked his neck and bucked behind him without looking, sending a wolf in the river. “Done. Feel like ridding the world of them now?”

“Gladly.” Rodrigo nodded, finally taking a few steps forward to cleave another wolf in half with Durandal.

The sword flashed briefly as it struck wood, sending a shockwave of sparks coursing through every bit of bewitched wood before it fell apart, rendered inert.

‘bout darn time they stopped fooling around and kept going… Timberwolves were annoying, and dangerous in small numbers, but four of them were nothing Rodrigo couldn’t deal with.

And if Veillantif could have his fun, why couldn’t he?

That interruption over and done with, the two of them resumed their route north towards the enchanted forest. The changes in landscape and weather had become all the more evident the further north the two equines trotted, helping the few colonies they crossed path with in exchange for gear and supplies to the point that both of them were clad in the same mix of K9 armor, kevlar and plates that Rodrigo was covered in up to his neck.

They had gone through the windy and steep inclines of the Pyrenees, left bereft of all but the most stubborn returnees.

Then had come the woody marshlands of the Landes.

Which were soon left behind in favor of abandoned vineyards rife with monsters near Bordeaux where cave trolls frequently raided wine cellars either to make their lairs or just to gorge on the riches of the land.

Now, finally, leaving Nantes behind, Brittany was opening its arms to them. A very rural region with tall hedges running wild with weeds, meadows covered in tall grass, and the first signs of the overgrowth Broceliande was propagating on the eastern side of the peninsula.

The change in season was and how far north they had gone compared to Spain was easy to notice as well. Brittany didn’t need the influence of windigos to be cold, and autumn had truly set in by the time they had crossed the Loire, giving the vegetation rich hues of bronze and gold as fallen leaves billowed in the winds and gray clouds set over them, threatening to regale them with the ‘liquid sunshine’ customary of the region.

Rodrigo was thus, understandably, relieved, when they found an abandoned convent by nightfall with enough firewood to heat up a living room in which they spread their bedrolls.

In a day or two… Rodrigo would finally meet Concord and the Golden Tree.

And cement his position as bearer of Integrity.
> Chapter 111: One creaks, the other squeaks, the last shrieks...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had taken a week, and some hard calls as resources were concerned… but the time had finally come. From his position leaning against the railing on top of Amandine’s bridge wings, Dilip watched the last few vehicles being loaded in Rhine’s barges which were then loaded aboard through the gantry crane on the aft end of the barge carrier.

Humvees from the local militia. The CV90 and the Piranhas. All were being safely stowed inside for the little battle they were soon to wage.

“Hard to believe it got to that point.” Alejandro rumbled as the burly Ornithian joined him at the railing.

“We’ve come a long way.” Dilip nodded slowly, solemnly. “Gods. Demons. Benevolent alien horses. If you told me that a year prior I’d have laughed in your face about even going to shut down nuclear plants. Yet it’s one of the more benign things we’ve done.”

“It’s not going to stop isn’t it?”

Dilip shook his head.

“More will come. I’m not going to lie, I’m not fond of this turn of events forcing us to militarize like that, but do we really have a choice?”

“We could have just sailed away.”

“To what avail? If we sail away, we’ll just see the colonies we’re struggling to help be snuffed out like candles. We sail away, and that’s places like Belem razed. Coatzacoalcos captured by Los Lobos. Savannah enslaved. Then what does that leave? Not much? Well too bad, because it takes a hell of a lot of resources to keep a ship like Amandine going, and if we want to keep the comfort she gives us, we’ll have to fight for it, like it or not.” Dilip finished.

There was a lull in the conversation as the two watched the helicopter come in to a cautious landing atop Rhine Forest’s container bay before a gang of sailors rushed over to strap it down tightly.

“Think we have our chances?”

“If we play our cards right? We do. Not if we go in carelessly.” Dilip worked his jaw a few times. “Alejandro… you’re a good Officer.”

“And one that can sniff something he won’t like to.” The Ornithian straightened up and looked at his superior.

Dilip remained still, leaning against the railing.

“As you already know, I will be taking part in the battle. If we’re fighting demon worshippers, I might as well bring the Congo Sword into the fray, as will Greet her fire whip sword. But you… someone needs to keep the ship running while we’re off to war. You’re our prime Spanish-speaker, you’ll do fine keeping in touch with the locals.”

“Which is a nice way of saying you’re putting me on the sidelines.”

“So now you’re complaining you’re not going fighting? Make up your mind, you get to keep your claws clean of this mess.”

“I-” The macaw was taken aback, his crest flattening slightly. “That’s… fair I guess. So if you’re telling me that, that means you finished putting together the roster of who stays and who leaves.”

Dilip looked back towards Rhine Forest as a truck arrived on the quay to load up supplies and ammunition for the expedition.

“Aye.” He replied. “About what you’d expect too. The griffons won’t be coming out to fight, but surprisingly Nguyen will.”

“Scaredy cat cook?”

“Odd isn’t it? Every single time he went out and faced monsters he was scared shitless, but he keeps going for it. You gotta hand it to him, he’s brave.” Dilip smiled slightly.

“Must be an Abyssinian thing. I mean, I’d be scared too if I had a sense of foresight that told me how I’m going to die if I don’t move soon. Erh… aside from that, what am I supposed to do if...”

“Keep an ear out on the waves and stay in contact with Rhine Forest to see how the battle unfolds. If things go really south… if I die...” Dilip gulped. “Cut your losses and fall back to Cuba to regroup and meet up with Skinner … if things go as planned for his own battle that is.”

The way things had unfolded… they wouldn’t be going into this battle with ideal conditions. The decision had finally been taken to expend some of their potions stores to heal up the vets, but by doing so they had taken a large bite out of their supply which also meant… far less chances for the wounded of the next battle if there were too many of them. Doctor Delacroix on Rhine Forest was good, but there was only so much that a GP could do. She was no surgeon.

And then… there still was the mystery of where Los Lobos wereand why Mikhail had gotten so close to El Tajin.





High Priestess Atzi’s muzzle was parted in a toothy smile that would make the worst big bad wolf look like a puppy. Beneath her, all saddled up and fierce, the purple dragon Lord Xolotl had bestowed her slashed with his claws, bisecting a batpony in a single swipe. He had grown that much larger and stronger in the short span of time he had spent under her care, growing large enough to support the wolfess’ large frame as a mount.

She twisted around and leveled her weapon at the other one among the small patrol her team had just ambushed, only to see the flying equine drop like a rock, shot down by one of her jaguar warriors.

Good. That was the last one.

“Gather their stuff and get going!” She roared out at her troops as her dragon settled down on the jungle floor with a loud ‘thud. “You don’t want to be there when their reinforcements get here! Leave no traces behind!”

	The last thing they wanted was to lead their foes to the new warrens.

Out of the dense jungle vegetation around her, Atzi’s troops emerged. Most of them jaguar warriors, the mutated Abyssinians better suited than the wolf dogs that were also under her banner at ambushing their enemy. They immediately set to stripping their defeated foes of anything worth using from armor to weapons and supplies, while taking great care not to touch those dark crystals that seemed to infect their flesh like tumors.

Off to the side, a pained yowl rang out as a jaguar warrior applied healing powder onto his stricken mate’s wounds. Unfortunately, a sight she was slowly growing accustomed to. With a sigh, Atzi raised a paw and focused the magic bestowed upon her by Xolotl.

The yowls stopped and the warrior fell into a deep slumber. His mate raised her head and gave Atzi a thankful nod.

This wouldn’t be the first skirmish, nor the last of that little war Atzi was waging upon those that dared challenge the Gods and occupy El Tajin. Not in a wild, reckless assault that caused the loss of her own troops this time, but a cunning campaign of ambushes and using the terrain to their advantage.

Every single patrol or salvage team their enemies sent out, they would ambush, only being truly defeated when heavyweights would take part, like that giant sphinx or the batpony they quickly identified as their leader, a mare with dark plate armor so stealthy and agile she was the only thing that could outmaneuver Atzi’s jaguar warriors.

Luckily for them, that kind of mishap was fairly rare, and now thanks to the addition of a certain dragon to her troops, they could tackle foes like hydras without much difficulty.

“If we keep on at this rate we might get all of them before we even need to profit from the attack that’s going to happen.” A jaguar warrior boasted, his pouches now filled with stolen Equestrian potions.

“Don’t be daft, our enemy isn’t outright suicidal. If it keeps on like this, they’ll just stop leaving the ruins of the city. They way we’re whittling them down just increases our chances when the big fight finally occurs.”

“And when it happens...”

Atzi shuffled on her saddle, quietly putting her gun back on its hip holster.

“When it happens, we wait for both sides to waste their forces and only then will we swoop in, retake the city and liberate the gods these heathens dared imprison within the pyramids.” She paused, looking off in the distance. “Let’s go now. Back to the warrens. We can’t fight them head on.”

And on that note, she and her dragon took off. The jaguar warrior slung his rifle over his shoulder, still confident.

“Not yet.”





Time went on in Brazil, and preparations were made as Fugro hauled field guns from one side of the ruined, overgrown city to another while their crews were being trained at the fort. There, on the same pier where the corvette was moored, a new riverboat had found a spot right across from it. It was white and slim, built for speed and agility in shallow waters, yet with a fairly simple, fiberglass hull.

Making it the perfect candidate to receive the Institute’s microwave gun. Soon after it was restored to sailing condition and fitted with a new engine repaired in Fugro’s onboard workshop, a new contraption slowly but surely found itself solidly bolted in place on a makeshift turret mount just above the pilot, along with a multitude of battery sets to keep the weapon powered up.

Whether or not that would actually work against the incoming threat, Skinner didn’t have a clue, but the Scot wasn’t inclined to refuse any help they could get.

As Lison, the head of the Institute came up to him, Skinner pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a zap of his electric magic. As stressful as the last few days had been, he needed the nicotine. If not to outright relieve the stress, then to help soothe it at least.

“Nice ship you’ll have.” Skinner grunted, giving the scientist a brief nod as a greeting.

“I reckon it will see some use after the battle too. Once the dust settles down, we’ll still have much research to do regarding what… magic...” He said with a wince. “...is doing to the vegetation.”

“Just call it thaumic radiation if you feel like magic doesn’t sound professional.”

“Where did you get that word?”

Skinner’s eyes widened in sudden realization at his faux-pas and he opened his maw as to speak, accidentally dropping his cigarette into the river.

“Uh… buncha folks on the radio who fancied themselves as academics. ‘parently for some calling it ‘magic’ just doesn’t feel right even when you got monsters and Gods running about.” He shrugged.

Lison looked at him for a second and then nodded, pulling out a packet of cigarettes of his own.

“You don’t share their opinion then.” The macaw inquired politely, offering Skinner a new cigarette.

“Nae… magic isn’t just something you could classify as any science. It’s too inconsistent for that. The laws of science never change. Just our understanding thereof. Magic though? Keeps on changing, and not in a way you could predict.”

“Sounds difficult. But not impossible.”

“You don’t get it. Magic really is different. Think of the difference between a spell matrix and computer code. A computer needs to be guided every step of the way to do the right task when programming it. A spell matrix? Sure it may depend on the kind of magic you’re using, but you ask for a lightning bolt...” Skinner plucked one of his quills and jabbed it towards the nearby river, creating a weak electric arc that fizzled out in a splash of steam and water. “… it does the thinking and gives you a lightning bolt. It’s instinct. Emotions. Beliefs.”

… and also a nice change of topic to avoid mentioning the HPI.

“Hmm… yet though you may claim it’s entirely separate from science, magic and science will interact. Otherwise I wouldn’t have to reassess decades of botanical research because my plants mutated. Be as it may… I wanted to ask...”

“How the preparations are going? Here...” Skinner fished out a folded-up piece of paper from his breast pocket. “That’s a print of the latest weather chart analyzing the pirates’ movements.”

The storm advancing towards them was visible clear as day over the Atlantic, with its previous path and a predictive vector layered over it.

“We have two days before they reach the river estuary. Most guns are in place. We have our sensor buoys to give us sonar targeting in position as well, and even a sensor mast to confirm when the pirates will enter the estuary. The last thing we have to do is wait for all the scavs to arrive and send them off tomorrow with the corvette, then all we can do is stack some more training for the gun crews.”

Not mentioning the fact the corvette would also have his Chief Officer, some of his crewmen that were needed to steer the craft and unwilling to fight on Fugro, Pedro’s wife with his eggs, and also some Institute scientists that had insisted on evacuating some of their most precious tech and samples further inland to the Outpost.

That is, the secluded hideout they had picked to send the corvette to. Institute’s idea, it being a small botanical reserve so far up a secondary river no ship the size of the pirates’ could ever reach them.

Only issue was that all the research structures there (wooden cabins really) had long been swallowed up by giant trees and vegetation. They would have to remain at the pier and not venture a single step into the jungle.

Not that any sensible soul would ever attempt that unless pressured to.





Trixie and Starlight looked on intently as the very first menhir to leave the quarry was lifted up into the air via telekinesis, then loaded and strapped tightly to the sky carriage that would fly it all the way to Carnac. Both had a glimmer of hope in their eyes. Hope that they eventually would see their friends and loved ones again. Start a family…

“You know, this wasn’t easy.” Meadowbrook quietly said as she trotted up to where the two were standing atop a short cliff overlooking the quarry.

Starlight took a glance at the now visibly pregnant mare before she threw Trixie a look. Sunburst flashed vividly inside both their minds.

Soon enough…

“I figured reopening the quarry wasn’t easy, but it looks like you got help, no?” Starlight replied.

There were a few deer and ponies she definitely remember having seen in Comper, if Paladin Catherine and her two escorts’ presence wasn’t obvious, the tall armor-clad mare standing on the opposite end of the quarry chatting with Rockhoof.

As for the reactivated quarry itself… it was quite a sight to behold. A combination of magic and machinery covering the jobs needed thanks to Starswirl’s involvement and Lady Vivian providing a few enchanted items and crystals

In the end they wound up with machinery like a steam engine running on Trecesson’s charcoal used to drive the pumps needed to empty the quarry of rainwater along with the cutter blades, while Meadowbrook had cooked up a fair supply of blasting powder.

Vivian’s involvement in all that was lifting crystals powerful enough to lift humongous stone blocks the common unicorn was entirely unable to move, along with magic tools ranging from crystal drills to stone-cutting blades, along with finer tools for when the steam-powered blades were unfit for the job.

“Yes. They brought a few ponies to help us repair and install new machines. But after they’re done cutting the menhirs for your repairs in Carnac, it will be only our people left working here… along with a guard to help defend against critters.” Meadowbrook looked at the sky carriage as Miles slowly guided the two ponies steering it up in the sky.

It was understandable they’d need guidance: the two were really just unicorns under the influence of Starswirl’s spell to grant them temporary wings.

“You know… with all the work you ponies have been doing, this place is shaping up rather nicely.” Starlight followed the sky carriage with her eyes as it veered on a westerly course and flew off towards Carnac.

They’d catch up by teleporter. Starswirl’s array wasn’t meant to transport 20-ton megaliths but ponies it could do just fine.

“Yes, I like this place. It can be a bit slow-going, but I’m convinced we have a great future ahead.” Meadowbrook beamed, not-too-subtly rubbing a hoof over her belly. “I’m a bit ashamed to say… I actually like it better here than in Equestria. I feel less like a mare out of my time and more like a pony that can do some good.”

“I knew Rockhoof had issues with that but...”

“I’ll admit I was less affected than he was, but it really became more apparent after Mistmane died. We’re the kind of pony not meant to fit a modern Equestria.” She paused and shook her head. “Not that I’m trying to dissuade you from leaving of course. You both look like there’s a stallion waiting for you on the other side, maybe even the same one if my guess is right. Can’t keep you away from him.”

Starlight blushed. Trixie opened her mouth to protest, only to, uncharacteristically of her, come up short for words.

“But if you want good news on getting you back, I should be done with the oils you’ll need to enchant the new megaliths and repair the other ones tomorrow. After that...” Meadow made a gesture with her hoof. “It’s entirely down to how long it’ll take you to do your job over there. I can only suggest you get it done in time for winter solstice. It’s probably best to pull that kind of a ritual at a time of the year where the magic will reinforce it, no?”

“Back by solstice… right on time for Heart’s Warming...” Trixie mumbled.

“Of course that will depend on your ability to finish this endeavor, but maybe if it’s done on the day of the solstice then the stone alignments won’t need quite as much of their amplification factor to make your ritual successful and send you back to Equestria.” Meadow offered. “I know that’s the day Martin and I will need to finish up some of my potions for maximum effect, and if the lunar phase matches it will be ideal for gathering a fair few ingredients around the forest too.”

Which was the understatement of the day. Potion-brewers like her were always short on time on a solstice, and having to pace herself because of her advancing pregnancy wouldn’t help. She doubted she’d be able to do everything she wanted to on that day.

Eh, still well over a month to go before it anyway.





Barring a single incident of a nun popping out of nowhere when they decided to spend the night inside an abandoned convent, the last stretch of the Durandal Duo’s trip to Broceliande went by relatively calmly. Not that they didn’t cross path with anything, but by that point they had geared up well enough that a couple shots of their shotgun sent most packs of roving wild dogs on the run and monsters could be dispatched reliably enough through Rodrigo’s magic and enchanted blade, and Veillantif’s sheer Earth Pony resilience.

The latter’s gear improvements were all the more visible. A brief stop in the medieval tourism hotspot that was Malestroit yielded them a fair deal of equipment to salvage from the narrow streets of the small deserted town with its quaint timbered houses possibly as old as France itself.

Mostly tools and armor that is. In the same vein as Rodrigo’s, Veillantif’s armor was a mix of old and new with the same idea of using K9 armor as the base for it. Except that in the Earth Pony’s case, it was brigandine armor that combined itself with leather and kevlar to protect him from attack, instead of Rodrigo’s gleaming plates.

And in a perfect demonstration of what his Cutie Mark was about, it had only taken Veillantif half a day to get the job done with the set of tools he had accumulated over the course of their trip. A set of tools voluminous enough to make the pony’s rucksack bulge out with all the additional equipment he was carrying to the point that even hardened military units would have bowed their heads in respect.

And that wasn’t even considering the fact he’d been hauling all of that since Spain.

Frankly, Rodrigo was amazed that despite his new form being that much smaller than back when he was human, he could somehow walk much longer distances as a unicorn without feeling too strained. Never in his life would he have thought he would ever walk all the way from Madrid to Brittany, yet here he was…

	Around them, the landscape had soon shifted from the narrow, deserted street of Malestroit to overgrown bocage and ruins as they progressed towards Broceliande, the vegetation becoming increasingly denser the closer they drew to the enchanted forest that, right then, looked as though it might soon turn into an eastern natural border for the whole peninsula. Roughly fifty kilometers before their destination, the overgrowth even got so bad that most roads had become hard to even distinguish from the general forest because of the sheer numbers of weeds and saplings that had sprouted through the asphalt, whereas farms and villages were so deeply covered in vines and ivy that you could mistake them for natural rock formation at first glance.

And then had come the first… creatures customary of the region. Not the invasive Equestrian monsters, but oddities like herds of deer with glowing green vine patterns on their fur that didn’t even remotely care about their presence, giant hogs that they needed to fend off, and even some wisps that lit up when they took a shortcut through a bog.

A forest so rife with magic you could practically taste it, which also had taken the aspects of autumn that gave the trees shades of copper and gold, leaves floating down to the forest floor and igniting the magic in the air with sparks and glitter that only faded when the leaves reached the thin layer of mist at hoof height above ground.

It was also slightly harder to traverse than even the cold marshes of the Landes had been, thanks in no small part to the overgrowth being very much a barrier to every step they tried to take that didn’t follow the exact path of game trails or abandoned roads.

The last stretch of their journey was, very much, the most arduous.

“So… you wanna talk about it?” Rodrigo asked, the unicorn having pulled out Durandal to hack his way through the forestry.

“If it’s about the convent… I’m not ashamed.”

“If you had something to prove, it’s only to yourself you know. She was a nun you know...”

“And?”

“Just saying. Hats off to you for managing to score with a nun minutes after she popped back into existence in the near-ruins of the place she used to call home… but I think you’re missing the part about nuns in this time and part of France not being quite like they were in your era. Again: just saying.”

“What?” Veillantif tilted his head, one ear flicking slightly. “Now I’m missing something? And just to point out: I did help her next morning. We didn’t leave her all helpless. She should do fine.”

“Look… nuns are a way of life that… kind of had fallen out of popularity. She must have been… sixty? Eighty?”

“She looked like a fine young mare last I saw her.”

“I know that. But doesn’t that bother you that it could have been just an old lady under those appearances?”

“Not really? Way I experienced it, she was rather happy to get some action after all that time, and who am I  to judge? I’m over a thousand years old if you’re into technicalities.”

	That gave Rodrigo pause, Durandal halting its movements mid-slash for a second before the Spaniard did a face and shrugged.

“Fine, you got me there, old stuff. So it really doesn’t bother you?”

“Absolutely doesn’t. I could care less what she was before. What I had before me was a fresh mare, and call me a stallion that was all too happy to introduce her to her new marehood. She sounded happy enough.”

“Yeah I can attest to that… bloody loud too.” Rodrigo mumbled.

“I aim to please!” Veillantif laughed back, waggling his eyebrows.

His companion shook his head with a sigh, though bearing a hint of a smile on his muzzle. For what it was worth, Veillantif wasn’t quite the candid pony that had first patched him up after his battle in Roncevaux.

And a healthy stallion he definitely was, too. Him being descended from a fertility goddess… explained a lot when you got to know him better.

“I guess. It just… I’m not fully comfortable exploiting a mare in a bad situation just to get laid.” Rodrigo’s ear twitched.

“Element of Integrity. I get that. You were like that in Marquèze too.” Veillantif opined. “Say… what’s gonna happen once you find the tree? Is it just… you wave, say you’re there and we’re on to the next place?”

“No clue really.” Rodrigo kept hacking away at the vegetation until they finally found a game trail that at least vaguely matched the direction they needed to follow. “But you got me there. I have yet to think about what we’re going to do after. Wanna do something?”

“Well… unless they want you to address some big bad guy as soon as we reach the tree, I think we’ve been doing some good for now. Keep walking on, find settlements, help them, and on to the next. Unless you feel like settling down?”

“Yeah… not really. Any idea where to go next then?” Rodrigo proposed.

It took Veillantif a minute before the unicorn heard a reply.

“How about East? Not too far necessarily, but… I’d like to see how Aachen changed since I was born there.”

“You do know you’re in for a shock? It’s been well over a thousand years. Germany isn’t quite what it used to be during that era.”

“I’ve been in for a shock since we set off, try me.” Veillantif smiled challengingly. 

“It’s a plan then. We deal with the Golden Tree and Concord, then it’s off to Germany. I’m curious to see how things fared over there ever since it all went downhill.”

	And it would be a long trip in its own right too… not that he overly minded at this point. There was a merit to meandering about as they went, taking in the scenery of abandonment and renewal you’d find in areas where returnees had settled down.

Germany however, was something they’d only see much later. Guided by instinct, Rodrigo drove the duo ever deeper into the depths of Broceliande, inadvertently missing Trecesson by passing through the dark grove around Morgane’s lair as they beelined towards the Golden Tree and the trees grew ever more impressive the closer they got to it.

They even stumbled upon a slumbering forest guardian, the inactive magic construct resting in a glade by a lone cairn that held a gateway to the Otherworld. Not that either went through: Veillantif’s ancestry just allowed him to sense the gate inside the passage tomb.

Eventually though, the Golden Tree was reached, and the sight didnot disappoint. Far from a mere little sapling, the sheer magic present in the clearing the duo reached had allowed the organic mix of gold and crystal to bloom into a tree worthy of the mightiest ancient oaks, spreading its branches over them as the golden bark and crystally veins reflected sunlight, casting a myriad of lights upon the tall grass that swayed in the breeze.

Right at the base of the tree, between two roots, lay a gilded sword, enshrined in a display case of translucent sap. Excalibur, though neither Rodrigo nor Veillantif actually knew that, and while the latter was casting an awed looked at the seven Elements of Concord and the pedestal arrayed around the golden tree…

Rodrigo’s eyes remained fixed on the green one. His. Integrity.

	Concord didn’t even have the time to manifest his cloud form before the unicorn had already trotted over to the pedestal with the green gem, touched it, and triggered the connection. As he coalesced into existence, and Veillantif whirled around so fast his huge rucksack tipped him over, the Spaniard found himself lifted up in the air as arcane winds picked up like a storm around the clearing.

As Veillantif looked on, the Errant Knight spun in the air with a wide smile on his muzzle. A regalia, a set of golden plates decorated with none other than his Element’s gem and several emeralds matching its color materialized themselves into existence, layered over his armor.

And just as quickly as it materialized, the regalia fizzled out of existence, the gem popped back inside its pedestal, and Rodrigo fell to the clearing floor with a grunt and the clatter of armor.

“Did it work?” Veillantif rushed over to help him up.

“I think it did? I mean… I’ve never felt better! I feel strong, complete even!” Rodrigo sounded giddy as he flexed his forehooves smiling widely.

Neither noticed in time when a squad of guards led by a pegasus mare emerged from the woods, guns drawn as they screamed at them to get away from the tree.

Veillantif raised his hooves hastily.

“Bonjour… I can explain.”





“And now along our program of incremental upgrades to our exoskeleton frame, I have officially put forward the Mk.VI.c upgrade which can be implemented onto all currently existing models. This includes a software update with a machine-learning algorithm set to better optimize power utilization over time by conforming to the user’s gait, along with a minor powerpack retrofit which should reduce total battery weight by fifteen percent.” Lexington intoned dully as he paced in front of a slideshow displaying all the features in the most recent upgrade iteration.

In the middle rows of the assembled crowd, a security team Officer raised his hand.

“When can we expect a shift to Mk.VII?”

“Such a change in denomination will only be considered when the incremental upgrade program reaches such a point that our Mk.VI frames can no longer be retrofitted to be brought up to date.” Lexington droned, hardly focused on the presentation at hand and more on the research that awaited him back in his lab. His pager had started vibrating not too long into the presentation and…

Why the hell was it up to him to present that and not the engineering teams? He wasn’t the only one on the project, not the only one rolling out upgrades, and certainly not the one doing the manufacturing!

The security officer lowered his hand. Lexington nodded curtly, shifting to the next slide of the presentation.

“Current previsions anticipate that the Mk.VI should remain in service for at least the next two years while the engineering teams work on a better biomechanical man-machine interface.”

Another raised hand, another question.

“Biomechanical?” That one was a regular, suit-and-tie HPI agent not unlike Eko.

“Current feedback from patrolling troops has revealed an issue in servomotor response time. That is, there remains a delay between the time users move on their own and that when the suit actually responds and backs it up. We aim to remove this issue through a direct interface between the user’s nervous system and their exoskeleton thanks to our research in biological-to-digitalimpulse transmission. That, however, will take time. Time during which we should still be able to roll out upgrades in terms of exoskeleton endurance, servomotor power and shield strength.”

Most of which were already ready to be rolled out anyway, but Lexington needed to feed them piecemeal so as to keep prying eyes off his research.

The crowd asked a couple more questions as Lexington finished by mentioning the practical details regarding how the retrofit would be implemented and what the security teams needed to do before he finally waved a gang of lesser-ranked workers over to tidy up the meeting room and left without much of a fuss, hitching a ride on one of the electric carts maintenance teams and agents alike used to get around the ever-expanding maze of the North-American facility and its drab, relatively featureless tunnels where workers and exoskeleton clad security teams milled about, set to ensure the survival of the whole race.

It was with a hint of relief that he got out of that ambiance and back within the confines of the R&D department and his own lab. At least there he could do something about the looks of the place, and have a degree of control over who stumbled inside. He had made sure to give his assistant – the only other person to have free access to his labs, and Amelia was as deep in it as he was, so no risk of the girl telling on him- an office in direct view of the entrance so as to keep a tight eye on it.

Most of the decor here on the upper level of the labs, Lexington had picked both for the purpose of being pleasing to the eye (long term, being stuck inside a concrete bunker can certainly have its effect on you) by adding crisp white and lime green enamel panels all over the place to go with transparent sliding doors and plants obtained (not without much trouble and waiting times) from Hydroponics… and for the purpose of keeping prying eyes off the lower levels of the labs, those where he was actually getting shit done that didn’t quite follow the HPI’s guidelines on ethics.

So it really was designed more to look impressive with models of exoskeletons partially disassembled, schematics pinned to the wall, full and messy workstations and various vats filled with colorful liquids he knew would impress the average HPI agent coming to take a peek.

Along with the one batch of unmodified, unexposed-to-thaumic-radiation mice, their cages all neatly stowed in alcoves along the walls next to Amelia’s office.

In which she wasn’t at the moment, but if she’d been pinging his pager then he sort of expected her to be down in the lower labs. Passing by in his own office to grab a can of energy drink (an increasingly rare commodity around the facility, given pre-Event supplies were dwindling and nobody would touch the ‘HPI brand’ with a ten-foot pole, it tasting like cat piss), he went back out, lab coat billowing behind him as he pressed his hand in just the right place on an enamel panel and pushed up.

It recessed into the ceiling with a click. Not the best kind of secret passage he could have made since the lower labs were still on official plans, but to anyone who hadn’t accessed them it would just look like Lexington’s labs stopped at the end of the hallway with his office.

The lower labs lacked much of the decoration present a level higher, being far more utilitarian in appearance, concrete and steel with dull neons and wire mesh on the ceilings where they ran all the wiring. There was also the constant whirr of cold ventilation and the hum of the shield generators.

Several of them in fact. One per experiment room, of which they had twelve, each for one breed of modified mice, so as to have full control over how much exposure they would get to thaumic radiation. A pair of functional exoskeletons were stood in pods on one end of the main hallway, their main method of accessing a lab without immediately dying of thaumic exposure.

As he walked by, Lexington took a peek at each batch of mice through the observation ports. Most were back in their cage racks at this hour, sleeping.

He found Amelia in the control room, watching CCTV while jotting down notes.

“You found something? Been pinging my pager since the beginning of my presentation.”

“Apologies for that. But I really think you’ll be happy to hear what the computer’s found.” Amelia swiveled her chair around and stood up. “Seems like dragon DNA holds more potential than we first concluded after the failed batch using it.” She added, walking over to a computer across the room.

“Does it, now?” Lexington tilted his head to the side, casually putting his hands in his pockets while he eyed her critically.

She really wasn’t much to look at. Just a pudgy, nerdish girl with unkempt frizzy red hair and buck teeth, she owed her position in the HPI and as Lex’s assistant to pristine academics. Given her appearance, he very much doubted those were obtained on her knees.

“Yes. If you look at the data here...” She jabbed her pencil at a line in particular on the screen. “It’s not so much that we could use it in and of itself, but dragon DNA seems to hold the most potential as a bonding agent thanks to their ability to crossbreed so much. Looks like we just went about it the wrong way.”

“Hmm… might work. But don’t take what the computer says at face value. It’s not above making mistakes. Though… this does open better genetic mixes for the second generation of batches.”

“Gen one won’t suffice?”

Lexington shook his head.

“No. We’ll keep sequencing DNA across multiple species as we go and work on three fronts. One is we analyze and improve cognitive abilities as we’ve been doing so far. Two is we try to locate the part in human DNA that makes us so vulnerable to thaumic radiation. Three is doing that for the part that makes animals resistant to it.”

“And right now?”

“How did the last cognitive tests fare?”

“Most have stabilized and seem like they peaked. Don’t get me wrong, they’re a lot smarter than regular mice have any right to be, but they’re not truly sentient just yet. I cross-referenced our own research with what we got from Naomi in Africa. If we want improvements on that, it’s probably going to be with their offspring.”

Lexington crossed his arms and frowned, drumming his fingers against the sleeve of his lab coat as he pondered.

“You cross-referenced with Naomi?”

“Yes. Given her situation she’s always happy to receive calls, and that counts double with me since I’m Texan as well. What I got from her is that while regular lions do experience an increase in cognitive abilities, and that there might be an added factor of exposure to transformed humans playing into it, later generations are much more sensible to those changes.”

“Thank you. Then we will...” He paused. “We’ll start working on the new second generation genome. Here’s how we’ll assign labs from now on: one through four will be for the offspring of all generations we’ve made. As we work through incremental genetic changes to each generation and see how it goes in testing, we’ll reduce it to two labs per generation. One with, one without thaumic exposure. That should let us test on four generations simultaneously while we work on the next ones. And...”

“The cognitive testing?”

Lexington straightened up his glasses.

“I was getting to it. If generation one has gotten such results already, we’ll ramp up the difficulty. Not just on individual problem solving, but I want to put a focus on group testing. See how social structures and cooperation develops among them. Maybe even some self-awareness testing if time allows.”

As she was a good assistant, Amelia had already pulled out a notepad and jotted down the orders. This would require a whole rearranging of the labs and a good deal of planning for all the tests they needed to run…

But unbeknownst to either of the two, toying with mouse genetics and mixing it with human and other species’ DNA ran quite a bit deeper than they expected. Deeper than just unraveling the mysteries of human DNA and their own species’ vulnerability to magic, a tiny, nearly insignificant on its own, miracle happened.

As life did its usual business among the mice and the first stirrings of life developed within a particular female mouse, a milestone was crossed. A soul was created. Weak. Feeble. Yet by its very creators set at the crossroads of so many species.

And as those responsible for its existence discussed, not realizing the significance of the white mouse snoozing on the CCTV screen, this little soul and its siblings could only look forward to more opportunities to flourish…
> Chapter 112: Let Beat the Drums of War
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pieces were in place. The trap set. The troops trained… somewhat. As the clouds massed over Belem, Skinner’s heart tightened. The battle was imminent. From his position up on the bridge of Fugro Symphony, the Scot watched fat drops of water roll off the windows as the storm clouds roiled far above.

“What’s the reading on our sensors?” He finally asked, squinting at the cityscape beyond, the clouds so thick darkness had enveloped everything.

“The enemy has entered the estuary. Looks like they’re following the buoys we set up to lure them in. Ten minutes and they’ll be where we want them.” Floyd replied, the griffon hunched over the screens on the other end of the bridge.

He nodded mutely, folding his paws behind his back as his tail swished from side to side in anticipation. Up ahead, a thin wire connected the anchored Fugro to a little fluorescent buoy, itself connected to a long cable that wound around the city they were using to hide from detection before it reached the sonar buoy.

The radio crackled with words in Portuguese, prompting Marcos to rush over.

“Northern field gun battery reports a sighting. Five miles out.”

“Make sure they hold their fire. Don’t open up until we’ve got a full surround.”

He needn’t have told that, because Pedro’s voice preceded his orders, the Emperor’s tone easily recognizable despite the static. Out of the corner of his eye, Skinner inspected the ECDIS. The AIS transponder on Solimoes remained firmly immobile, somewhere off in the depths of the jungle, safe, but that of the Institute microwave speedboat had moved up behind the pirate warship, using the multitude of little islands in the estuary along with the darkness to avoid detection.

As they should. He had put his Third Officer on board to ensure the prototype weapon carrier did its job. The only worry on that front was just how much energy the dense rain would absorb before the rays reached their target.

Another call over the radio.

“Eastern field gun battery confirms the sighting. Target three miles off the sonar buoy. Looks like they’re really following the lights.”

“Still too far. Keep waiting. We can’t miss this.”





The gun crew at the northern battery was composed entirely of the hooligan gang Pedro had recruited by telling about what had happened to Santos. All wore Santos Football Club jerseys as a uniform of sorts, a staunch declaration of revenge for the attack on Sao Paulo, if the letters ‘Vingança!’ inscribed on the barrel of their cannon wasn’t enough of a tell.

The observer of said battery was also the first to sight their enemy as its silhouette appeared through the rain like a ghostly apparition that made the Abyssinian’s blood run cold as he balanced on a tree branch, their gun set up on an otherwise deserted, jungle-covered island off the shore of Belem.

Karlsruhe was finally unveiling its tarnished, warped flanks to mortal eyes. Once the pride of Imperial Germany, of the light cruiser it once was, only the sharp blade-like profile remained. The hull was tainted, not only through the rust that colored it ugly shades of brown and orange, not only through the barnacles, coral and algae that fouled the entire hull as you would expect from a ship that had spent just about a century on the ocean floor, but also through the cancerous growths that spread like veins and tentacles from amidships where it grew like a tumor before wrapping around funnels, superstructure and deck guns alike. Purplish in hue, it pulsated with life and dull flashes of mana that coursed through the length of the ship, highlighting bewitched guns and eldritch funnels marked by Charybdis’ taint.

And the stench… rot and low tide, enough to make the bile rise up in one’s throat from a mile away. One of the gunners keeled over and emptied her guts at her feet. 

The observer swallowed back his puke and readjusted his binoculars. There were sailors milling about on deck… just not regular sailors. Thralls or voluntary, all bore the same goop that their ship did, manifesting itself in the form of tentacles and sickly growths as they shuffled about on deck, some handling searchlights on the wings of the conning tower.

Which itself held the radiant jewel among the rotten pile. It was a kirin, only not in the graceful, placid form that the reptilian-equines usually took, but the wild and fiery form of a nirik that they took on when angered.

This was Captain Spring Gleam, the most infamous, profoundly unhinged, downright psychopathic criminal among a species usually known for their ability to remain calm. One that had let herself be enticed by Charybdis’ promises of wealth and power… and unbeknownst to most of the defenders in Belem was already paying dearly for her foolishness.

Seeing that come in close proximity of his battery, the observer did… exactly what you’d expect a poorly-trained militia trooper to do.

He jumped the gun.

“Fogo!”

Below him, the gun crew reacted accordingly to the order. They quickly ranged their target and rammed a shell in the breach before one of the felines slammed the trigger lever. A flash lit up the darkness, accompanied by a thundering ‘boom!’ so strong it shook the camo net and surrounding vegetation as the shell raced out the barrel and lanced towards the enemy light cruiser.

It missed. By a wide margin. Landing with a splash off the bow of Karlsruhe.

The element of surprise was officially lost. Immediately, sailors were seen rushing into position on the pirate ship’s deck, manning the guns as purplish energy raced through its entire hull in a bright pulse, like a sudden rush of adrenaline.





“What in the blazes are these idiots doing?” Pedro squawked from his position right beside the howitzer battery at the fort, the southern battery in the defense system.

“They’ve opened fire sir!” One of his original subordinates, an Ornithian, yelled out loud.

“I saw that! Damn it, they’re going to ruin the entire battle plan. Quick! Get on the radio with the Institute’s ship, they need to lead the pirates towards us!”

“Permission to open fire, sir?” The Ornithian inquired.

“Denied! The last thing we want is to chase them away! Hold your fire until I give my say-so!” Pedro squawked loudly before reaching for the radio hanging off a strap on his hip. “Fort to Fugro, if you’re ever going to fire those torpedoes of yours then do it now! We need that ship immobilized, and fast!”





Further off to the south, this was the exact kind of signal Fugro had been waiting for. Firing one of their torpedoes through the open moonpool, a small gang of sailors watched as the ordnance escaped its launch tube with the sharp hiss of compressed air, the torpedo immediately opening its fins and powered away from Fugro.

The neat thing with those, and it really was nothing new with torpedoes, was the ability to input waypoints, which is exactly what let it make a wide circle around the headland Fugro was using for cover before it reached the final point and the little sonar in the warhead activated its search pattern.

It didn’t have any difficulty finding its quarry. With white foam on the surface the only sign of the torpedo powering up to terminal thrust, it sped past the splashes of artillery shells… and finally struck its mark on the starboard bow.

The ensuing explosion was powerful enough to shake the jungle and light up the darkness for a brief instant as a fireball erupted shortly after the initial splash of the torpedo impact. 





“Ammunition storage hit.” Pedro mumbled, lowering his binoculars before he snapped his head towards an Abyssinian coordinating the fort’s howitzer’s fire. “Tell them to keep firing. It’s not out of action just yet.”

Indeed it wasn’t. The explosion was powerful enough to stagger the whole warship and even knock a few thralls overboard as Karlsruhe slumped forward in the water, fires raging out of a gaping hole in her deck where the ammo well detonation had punctured it.

Yet before their very eyes, the purplish goop worked to seal the punctures in the hull. It didn’t right the ship, but contain the flooding it sure did.

A demonic biological damage control system.

What a world.

Up on Karlsruhe’s deck, Captain Spring Gleam could easily be spotted, wreathed in flames as she waved her hooves and ordered her thralls to man the guns. An old light cruiser’s armament was nothing fancy: a dozen light (by naval standards that is) caliber guns mounted in deck guns with simple gun shields for protection.

That didn’t make them any less dangerous when they started to return fire. Each time one opened fire, a bright pulse would run along the barrel before coating the gun’s shell in demonic magic.

Whatever it did to the projectiles, Pedro could for certain testify that the unearthly screeches they made as they whizzed overhead was unnerving.

There was also one key difference between the ship and the shore batteries attempting to (rather ineffectually, mind) hit it.

A ship can dodge. A cruiser, decently so. An old Portuguese fort?

Pedro stumbled as a shell impacted the fortifications and kicked up a plume of dust and debris. The fortifications held. For now.

Despite that, one of the gunners stood up and almost made a run for it before Pedro leaped down from his perch, briefly transforming his arms into wings to slow his fall before he grabbed the Abyssinian by the scruff of her neck and got her back on her post with a few choice words of his.

Nothing outwardly vulgar of course. The Emperor needed to maintain an image. He stayed by the wannabe deserter for a minute, a shadow hanging over her shoulder as he took command of the howitzer and squawked out orders, leaving only after they scored a hit.

A glancing hit that detonated their shell on Karlsruhe’s aftmost funnel, but a hit was what they needed for morale.

“Keep that range, we got a bead on them. We’re going to win this.” He finally said, leaving with a confident tap on the Abyssinian’s shoulder before he resumed his position overlooking the fort.





“Hit confirmed sir! Enemy ship still mobile.” Marcos reported, translating the radio chatter from Portuguese to English.

“Acknowledged.” Skinner replied stoically before pressing a button on his station. “Fire tube two. Same approach vector. Prepare tubes three and four for an approach vector from the opposite side.” He ordered, knowing his subordinates down in the control room would remap a few new waypoints for the next torpedoes to follow.

He pressed another button on his station and twisted around in his seat to look aft of the bridge at the deck team. Right as the second torpedo departed, he watched the only minotaur on his crew manhandle (well, cow-handle) a torpedo on her own. Completely drenched with her thick, highland cattle fur clinging to her wide frame, the cow slid the large torpedo nigh-effortlessly inside its tube, then leaving the task of resealing it and charging up the compressed air to her shipmates as she went back to the rack they used to keep their spares.

Perks of having so many species among his crew.

Then again, the same minotaur cow had been, along with the reindeer he had among his Officers, among the worst affected by the Brazilian climate.

Speaking of which… said reindeer was also the one he had dispatched to help pilot the Institute’s microwave boat.

“Microwave, this is Fugro. What is your current situation? Over.”





She didn’t hear her superior. Not. At. All.

Among all those involved in the fight, those who drew the short straw and wound up on the microwave boat were obviously those who put themselves in the most danger.

Mia liked to think herself fond of adventure back when she decided to work in the maritime industry and sallied out of Norway and into the wider world.

This…

She ducked her head as a shell splashed off their stern.

… was way more adventure than she’d ever signed up for.

Wiping the spray off her eyes, the reindeer wrenched the helm and pushed the throttle to its maximum setting using her telekinesis, sending the little craft skidding sideways as a shell from the demonic shell landed just short of them.

“Fuck you doing with the guns back there?! Faen I helvete, just shoot the damn thing!” She yelled at the Institute scientist behind her.

“I’m trying! The capacitors just won’t load!”

“I don’t care what’s happening or why back there...” She jerked the helm again and the little ship did a very close pass just behind the comparatively huge, dominating presence of Karlsruhe. “...just make it work damn it! You had a fucking week to do it and now you’re blueballing us you fucking jackass!”

“Sheesh, no need to be a bitch about it.” The parrot holding on for dear life wearing a tool rig instead of a life jacket grumbled.

“We’re being shot at you doofus!” She yelled right back at him. “Make. It. Fucking. Work.”

“I. Am. Fucking. Trying.” He squawked, smacking the side of a jury-rigged aluminum box among the mess of wires beneath the microwave gun with his claws. “Directed energy weapons aren’t meant to operate in adverse weather conditions?”

“Cool story. Sounds like I give a damn?!”

The only reply that got her from the parrot was something halfway between a frustrated caw and what she assumed was some kind of insult in Portuguese as she finally managed to get the small vessel out of the direct line of fire after their first-and-failed approach.

“It’s fine! I just need to… err… just a minute...” There was a loud clanging noise as her ‘gunner’ straight up ripped out a box and tossed it overboard before he started fiddling with the wiring underneath. “If I just bypass the fuse and use that… heat sink maybe? Yeah in series, that’ll work.”

“Less talking, more shooting.” Mia warily eyed Karlsruhe, seeing a group of thralls switch sides to man a deck gun facing their general direction.

“Right on it!” The parrot finally gave the whole jury-rigged contraption a hearty slap before he slipped in his seat.

Immediately, a loud hum started coming from the gun as he flipped a switch and swiveled the aperture around in the general direction of their enemies.

“Commencing fire! Behold, the might of two city blocks and an appliance store’s worth of microwaves!” He giddily said, pressing the trigger.

In normal circumstances, the ray would have been invisible. In the dense rainstorm however, the waves instantly vaporized any drop of rain caught between the gun and the pirate ship as it superheated everything in its way, punctuating the action with the whoosh of air suddenly being displaced.

As for the effect on Karlsruhe? The ray impacted it amidships, where the demonic contagion was at its densest… and the ensuing effect was like popping a zit the size of a pony as the material reached boiling point instantly and splattered ichor into the water below to the sound of an intense, unearthly howl.

That was also enough to motivate the rest of the thralls to temporarily ignore the shore gun and focus fire on them, as well as earning them a volley of magic bolts from the irate kirin pirate commanding Karlsruhe. The only thing to hit them actually, though it certainly made Mia’s fur stand up on the back of her neck as one bolt left a perfectly round hole in the windshield ahead of her.

“Keep up the fire! Looks like it’s working!”

“No shit I noticed! Just...” He reached under the base of the gun and yanked on something before chucking something overboard. “We’re frying the last capacitor in the series every time we fire now. Losing five percent power every next shot now.”

“Fuck err… keep at it anyway. It’s better they shoot us than the shore batteries.” She ordered, only then noticing the incessant beeping of the radio beside her.

Whatever the issue was, it could probably wait. Dodging another gunfire salvo, the little boat skidded across a couple wavelets before veering around for another attack run as the remaining capacitors recharged.





On the shore side of things, cheers went up at the fort and the other gun batteries the moment they noticed the pirates shift their attention to the plucky boat harassing their cruiser.

“Keep the cheers for after the fight, it ain’t over yet!” Pedro cawed loudly. “Keep firing and don’t stop ‘til the depths claim them! Nobody attacks Belem on our watch! Adjust range and lead your shots more to the left! We want a midships shot to cripple them! Keep at it, when the skies clear, the jungle will sing our praises!”





“Fuck’s sake, she’s still not answering Captain!” Marcos complained after trying to hail Mia for the third time.

“Then try again! They need to move around to the other side of the pirates now!” Skinner barked back, wringing his hands behind his back.

Marcos nodded from across the bridge and hunched over the radio station, once again addressing a DSC call to Mia’s ship hoping she would notice the ringing. He looked back towards his superior.

“What’s on that side of the pirates anyway?”





With an exasperated growl Mia finally managed to get far enough away from the cruiser to address the issue of the radio, unhooking the handset with her telekinesis while not tearing her eyes away from steering the boat.

“Microwave here, what is the situation? Over.”

She sort of heard Marcos garble something on his end of the line.

Then she saw it. Can’t catch a break it seems. One of those days…

The torpedo.

Number three to be precise, the first they had fired on the attack vector opposite the initial one. Through the broken and shattered windshield of the boat, looking past the spray made by the bow as they cut through the river delta of Belem, she spotted the telltale churning foam a torpedo would make when nearing the surface.

The problem?

Following a preset route a Mk.46 can either finish its track by relying on targeting data provided… or if the tether is cut and it starts a search pattern, it will home in on what it finds first.

Namely: the microwave boat.

She didn’t waste her time, practically bucking herself up in the air as her reindeer magic asserted itself over her form and carried her higher up into the air, all the while wrenching the Institute gunner from his seat with her telekinesis.

He squawked sharply in protest.

His cries died in his throat ten seconds later when the boat went up in a ball of spray and debris.

“Was that…?”

“Blue-on-blue, yes.” Mia sighed before looking at her companion expectantly.

“What?”

“So you’re going to break out the wings sometimes this year or am I supposed to carry you too?”

The Ornithian at least had the merit of looking sheepish when he turned his arms into wings as they flew off and made their escape back to the relative safety of the city, as the battle raged on below.





With a scowl on his muzzle, Dilip closed the commander’s hatch of the Piranha he was currently sitting in, taking a brief pause to wipe the rain off the tip of his muzzle which poked ahead of his raincoat’s hood. Not that it would help much, with the multitude of species they had, the smell inside the APC seemed to only ever edge between wet fur and musk.

Given the continuous rains that fell upon the region around El Tajin, the former was bound to win the struggle, giving him a good reason to loathe his own canine sense of smell.

At least it was quite clear that rain wasn’t entirely natural. Back when they landed the vehicles in Tùxpam the weather had been fine. It was only when they got close to Poza Rica and the Four Horses’ base that it dawned on him that some spirits or gods weren’t taking the demonic followers’ presence nicely.

Cloud fronts don’t stop at an exact limit in a radius around a specific point.

Regardless of which entity was responsible for that, the weather had marked the land quite badly. Several months of next to no sunlight and continuous rains had seen to it that most plants had died. All over the region, trees lay fallen across roads that were barely serviceable for even all-terrain vehicles, the flood having stripped the dirt right from underneath their roots.

In some places it had even caused landslides to such a point that rocky protrusions had been exposed much like teeth emerging from the ground. A chilling look that unnerved most among the attacking force, and a sharp contrast when compared to the verdant but otherwise quiet ruins of Tùxpam where they had landed an hour prior.

Dilip tried not to dwell on it, though every so often he caught himself mumbling some mantras asking Varuna for protection.

He didn’t really know if the Hindu pantheon was active like the Celts’ or inert like that of most Abrahamic religions… but it still felt comforting that there may be some entity backing him up, if only faintly. Locking the hatch above him tightly, the D-dog did his best to twist his larger-than-human frame around to look at the back of the crew bay where Greet was doing her best to lay out a map of the area and coordinate radio chatter.

Svelte as she may be, the scarlet macaw was still more than tall enough to bonk her head on the ceiling every dozen seconds or so, each bump punctuated by an ever-more-irate grumbling in Dutch.

“What’s the status on group two?”

“The militia? They regrouped with Aleksei’s recce team north of Poza Rica, should be moving through the ‘burbs right about now, sir. They’ll be in position to attack from the north-west in… fifteen minutes, give or take. If they don’t encounter monsters of course.”

“Good. Has Aleksei kept track of...”

“Mikhail? Yes she has. Our wayward dragon doesn’t seem to be in El Tajin itself. Most likely somewhere to the southwest, and close given how fast the bearing lines are moving.” Greet explained. “Will we see him when the fight begins? I suppose so...”

“Then we’ll have to make sure he can be neutralized accordingly. I doubt Lorelei would be too happy if we offed one of hers.”

“Doubt she would, indeed.” Greet paused, clacking her beak pensively.

She looked as though she was about to ask him something before being interrupted by the muted sound of gunfire coming from the outside, and almost as to reply to that, the radio came aloud in tune. The Battle of El Tajin was officially on.

“Man the fifty! I’ll deal with communications.” Dilip ordered.



 

A mere half a dozen miles away, the second group, comprised of the refinery workers’ militia along with the WSU’s recce team was in it thick. Tracer fire, headlights and parachute flares lit up the darkness as the convoy consisted mostly of lighter vehicles like humvees, Panhard VBL and Aleksei’s own defender came under attack by a large group of monsters.

Actually… not just monsters this time around. She quickly caught sight of silhouettes weaving in and out of the darkness, ponies mostly, but also several other species. Gargoyles, griffons… this pretty much confirmed what they had expected. If it was more than monsters, then it meant El Tajin was a full-blown installation of the Four Horses.

The landscape around her had quickly turned downright hellish. Already one of the humvees had been set ablaze by a magic bolt courtesy of a unicorn mage before it crashed into a row of short, shabby one-floor-houses. Soon, large flames were rising despite the rain amidst the low-density urban landscape, allowing Aleksei full view of militia troopers slogging it through the mud and returning fire back at their foes, most trying to take cover behind their vehicles.

Before her very eyes, two chupacabras ran out from behind a building and rushed towards an Abyssinian trooper who was dragging an injured friend to the relative safety at the back of the convoy. The recce team’s position actually.

Scarface propped up his rifle on the hood of the Defender and dropped the two monsters. Aleksei went to help the two troopers, already prepping a healing spell, only for Scarface to stop her in her tracks.

“Don’t. We need you to keep your magic to deal with the heavyweights.” He shook his head, frowning, before turning his gaze skyward at a certain pegasus on their team. “Oi Radiant! Get these two over there a potion! First-aid type only, we’ll let medevac sort out the rest.”

She nodded. Parts of her felt like telling him off for ordering an Officer around… but common sense said he was an objectively better fighter than her. No sense throwing a fuss in the middle of a firefight.

Spreading her wings to rise up on her hind legs, she leveled her rifle at a crossbow-wielding pegasus she spotted taking pot shots at the troopers below.

That’s the danger with these guys. You get so wrapped-up in fending off the monsters and focusing down their heavyweights, the cultists were left unchecked and free to land enchanted bolts and spells wherever they wanted.

Speaking of heavyweights… ahead of the convoy, a small house was crushed under the humongous frame of a hydra, the gigantic monster trampling everything in its way to charge at a humvee, knocking the truck off the road and into a muddy ditch.

“Cover me, I’m going to drop a banishment on that thing!” Aleksei yelled, already slinging her rifle back over her back, the cleric’s claw igniting with magic.	

Aleksei sprang up in the air and beat her wings as fast as she could, speeding towards the multi-headed beast as it tried to rip off the humvee’s turret with two of its heads while the other two spewed noxious gas at whichever militia trooper came close. For the gunner, it was already too late, but she could see the driver cowering inside the wrecked vehicle, desperately firing his pistol at the hydra. To little effect, except pissing it off more, obviously.

She recited her prayer to Epona mid-flight, holding her claws close to her heart as the magic coalesced into a compact, white-hot ball of power.

Then she released it as soon as she was close enough, the magic turning into a thin, intense beam that arced towards the hydra and hit it like a fiery lance, right at the base of its heads. It was actually the first time she used her one monster-slayer spell as such.

It was as effective as her spell tome claimed and then some. The magic blew up on impact, carving – more like outright disintegrating- a chunk of the hydra the size of an ox and turning its insides into cinders. Disconnected from their body by the blast, its heads fell down to the ground and onto the destroyed humvee as they thrashed like a fish out of water for a few seconds, spilling blood and some smoking gunk from which hydras produced their gas before they went still.

Aleksei descended onto the wreck gracefully, her figure surrounded by a bright aura from her magic as she reached out to the trooper still inside the cabin.

“Come on. They’re still fighting out there.” She said, her voice modulated by a quick translation spell. “Grab your gun and regroup at the back of the convoy, this battle isn’t over.”





“It’s an attack ma’am.” A gargoyle with a mage’s rig and copper-plated gauntlets announced to Night.

Sirius. Officially her second-in-command.

The batpony only moved her head ever-so-slightly in acknowledgment, opening her wing – the appendage almost entirely replaced by dark crystals thanks to Scylla’s influence- to beckon him over to the edge of the watchtower from which she was looking at El Tajin extending out below them with its pyramid, wooden walkways and shacks raised on stilts.

“The scouts and the beastmasters are already fighting them off, but we need more. They’re coming at us with a full army.”

“Who? The tribals that have been harassing us? I didn’t know they had this kind of firepower.” Night hissed, revealing that her batpony fangs had been turned to crystal as well.

“Another faction. They have war machines.”

Night snorted.

“War machines? How powerful can they possibly be?”

“Err...”





“Hydra coming in from bearing one-niner-zero!”

“I see it.” Sri smirked, the hippogriff occupying the gunner’s position of the CV90. She watched the monster plow through a copse of jungle, rushing towards their convoy as they were fending off scores of chupacabras and their handlers. “Engaging now. Armor-piercing salvo. Keep clear.”

If the monster thought it could evade detection by staying inside forestry… it dearly underestimated the thermals the gun sights were fitted with. Sri pushed the trigger pedal with her hoof and the Bofors sang its deathly tune.

‘Boom-boom-boom-boom.’ The casings flew up in the air above the turret as the APFSDS rounds left the barrel one after another at a speed of over a kilometer a second.

In practice, it may have looked less spectacular than the banishment spell Aleksei was using to cover the other convoy… but it wasn’t any less effective, each round tearing through the monster’s thick hide and flesh as if they weren’t even there.

‘Boom-boom-boom-boom.’ Another salvo in the carcass just to be sure, then she swiveled the turret around to the whirr of the hydraulics to hose down a group of chupacabras with the coaxial. 

In the commander’s seat next to her, Roberto fiddled with the joystick, handling his own remotely-operated machine gun to fend off a group of flyers. A couple of gargoyles with whips, which pointed them out as the monsters’ wranglers, if the fact that they were dropping marker spells for their beasts onto the convoy wasn’t enough of an indication.

“Care to address those? They’re a pain in the ass and I don’t want to test the reliability of our roof armor for too long.” The feline asked her.

“Sure. On it, switching to frag rounds…” She flipped a switch on a console on her right and waited for the autoloader to do its job. “...ranging the shot… firing.”

Unsurprisingly, flyers have a lot harder time dodging airburst rounds than they do machine gun fire. Like swatting flies, really.





“We need help ma’am. This isn’t some small fry we can throw monsters at until they leave.” Sirius insisted. “Can’t the nexus send us reinforcements? We’re the Four Horses! Not the One Horse and a couple goons.”

Night threw him a look.

“Scylla maybe then?”

She shook her head. Their Lord didn’t take kindly to displays of weakness, and begging for reinforcements was one such display. As for the others and Mage in particular…

The unicorn just wasn’t the same since he had come to this planet.

“Fetch Enigma and tell him it’s no more experiments with soul canisters if he doesn’t get out there and fight.” The batpony ordered. “Send Steelhorn too. Tell him to delay them. I’ll raise the thralls.”

‘bout time the crystal golems she got off Mage turned useful for a change instead of collecting dust.





“Should we move in now?” The jaguar warrior inquired from where he was, perched on a branch near the canopy of a particularly large tree Atzi’s dragon was perched on, herself balancing semi-precariously on the saddle.

“Not yet. They haven’t truly clashed yet. We must wait until they are at their weakest to seize the city.”

“Any minute now?”

The wolfess grinned and nodded, one paw patting the sub-machine gun hanging off her hip.

“Any minute now… and El Tajin will be in rightful paws.”





Rodrigo slowly stood up on his hooves, carefully gauging the guards and their leader as they moved in to surround them. He was a bit winded from the fall after interacting with his Element… but still giddy from that exhilarating feel of completeness. He felt confident.

The guards were a mix of unicorns and deer led by a purple pegasus mare that hovered in the air above the clearing, arguing in French with Veillantif. Their armor was relatively uniform, bearing the same make and markings, a mix of chainmail and gambeson that made it strictly medieval compared to the jury-rigged sets that he and Veillantif wore.

Given the hooded cloaks and hunting rifles they had to go with that gear, these guards were dedicated foresters, and the camo poncho that their leader wore depicted her as ex-military. Though of course… the halberds they had certainly looked threatening too.

Rodrigo took on a defensive stance, not quite sure how to react just yet, scanning the clearing through cold gray eyes, though his horn remained inert. For now.

Did he feel like his shields could deflect rifle rounds?

…

Probably. The issue was Veillantif, really. Capable as the stallion was, Rodrigo didn’t think he’d do too well completely surrounded like that.

“I swear we weren’t going to do anything bad to the tree! We have very good reasons to be there!” Veillantif tried to placate the guards.

“Oh really? This is a sacred clearing. It’s of the utmost importance, not only for this region...” The mare landed and jabbed a hoof in Veill’ chest. “But for the entire world too! What’s a pair of stallions like you lot to do that could be better than the sake of the world, uh?!”

	It was all so stupid really… and mostly stemming from the fact that Rodrigo didn’t speak a word of French and… wasn’t entirely in the right mindset either. With a sprinkling of misplaced pride and inability to de-escalate situations.

“Hey get away from him!” Rodrigo scowled and took a step forward, speaking Spanish.

“On se calme là! Eloignez-vous du lieutenant!” Another guard, a deer, reacted, halberd raised as he moved in to bar the defensive stallion from getting to his superior…

...and proceeded to trip on a root at the single worst time possible.

Rodrigo’s reaction was a reflex, really. The instant he saw a flash of steel on the edge of his vision, his horn ignited with telekinesis and Durandal leaped out of its scabbard in one swift swing that cut the halberd’s shaft in half, its head keeping on its trajectory until it hit Veillantif in the back of the head.

Hardly an injury for an Earth Pony, but it did draw blood and a cry of surprise from the green stallion who jerked his head forward… headbutting Miles in the process and sending the pegasus mare reeling backward with a bloody snout.

All in a fraction of a second, yet enough to make the entire clearing descend into complete chaos. Before either Miles or Veillantif could do a single thing to stop the hostilities, all the other guards rushed forward, some to assist their stricken LT, others to fight the intruder that had gotten so close to the Golden Tree and was now attacking them.

One guard had raised his halberd to strike from behind, only for Rodrigo to hop deftly backwards before delivering a quick buck that sent him rolling to the ground just as he deflected another strike with Durandal.

The third attack he didn’t see coming. A stag that charged him as he was readjusting his stance and caught him flat-hoofed. Both rolled in the grass in a tangled mess of limbs, grunting and swearing as the stag tried to strike some more while Rodrigo devolved to delivering punches to the cloven creature.

A unicorn tried to take a shot at Veillantif, seeing the Earth Pony still recovering from the shock of the situation… only to hold his fire upon seeing his superior fly up in the air and dive towards the stallion with a warcry, her own halberd quite uselessly deflecting off a plate on his armor. Nevertheless, she kept on her trajectory, dropping her melee weapon that went and planted itself in the ground as she turned her dive into what might be the meanest left hook she had ever delivered.

Adding to the shock value, she had enough control over her male-to-female transformation to turn into a stallion for the extra strength… which still left her a wingless pegasus in the form.

To her credit, this being the first regular Earth Pony she was meeting (Rockhoof… not really counting as ‘regular’ in the slightest), so you sort-of could understand she didn’t truly grasp how bloody strong the average Earth Pony can be.

“Gah! What the fuck!” She-now-he gasped as Veillantif moved to pin him to the ground before punching him so hard with a forehoof Miles saw stars. He spat blood.

Veillantif raised his hoof again, only to stop and blink.

“Wait, where are your wings? And why are you a stallion now?!”

“Va te faire foutre!” Miles swore back at him in French before coiling up his hind legs and bucking the stallion right off.

In a matter of seconds, the entire situation had gone from cautious explanation, to mortal fight… to a bunch of deer and ponies punching and bucking the daylights out of each other with much swearing in at least three different languages. Kind of a prowess really…

Appearing on the edge of the clearing in his human form with his apprentice Martin in tow, the ghostly wizard couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose at the sight.

“Rockhoof I swear…” He grumbled. “One day he says his guards are well-trained and I actually believe him and then… this? Really? Can’t idiocy ever stop?”

“Mister Merlin, what’s happening?”

“A bloody boneheaded knight is happening, that’s what.” Merlin shook his head before he clapped his hands. “Alright, THAT IS ENOUGH!!!” He bellowed, loudly enough to shake the canopy of the nearby trees and send a flock of birds flying off in fright as a shockwave went through the entire clearing, bending the grass as it went.

In an instant, the fight went still, every single fighter involved now wrapped in a telekinetic field amidst dropped weapons, broken halberds and even a couple of teeth. One unicorn stallion was even stopped midair after being thrown by Veillantif.

And of course all of them were looking at him with round eyes.

“Congratulations...” Merlin put his hands on his hips and glared at one particular unicorn in the middle of the clearing. “You’re an idiot.”

Rodrigo winced.
> Chapter 113: Counterstrike
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Keep shooting! We have them on the ropes!” Pedro cheered on his gunners as the fort’s howitzers kept hammering the light cruiser attacking the city.

Minutes had passed since the loss of the microwave boat to friendly fire (not that Pedro himself knew for sure, but given the amount of swearing in English over the comms something hadn’t gone too well on that front) and the situation looked as though it would soon switch into their favor.

The guns were starting to hit more consistently now that the fire coordinators were getting the hang of it. Not a one-hit-per-salvo kind of precision, but at least accurate enough to score a direct hit every few minutes, which given the abysmal reload rate they were getting from using untrained crew, wasn’t actually too bad.

Better yet, while Karlsruhe looked like it was able to contain flooding to some extent, two torpedo hits in her aft section had forced her into sailing slow uncontrolled circles. Propeller and rudder damage most likely, it also meant they had the mobility kill they wished for, and with the light cruiser unable to escape, the damage was piling on. Her funnels were belching an acrid mix of smoke, embers and steam too, signaling something nasty was happening down in the boiler room after yet another torpedo hit.

These were, by a wide margin, the most effective way they had found of damaging Karlsruhe yet. The guns’ damage, on the other hand, was more visible above the waterline. Damaged and destroyed deck guns. A funnel sheared right off by an explosion, dented armor all around the wheelhouse. Karlsruhe was even dragging  her aft mast through the water, it being still solidly attached to the hull by its cables. 

But you couldn’t expect a ship still sailing a century past her own sinking to let go after such gruesome damage. Not giving up the fight in the slightest, the battered and bloodied Karlsruhe simply refused to go down, her crew fighting with relentless vigor and keeping up the fight despite losing guns by the minute and her decks looking like a patch of Vietnamese jungle in the sixties. With all the fire, the skies were starting to take on reddish hues despite the ongoing rain, Karlsruhe acting much like a giant torch that lit up the darkness.

That level of grit and single-mindedness would have garnered praise had the crew not been the possessed thralls of a demon led by an unhinged Captain.

However… for all the damage they had wrought to their foes, the locals had caught some flak in turn. A raging fire still rose from where the western shore battery once lay. A direct impact on their ammunition stockpile had made the whole group of scavs go up in a ball of fire. If any survived, they weren’t in the mood to answer the radio.

Then there was all the damage that added up over the length of the fight. Injuries from shrapnel whenever Karlsruhe’s shots hit too close, the wounded being carried off to the relative safety of the fort’s headquarters. Crater marks against the fortifications and in the courtyard. One side of the battlements had collapsed into the waters below, dragging one of the howitzers along with it which now lay partly sunk in the water with the rubble, its barrel poking out above the surface like a snorkel.

Still, Pedro did his best to keep his poorly-trained troops from routing, resorting to his own imperial aura to soothe their nerves and bolster their morale, the magic manifesting itself as a golden halo around him as he walked up and down the battlements, shouting words of encouragement and refusing to duck in the slightest when shells whizzed overhead. At some point during the battle he had retrieved the flag of Imperial Brazil which normally hung from a flagpole around the fort, the broken mast now serving as an improvised battle standard.





“It’s a slog out there, but it looks like we’re going to win this slugging contest eventually. How are the torpedoes?”

“Second salvo still reloading, we’re on it boss.” Glenn brought a hand up to her headset, the minotaur cow momentarily pausing to look up at the bridge, having to flick her head to get her bangs out of her eyes.

Highland cattle minotaur. Can’t help it really.

“Good. I want all tubes reloaded. Next salvo really needs to cripple them.”

“Shouldn’t take more than a couple minutes. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” She told Skinner over the comms; keying off on the headset before she pulled out a wrench and twirled it.

She was only assistant cook originally, but when you find yourself with enough strength to twist H-beams bare-handed, suddenly there are a lot more ways to be helpful around the ship. Shame the transformation also made her a cow in the process.

And the fur had been easier to live with before they went and sailed to South America, obviously.

Keeping to a brisk pace so as not to slow down reload any more than strictly necessary, she bent over a torpedo on its storage rack to unlatch it and go slide it in an empty tube… then hearing a wet sound she looked beyond the rack and at the railing on the edge of the deck. There, right next to the base of the larger deck crane, some weird slimy tentacle-like appendage had wrapped itself over the edge.

Glenn’s blood ran cold. The minotaur whirled around on her hooves, hearing another similar sound coming from the moonpool… with another appendage. She heard a guttural, choked growl, and finally a head poked over the edge. Bloated, deformed, corrupted by Charybdis’ blight. By the looks of it, the sailor might have been a Diamond-dog at some point… though there was so much corruption infecting it it could just as easily have been a hedgefog or something similar.

She immediately ran for where she’d left her machine gun, one digit pressing against the button on her headset.

“Boarders on the aft deck! I say again: we have boarders!” She yelled into the mic, skidding across the wet deck before she grabbed her gun by its carry handle and cast her eyes around.

Several coming from the moonpool. More climbing over the railing, hauling themselves up with the extra tentacles their wicked lord had gifted its thralls. Groans, growl and wails punctuated their arrival, the boarders raising rusty, barnacle-covered weapons at her.

With a bellow, Glenn lit up the entire deck with a fiery red stream of tracer fire, firing her belt-fed gun from the hip and hosing down her enemies as she slowly walked backwards, retreating to the relative safety of Fugro’s superstructure from which fellow shipmates were already emerging.





Pedro swore upon hearing the report. No more torpedoes coming from the sailors to support them, at least until they fended off the disruption.

He pocketed his radio and glared across the distance at Karlsruhe as the light cruiser kept drifting in circles. Right as he looked, another explosion rocked their target which was showing extreme damage at this point but simply refused to sink.

The parrot grit his beak, claws squeezing the hilt of the saber on his hip. Unfortunately for their cause, the Santos FC hooligan gang at the northern gun battery had been swarmed by thralls as well, sailors they had initially thought were dead when they fell off Karlsruhe’s deck. They weren’t dead thankfully, but the gang had been forced to retreat and give up their position after scuttling the guns, and were now being pursued.

Not much he could do to help them except tell them to try and make it to the Institute’s compound. Far as he knew, that was also where the crew of the ill-fated microwave boat had flown off to as well. Given the performance of the microwave gun against Karlsruhe, the turret defending the compound should have no trouble fending off thralls… if they remembered to bypass the safety settings and set it to lethal.

His thoughts were interrupted by a flash of light near Karlsruhe’s conning tower, and it was only by pure reflex that he unsheathed his blade and deflected the magic bolt the light cruiser’s irate pirate captain had just fired at him.

Pedro went back to glaring at the creature. Wreathed in vicious-looking balefire, the kirin – nirik rather- glared right back.

Then he noticed it.

Karlsruhe was still listing, and sitting fairly low in the water with most of her deck guns knocked out, but… the drifting in circles had stopped. The corruption around the ship pulsated with a flash of purple as it stabilized on a course.

A course that set its bow right on Pedro’s fort.

“They’re coming straight for us!” A scav cried out in panic.

The Emperor kept his calm, even as a wave of fear washed over his underlings. Blade still out, his improvised standard planted in the ground beside him, he flared up his imperial aura to garner their attention.

“If they’re coming for us then let’s make sure they get the greeting they need! Folks, it has been an honor to fight alongside you and I’m proud to say your bravery will remain an honorable mark in Brazil’s history, but I cannot in good conscience force you to remain by my side now that the tides of battle are turning. Those of you who may wish to depart, know that you will find refuge at the Institute from those monsters that blight this land.”

He paused, theatrically looking off in the direction from where Karlsruhe’s menacing silhouette was steadily growing bigger.

“The end is nigh, and I cannot yet tell whether it will favor us or not. Nevertheless, may you wish to depart or not, I only ask one thing of you.” He pointed his saber at a point he estimated would be where the light cruiser’s prow would plow into the damaged fortifications. “All of the ammo and shells we have left, pile it here. And get me some tannerite for the ignition.”





Minutes after the first engagement and as the chaos of the first firefight died down to reveal swathes of destruction laid out around both convoys, the staccato of .50cal gunfire was replaced by the noise of helicopter blades as Hawthorne and Adkins flew in with medical supplies and ammunition for both groups. They were still being harassed by packs of chupacabras, but it looked like the heavyweight monsters and their handlers had fallen back to lick their wounds.

Dilip highly suspected the demonic cultists didn’t fully comprehend the scope of human weapons, and they had already paid dearly for it.

“We’ll be ready to move in five minutes, Captain. Damage is mostly to equipment, but err… we had to evacuate five wounded already.” Roberto announced, the feline having to trudge through mud to reach his superior as the D-dog examined a corpse by the side of the road.

“Any dead?”

“Among us? None so far, but Mo’ took a nasty whiff of hydra gas and is in critical condition. I caught the report on the radio that the militia’s convoy lost a couple troopers since their humvees are more vulnerable than our APC’s… but it’s still mostly injuries, thankfully.”

“Then let’s try and keep it that way.” Dilip scowled, flipping over the corpse of a dead cultist pony with a kick.

The scowl on the canine’s muzzle only worsened when he noted the looks of the pony. Granted, the wounds caused on a creature this small by a .50cal made him queasy just looking at them… but they paled in comparison to the extent of the demonic infection upon the pony. Dark crystals poked through the fur much like tumors, their glint oh-so-distinct in that it had stuck with the Captain ever since he first witnessed it on Sonata Dusk in Copenhagen.

He didn’t pity them – they had made their choice the moment they followed a DEMON to Earth-, but that didn’t make the sight any less concerning or unsettling. Ponies were supposed to be… well, the nicer race among all the species. To see one with crystal fangs poking out of a deformed mouth and a crystalline horn on a pegasus... 

This really was more than a mere skirmish. Turning around to go back to his own APC, Dilip put a paw on the hilt of the Congo Sword for comfort.

“Roberto, tell everyone to double time it. We don’t want to give these horrors the time to organize themselves. CV90 up front of the convoy with the vets’ team as backup.”





To the sailors’ and the militia’s credit, they did manage to hurry up enough that they actually made some more progress before the second wave of defenders sallied out of El Tajin to meet both forces. The militia’s convoy even managed to make a pretty significant breakthrough, leaving thesuburbs of Poza Rica behind to advance ever closer to the ruined Aztec city and its temples.

Dilip’s force however, had taken a more rural route to reach their objective… and even though most vehicles in their convoy had far better off-road performance than the trucks and armored cars of the militia, the mud was really slowing them down.

Leading the convoy, the CV90 had slowed down to a crawl despite pushing the engine to its limits as it kicked mud up in the air and dug deep ruts in the road. What was left of it rather. Overgrowth, then continuous rain, and now an entire convoy of 20+ tons vehicles had seen to it that what may have been at one time a perfectly serviceable backroad was nothing more than a streak of wet mud and stones in which most of their troopers sank down to their knees, the sticky substance sticking to the vehicles and coating everything that came in contact with it. And the rain and darkness didn’t stop either.

“Contacts ahead! Bearing one-seven-fiver.” Roberto announced over the radio, back in the CV90’s commander’s seat. “Looks like they’re sending it out another wave! It’s… it’s… madonna santa, what the fuck are those?!”

These weren’t the monsters and their handlers they had fought prior. Some were present in that wave… but they were a mere fraction of the fighting force that met them head on. The main component in that wave… was an even more harrowing sight than the gruesome modifications Scylla enacted upon its followers.

Thralls, golems, zombies… whatever you’d call them, these were what was left of the poor souls the Four Horses had captured all over the region. Soulless husks that shambled towards them, half-rotten, charred from whichever sick magic experiments they had suffered, and covered from head to toe in crystalline growths. They saw Ornithians, Abyssinians, Diamond dogs, locals captured from around the region, but some other species too. Where the Four Horses had captured them, they’d likely never know, but the threat remained nonetheless.

Claws in particular. Magic accounted for, the claws on those things… he didn’t like the way the crystal growths shone either.

“Don’t let them get close! There’s gotta be a trick, fire everything at them!”

And once more, tracers and flares lit up the darkness as the APC’s moved up to form a firing line with the CV90, showering the incoming thralls with gunfire as sailors dismounted out the back and began watching the flanks. The thralls started falling, revealing the one real danger with them: whenever one would fall, its innards would start glowing brightly before all the crystals in it went off with a thundering explosion, showering everything in its vicinity with razor-sharp crystal shards.

Not too bad at range or when they went off close to vehicles. Much more dangerous when they were killed near unprotected troops, as a (unmated, otherwise she wouldn’t have volunteered to take part in the fight in the first place) griffon hen soon found out. Nastya collapsed in the mud with an ear-splitting shriek, crystal shards embedded all over the unprotected parts of her flank as blood poured profusely. Some shipmates dragged her back into an APC where they started pouring potions over her wounds in a hurry.

Injury or death, that was one less gun fighting off the incoming foes as they raced out the jungle towards them. Although… it did seem they were handling the onslaught relatively fine barring that, the occurrence enough to push the remaining fighters to stay well clear of the shambling thralls.

Still… there remains a bad habit among all not to look up, making them completely miss the shadow that swooped in overhead and dropped off something before flying off towards the other battle group where the militia was fighting off a similar form.

That something landed behind them with a loud thud that went almost unheard because of all the firing that was going on. It stood up slowly, revealing itself to be a minotaur, except one of a… different allure than what you’d expect from his species. The bull was tall obviously, with crystal horns and eyes filled with balefire that clearly marked him out as tainted by Scylla… but he certainly wasn’t built like your 	average bull.

He wasn’t actually bigger, quite the contrary. Instead, he was abnormally thin, so much so that his ribs showed, as though he had just got out from the worst of famines with his life hanging by a thread. His shoulders’ width showed he once was as solidly built as his species was known for… but no longer. He had his forearms wrapped in bandages underneath a length of spiky chains that wound themselves around his arms and chest. Along with that, a simple loincloth prevented him from indecency.

This… was Steelhorn. And he had already picked out his mark the moment his hooves hit the mud and he rolled to dampen the fall.

Two minotaurs wielding heavy machine guns to fend off the thralls. One bull. One cow. Fighting as a duo to cover a flank. How cute.

Neither Angelo nor Artemis saw it coming when a light purple blur slammed into the former and delivered a spinning kick with such force that poor ol’ Angelo was sent flying into a tree trunk and shattered it on impact, dropping his gun. Artemis whirled around on her hooves at the sound, only to come snout to snout with the nightmarish minotaur.

She didn’t raise her gun fast enough. Steelhorn whipped out his arm and did a spin, the spiky chain he was wrapped in lashing unnaturally to grab her by the waist and send her flying in the same direction as Angelo, bouncing off a dead trunk and snapping it in half.

Where her machine gun landed, she had no clue as she stood back up with a wince, thoroughly covered in mud, with a dull ache in her lower back, twisted tail, and what must have a nasty chunk of wood stuck in her shoulder. The minotaur that had kicked them both stood there, tail lashing and glaring at them through eldritch eyes.

A few steps to the side, Angelo stood up, a bit slower, but they were minotaurs. It took more than a kick to bring them down. The shorter – but much more muscular- bull gave her a nod, and both focused their innate magicto amp up their strength to the max before rushing him head on.

The comparatively anorexic minotaur shook his head with a ‘tssk’ and angled his torso ever so slightly. When Angelo reached him first trying to gouge him with his horn, he grabbed the Greek by his horn and tugged. The eyes of Amandine’s Second Engineer widened in surprise as he was lifted off his hooves and thrown back to halt the charging Artemis without his foe even having to resort to power up with magic.

“Fuck he’s strong...” Angelo swore in Greek, standing up with a bit of difficulty, watching their foe just… stand there looking almost disappointed at them, arms folded behind his back. “You alright?”

“I’ll be when he’s six feet under.” Artemis grunted back, glaring at Steelhorn.

She could feel a red rage well up inside her. Outwardly, both she and Angelo had their heads bent down, horns forward as if to charge, releasing bovine snorts and pawing at the ground.

“How typical...” Steelhorn crossed his arms. “I wish I could say only calves do that, but it seems the flaw affects the entire species...”

Now hold on…

“But looks like regardless of the mind you put inside, minos are just bound to rely on brute strength and charge in thoughtlessly. How disappointing...”

Was he seriously stopping for a monologue mid-battle?

“Just shut up!” Artemis bellowed, leaping forward to punch him.

But Steelhorn just sidestepped past her attack before sweeping her hooves from underneath her and kicking her back away, arms still behind his back. One of the APC’s noticed the commotion occurring with the three minos on their flanks and tried to turn its .50 cal around to fire at Steelhorn.

In response, he lashed out with his chains and ripped the gun right off its mount.

“I have to admit. I was in your hooves once. Cocky. Reliant on brute strength. Cows. Bulls. Doesn’t make a difference, the attitude is still there holding the entire species back. But then...” He raised his snout to the sky. “Humbling experiences happen and bring a new outlook on life. Scylla showed me the way, guided me unto the path of the Art. The virtue of honing spirit over body, skill brute force. I pleaded for his boons and he delivered. Not with gifts, but a rough hand.” He waved a paw over his own thin, emaciated body. “It takes losing your brutish looks to truly master the Art of the warrior.”

“Ái ston kóraka, you just gave up your assets to a demon. Try to justify it how you like, you’re the one that got fleeced and argues he got a good deal. Doesn’t make you a master.” Angelo glared back, watching  Artemis out of the corner of his eye as she stood up and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her muzzle.

He went in a defensive stance and focused. Stall. There was no way he was beating that guy in melee.

Steelhorn threw his head back and laughed.

“Ah! You have no understanding of my Lord. I did eschew my strength for the sake of mastering the Art without crutches, but what Lord Scylla takes...” Steelhorn went into a stance and started glowing, a faint light purple aura. “… he gives back tenfold.”

Then the aura went from faint, to blazingly intense as the emaciated minotaur in front of them practically inflated, his muscles filling out in a fraction of a second as he grew, until he was a head taller than Artemis and twice as muscular as Angelo was.

Said minotaur only had the time to blink before Steelhorn turned into a blur, and it was only thanks to both his minotaur resilience and his focusing his magic into strengthening his body that he survived the hit that sent him flying through several trees until a boulder stopped his flight with a sickening crack.

Whether that was him or the rock, he wasn’t too sure… his whole world was filled with pain, his vision fuzzy.

“Pathetic. And here Night was concerned you were a threat to us.” The now gigantic Steelhorn smirked. “I only see a pair of calves using their strength as a crutch, fighting alongside fools that prefer the coldness of war machines over a fair duel.”

Angelo just groaned, clutching his chest. The staccato of gunfire had come to a close now, and he could see a blurry shape approach him. Artemis. Another one emerged from behind one of the APC’s. He blinked. That was the Captain.

“A fair duel? Really?” Dilip tilted his head to the side in disbelief. “Now that’s one thing I never expected to hear from… you know, a demonic cultist.” The Diamond Dog accused, keeping one paw on the hilt of his saber. A few steps behind him stood Greet as well, the parrot having already unsheathed the relic sword she’d gotten in Londonderry, the shortsword’s blade ablaze. “And did all the people you and your ilk kidnapped get a fair chance as well? Give us a break. The thralls are dead, you’re the last one in your wave. I’m pretty sure they sent you to your death to stall.”

Steelhorn looked around. Indeed, ahead of the convoy the ground was rife with chunks of flesh and crystal from when the thralls had detonated themselves, the shards sparkling in the light of all the flares and headlights.

Along with the glint of spent brass lying around the vehicles, the scenery was rather eerie actually. Steelhorn bent his head low and squared his hooves, loosening the chains around one forearm. His aura brightened up ever so slightly.

“If you’re hoping for a surrender, then I invite you to reflect on the ‘demonic cultist’ part you just mentioned yourself.” He chuckled.

Dilip’s reply was unsheathing his blade.

For a few moments, the entire group stood still. Artemis and Angelo observed, out of the fight. More sailors in the convoy popped out of their hatches to see what the fuss was all about. You could only hear the rain and idling engines.

Steelhorn burst into motion, throwing one arm forward and sending a length of spiked chains spiralling towards Dilip and Greet. The latter burst forward and sliced with her blade, the flames around her shortsword lengthening abruptly to cut the chains mid-flight before they could reach her superior before she carried on forward in a burst of speed customary of Ornithians.

A cheer went up among the observers at the sight of their multicolored comrade defying a minotaur half-a-dozen-and-then-some times her body mass. She leapt and slashed down, the flames of her sword wrapping like a rope around Steelhorn’s forearm as he blocked.

Dilip, in turn, hadn’t stayed immobile. Slightly slower, though not by much thanks to the Congo Sword’s enchantments, he had dashed slightly to the side before opting to come at the minotaur from the flank, thrusting forward with the blade.

The strike went wide. Not feeling like being stabbed by an irate Diamond Dog with a sword that screamed of nasty enchantments, Steelhorn deftly hopped backwards to place himself just out of reach before he spun.

Her blade still wrapped around his forearm, Greet found herself dragged through the air like a feather-covered maul and hurled towards Dilip before she could release the flame whip that tethered her to the minotaur.

To her credit, she was quick to turn things around. Opting for a different approach, she landed in a roll next to her superior before she threw her shortsword up in the air and transformed her arms into wings, taking off to catch her weapon with the prehensile claws on her feet.

Dilip barely acknowledged her, having been caught off guard by Steelhorn’s maneuver, he soon found himself having to deflect strike after strike of chain thrown at him. And when he thought he was doing well, parrying the strikes thanks to the enhancements provided by his sword, Steelhorn again shrugged off the distraction that Greet was causing and charged him.

Damn mino’ would be a challenge to take down…

Steelhorn’s sudden onslaught forced the Indian to backpedal and dodge, barely keeping up with the sheer martial prowess of a demon-enhanced martial artist as he tried to land even a glancing blow  with the Congo Sword. Unfortunately, it seemed Steelhorn knew better and was making a point of only parrying the blade with the chains wrapped around his forearms.

Intently focused on the fight, Dilip barely noticed Greet do her best to keep up and get the monstrous minotaur off her Captain. Sadly, he seemed able to anticipate her attacks with uncanny precision and more than once the parrot had to retreat back to the safety of altitude as he lashed out with his chains.

If only he could get one single hit. Just a scratch to get the vampiric effect on his blade…

Except this wasn’t the duel against the bandit leader in Savannah. Steelhorn was a league ahead of the Earth Pony from back then, and familiar enough with magic weapons not to risk it. And so Amandine’s Captain found himself on the defensive, slowly being backed towards the vehicles of the convoy, at one point having to dodge past an APC which Steelhorn punched with such force it left a dent in its rear ramp.

Then, walking backward to get away from a spinning kick, he did the one mistake he should have paid attention to. He stepped on a loose chunk from a thrall that had exploded early, and the flesh slipped on mud, robbing the canine of his footing and making him land on his back in the mud.

Dilip stared as Steelhorn casually grabbed Greet by her ankle as the parrot went for another attack before slamming her against the ground. There was a crack. Greet cried out, holding her wing bent in a way it definitely wasn’t supposed to.

Then all of Dilip’s attention focused on the minotaur as he walked closer, confidently. Thud. Thud. There was this gravity to his movement, the way the land reacted to the heavy, magically-enhanced bulk of the bovine, yet despite that he could display speed to make an Ornithian blush from envy.

Steelhorn unwrapped the chains around his left forearm, letting them dangle in preparation for the finishing blow. Dilip gulped. His world shrank, reduced to the wicked spikes on those chains...

‘Boom!’

	A flash of light. Red mist.

Dilip blinked.

Steelhorn blinked.

The minotaur looked down at his chest, finding a gaping hole the size of his fist punched clean through, pouring blood. He then looked at Dilip, betrayal in his eyes.

“You haff...” He coughed blood. “No… honor...”

And then the mighty martial artist collapsed in the mud, stricken clean through by an armor piercing round courtesy of the CV90 the two had unwittingly put themselves in sight of, Roberto standing on top of the turret, the Abyssinian with his paws on his hips. Dilip propped himself up on his elbow, knowing he must have been a right mess, covered in scrapes, bruises and mud. Looking down at his chest, he found several tears in his flak jacket.

Steelhorn’s body fell back in the mud with a loud thud before the magic vanished and the corpse shrank back down to its unaugmented size.

“With all due respect sir, I don’t believe now is the time for duels and theatrics. No hard feelings?” The Intel Officer tweaked his whispers with one paw.

“None.” Dilip stood up with a grunt, feeling his body ache all over, but ignoring it. “Alright then… it ain’t over folks. Greet, you can still fight over there?”

“’fraid it’s broken… sir.” The Ornithian hacked out in a pained gasp before one of her shipmates rushed over with health potions.

That made him ponder… the minotaurs were out of commission now, and the wounded were piling on. His eyes passed over Nastya, the griffon grievously injured when a thrall exploded near her, currently being tended to by Ajit until medevac arrived.

Greet made the decision for him. She stood up shakily and ripped a sleeve off her coveralls to improvise a splint.

“Ah can still fight cap’n, ik zweer ‘t.” The parrot panted, clearly in pain.

Dilip looked on in concern… then took a second hard look at how many uninjured souls he still had in the group.

He relented.

“Stay inside the APC and man the fifty. Don’t pop out the hatch unless it’s to reload a new belt inside the gun, got it?” He ordered. She nodded. “Magnificent. The rest of you, form a defensive position for now. We evac the wounded, then it’s back on track. Those cultists won’t clear themselves off the face of the Earth.”

As the crowd dispersed, the Captain couldn’t help but take a second look at Steelhorn’s body.

If all the Four Horses’ lieutenants were like that, then this would only get harder from then on…





With the other assault group, the militia troopers were barely done regrouping and resuming their route towards El Tajin after sorting out the wave of thralls and golems when a huge shadow flew overhead, accompanied by a whooshing sound.

“The buck was that?” Radiant poked his head out the Defender’s door, trying to make out what it was.

Then it flipped about and came down upon the convoy with the force of a dozen furious rhinos, slamming into one of the VBL armored cars in the lead so hard it was sent flying. The creature roared, an ear shattering sound so powerful it made the windows of their truck vibrate, a lion’s roar amped up to ridiculous levels.

This was a sphinx. More accurately: an ancient sphinx, among the older members of his species, and as such he was easily the size of an elephant, so tall only adult dragons and minotaurs could ever hope to look him in the eye. The ground trembled when he landed, batting aside another of the VBL’s as it tried to bring its fifty cal to bear on him.

He would have blended in remarkably well with the dark skies with his dark brown fur and jet black mane, were it not for the way his golden eyes glowed with barely restrained arcane might, along with the glint of the golden regalia he wore. A headband to hold back his mane with a large topaz inlaid right between his eyes, a large crescent-shaped breastplate with a similar gem, along with an entire mage’s harness of chains and straps wrapping around his wings, tails and paws to add more magic-charged gems and arcane might to an arsenal that would give even alicorns pause.

Oh and obviously the crystals poking out from his fur denoting Scylla’s taint upon him, as if he wasn’t scary enough already…

	Enigma was his name, terror and mayhem his art.

And like a vision out of a nightmare, they saw his eyes light up some more. A few humvees opened up with their guns, only for the bullets to harmlessly veer away from their intended target mid-flight. Then he focused his attention on the puny Abyssinian manning the turret of the first truck in the convoy.

Radiant and Aleksei looked away as the poor soul was dragged up in the air kicking and screaming before the sphinx chomped down on him, showering the other occupants of the truck below in blood, guts, and half their friend.

Then Enigma turned his eyes towards the middle of the convoy, grinning maliciously. Some militia troopers were already trying to turn tail and run for the hills, but Samuel, their leader, was trying to keep things together, the ex-military feline doing his best to keep things from turning into a complete rout.

Radiant heard Aleksei buck her door open before he saw her fly out.

“Scar, Thanasis, with me. He’s going for Samuel. If he kills him it’s all over.” The cleric ordered.

She twisted around mid-flight to look down at Radiant, hovering. There was some sympathy in her dark green eyes. She knew he had been raised with Enigma as the proverbial boogeyman. Hence the shivering.

“Try and get to the armored cars up ahead. If there are survivors in the wreckage, they’ll need help.”





“You’re the Element of Integrity, why in the blazes would you go and attack our guards?!” Merlin exclaimed.

Rodrigo momentarily tore his eyes away from the symbols of the translation ward the wizard had cast on the ground and stared, mildly outraged. In the blink of an eye (and a flash of teleportation), he and Veillantif had found themselves dragged into what must have been the banquet hall of some nearby castle.

Hooves bound, obviously. The wizard didn’t look too happy, and neither did the guards for that matter, most of them nursing bruises and injuries from the brief brawl. One stag who would now walk with uneven antlers until shedding in particular was giving him the nastiest glare he’d gotten in a while.

“I attacked them? They came at us out of the woods like a bunch of thugs waving their weapons about. We had every right to be in that clearing and you know that damn well yourself.” Rodrigo stared at the ghost, mildly outraged. “If you’re going to go and point a gun at me and wave a halberd in my friend’s face, don’t expect me to take it lying down.”

“For someone that’s supposed to be a paragon of integrity and presents himself as an upstanding knight, you don’t seem to know much about de-escalation.” Merlin drawled, walking over and crouching in front of the table the knight and his companion had been sat down at.

The ghost wizard’s eyes were unnerving to look at, but Rodrigo refused to drop his gaze.

“Neither do the guards around here.” He pointed out.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose, standing up and muttering what might have been a couple choice words in three different dead languages and something about knights and pride.

Rodrigo took the opportunity to recline back in his chair, hiding a wince. He had to give it to the guards, they had managed to hurt him somewhat. Flicking his tongue around in his mouth, he could feel a tooth that was one hard hit away from coming out, and the dull ache in his eye made him wonder to which extent his gray fur could hide a black eye.

He looked beyond the rumbling wizard and towards Veillantif, his friend having been sat down at another table across the hall from him.

To the locals’ credit, this was actually a pretty neat place compared to most colonies the two had come across on their trek through France. The biggest reason why? They actually had the skill and foresight to readjust furniture to pony size, a detail which was made much more evident when you took a look at how large Merlin looked as he paced around the room.

That said…

Rodrigo subtly looked at the pile of gear and weapons created when Merlin took their weapons and dropped them by the large double doors upon teleporting inside the room.

Veillantif cleared his throat, drawing his attention. Rodrigo raised an eyebrow.

His companion shook his head vehemently.

Don’t try it. His gesture conveyed.

Rodrigo stared back with a glint in his eyes, one ear flicking ever so slightly and a subtle grin appearing on his muzzle as he propped his bound forehooves on the table.

We could pull it off.

	Veillantif looked him in the eye, a serious look in the green stallion’s eyes.

Seriously, don’t.

	Rodrigo made a face and relented, leaning back in his chair sulkily.

Fine then, have it your way.

	Eventually, Merlin stopped the grumbling and shifted to his pony form, feeling the shape of Starswirl better suited for the situation at hoof as he went to sit in front of Rodrigo. Said stallion eyed him inquisitively at the sudden transformation, but the wizard didn’t feel like repeating the admittedly complicated tale behind his dual identity.

“So let’s do it over from the start. Where did you come from and what brought you here?”

“I came because Concord appeared to me in a dream after I reclaimed Durandal from Roncevaux Pass. Simple as that. The sword is my Element’s bonded artifact, so when the connection was made I knew where to go next.”

“And before that?”

Rodrigo had to shrug.

“Honestly, I’d have been happy staying in Madrid given the returnees around there do have a community, even if the mix of species is a bit more eclectic than what I’ve seen in France. It’s just there had been that tugging on my soul. I followed the thread, and here I am. And you? What’s your deal? Protecting Concord?”

“About sums it up, indeed.” Merlin replied curtly. “You… disappoint me. For all the time I expected a Bearer to show up, I-”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint, but I am what I am.” Rodrigo cut him off. “First impressions aren’t always the way you want them, which given the length of your beard you should be old enough to know by then. And if that doesn’t suit you, go and ask all the settlements me and Veill’ have helped out all the way here from Spain. And if that helps...” Rodrigo leaned forward. “You disappoint me too. Monsters are around, it’s a dangerous world and I understand that, but never have we been greeted with weapons drawn. Maybe you ought to tell your guards the kind of response an attitude like that gets you.”

“Why you-” Miles stood up from where he (in wingless form that is) was holding some ice against his jaw.

“Sit down Lieutenant, I think we have plenty enough bruised egos for the day.” Merlin raised a hoof.

And egos were exactly what made dealing with knights and guards alike a pain in the flank. The unicorn rubbed a hoof over the base of his horn. That… just reminded him of the less stellar aspects of the Round Table he’d much rather gloss over.

“Fine then. Let’s consider the fact I’m willing to believe you really * are * helping around as you travel. What are your intentions now?”

“Well… are all the Element Bearers active?”

“Hard no. You’re only the second one.”

“And the first?”

“My apprentice.”

“The fawn?” Rodrigo twisted his head to look at where Martin was passing healing salves to the injured guards. “He’s what? Eight?”

“Seven. Meaning it’s far too early for him to go off on some adventures, and it will be years before I can even consider calling him ready for that. And that’s not even saying anything about what Rockhoof and Meadowbrook have to say about it.” He paused, noticing Rodrigo’s inquisitive looks. “His adoptive parents, and the local Lord and Lady which I very much think want to have a word with you now.”

Rodrigo reclined deeper in his chair, groaning.

“Can’t I just be done with this? If it’s all a misunderstanding, I’d much rather go back on the road so we’re out of each other’s sight.”

The banquet hall’s door slammed open, revealing Rockhoof in all his glory, with a distinctly pregnant Meadowbrook trailing behind with potions for the injured guards.

“Not just yet, no.”
> Chapter 114: Turnabout
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The CV90 of the WSU’s group was the first to crest the final ridgeline and see El Tajin in its full glory, soon joined by the APC’s as they formed up on either side of it.

The sight was eerie.

Pegasi teams had ensured that the ruins of the city were kept clear of the permanent rain clouds that battered the landscape, and now the break in the cloud cover served as an odd way to enshrine the site in rays of twilight that broke away from the surrounding darkness and highlighted the ropey rain that fell everywhere else in the region. More than that, it also highlighted the ward stones laid out at regular intervals around the outer perimeter of the ruins like an arcane fence of sorts.

An entire stretch of burned out, warped jungle and heathlands that were really just vast swathes of slick mud separated nature from city, a city with ancient Aztec pyramids rising from the ground and shining, crackling with barely restrained magic.

It was the demon’s corruption that kept it caged like that, no doubt. Even from afar, Dilip could recognize the constructions Scylla’s ilk had added to the original ruins. Some sturdy, others… far less so. A shanty town of sorts layered above ancient ruins with walkways and monkey bridges to get over the mud, wooden buildings raised on stilts, along with the odd actually sturdy construction.

Sturdy being a very relative term, given that apparently for their foes that meant using reclaimed cinder blocks for foundations. It was easy to spot these buildings, given how much they clashed against both the shanty wooden stuff and the ancient ruins. A couple were holding pens for monsters, most empty.

Others were the empty cells of the thralls they had just mowed down.

And then some meager fortifications. Palisades. Watchtowers. Spikes.

Dilip lowered his binoculars with a scowl. Of course he could still see the remaining cultists shoring up their defenses.

He raised his paw and waved.

The CV90 fired off a short salvo. The wards shone brightly, and he spotted the hints of a magic dome around the ruins as the defenses flared up, halting the shells midair before they fell down in the mud limply.

Of course it couldn’t have been so simple that they’d be able to pick them off from a distance. He growled.

“Sir? What shall we do?” Roberto came up to him and asked.

“Hold the ridgeline and monitor their movements for now. They want us to get in close to strip us of our advantage when fighting at a distance. Not much of a choice there, but there’s no way we’re doing that without the militia backing us up.”

He raised his binos again, spotting an armored batpony mare and a gargoyle looking right at him from the tallest watchtower overlooking most of the ruined city.

“Well hello there, Night...” He muttered under his breath before pausing and turning to look at Roberto. “By the way, what is going on with the militia? What’s holding them up like that?”

“You’re not going to like this...”





“Get some!” Glenn bellowed, spraying wildly at the attacking boarders with her machine gun, watching the hail of 7.62 rip them apart with much gore and splattering.

Yet they kept coming, throwing themselves down the funnel of gunfire the sailors of Fugro had created by retreating to the relative safety of the accommodation, leaving but one door open to direct the assailants towards their gun line. The bodies would pile on in the entrance, only for the thralls to pull them back out of the way with their extra tentacles before sallying forth once more, roaring and spitting at the sailors.

And now it was brass that was piling up on Glenn’s side as she and her teammates kept up the firing, the sound of their guns going off in the narrow hallway so powerful the minotaur was pretty damn certain she’d have gone deaf if she had so much as nudged the headset that is firmly lodged between her horns.

This wasn’t exactly easy either. Their guns were running hot, she’d had to swap barrels twice already and the appearance the current one was giving didn’t bode well either, which wasn’t even considering the fact 7.62 belts were rather voluminous and that she’d have to fetch some herself before she ran out… which were stored well away from where the fight was occuring.

Can’t exactly ask Cara for help with that. Not only was the young Abyssinian way too small to carry belts around the ship, but the presence of the thralls boarding them was having such a bad effect on her mind abilities she was as good as down for the count.

Thankfully, more of the crew was converging towards the defensive station as the minutes went by, and soon enough Lilian joined in on the fighting, and though the pink dragon that served as their shipboard doctor wasn’t capable of wielding as large a gun as Glenn’s, the addition of a walking flamethrower was the reprieve the minotaur needed to duck down and go fetch more ammo.

Her fingers brushed the carry handle of her MAG and grazed the barrel. She hissed in pain.

More barrels too.

She rushed through the passageways of Fugro’s lower levels, their features much more industrial in looks than the relatively wide and modern ones found several decks above where the living areas were, but at least she didn’t have to worry about skewering furniture with her horns whenever she ducked below obstacles overhead. Her hooves thudded heavily against the metal flooring before she practically slid around the corner that led up to the armory, rushing past a pair of her shipmates helping each other gear up.

By the way…

“Hurry up you morons! We’re being boarded, now isn’t the time to dawdle in the armory!” She yelled at them as she pulled out a large sea chest filled with ammo cans. Two of which she immediately strapped to her vest, her strength such that she hardly cared for the weight.

And yes, Fugro did in fact store some ammo alongside their weapons. Was it a bad idea? Probably, but you couldn’t fault the practicality with that right then. She tossed aside all the warm barrels she was still lugging around and went to replace them with cool ones when the whole ship shuddered with the sound of strained metal.

Then, not a minute later, the PA system blared with the voice of their Chief Engineer.

“Assistance needed down in the engine room! Boarders in the engine room! Repeat: the boarders have breached through the aft deck and gone down in the engine room, send reinforcements!”

For a brief second, Glenn’s blood ran cold, and then she shook her head firmly, hanging her machine gun by its strap over her back. Now wasn’t the time to waste time if they didn’t want to lose their ship, home, and sole means of traversing the world.

She strode over to another gun rack and grabbed an additional gun. Well… ‘gun’ was more of a single-shot grenade launcher in this case, though regardless of caliber it looked rather small in minotaur hands.

Time to see what those boarders thought of 40mm buckshot.





	A scant few kilometers away from the close quarters brawl occuring on Fugro, Pedro’s fort had turned into a hive of frenetic activity for a few minutes before most of the Emperor’s troops were seen leaving through the darkness under the rain.

But the Ornithian himself still stood, now perched imperiously atop the fort’s command building, standards in one claw, one rifle in the other, and his saber hanging off his hip as he looked down, both at the approaching Karlsruhe about to ram his fort… and at the glint of brass and olive-painted cans that had been piled up right where he’d ordered his troops to.

Or more particularly, one spot of orange among the pile ready to set it all off.

Shame it had to end without the fort, he really liked the place. Would have made for a safe place to raise his chicks down the line… the possibility of which would depend on the outcome of what was about to unfold.

	His claws tightened around the pistol grip of his rifle. Up ahead, Karlsruhe’s shadow grew larger, the damaged, listing cruiser’s bow churning waves and foam as Spring Gleam pushed her eldritch vessel’s to the limit. Pedro could see her clear as day as she stood perched atop the wheelhouse, her entire body wreathed in flames.

And Karlsruhe drew closer over the next few minutes. Three miles out, two, one…

Pedro dropped his standard momentarily to shoulder his rifle. He pulled the charging handle back to check the chamber, nodding briefly to himself at the glint of brass he spotted.

Half a mile…

He could hear Karlsruhe clearly now. Damaged, ablaze, it sounded like someone had layered the hissing and spitting of some feral beast over a Lovecraftian rendition of a steam engine chugging along.

His scope swayed slightly. Come on, now wasn’t the time… he had to hit this shot at the right time..

	A quarter of a mile…

He put a talon on the trigger.

Karlsruhe reached the fort at full speed, the knife-like bow of the cruiser plowing right into the Portuguese fort’s thick walls and sending rubble and debris flying up into the air as metal ground, bent and twisted at the impact. There was such force behind the ramming that the demonic ship dug a furrow straight through the fortifications, rising its keel up in the air for a few seconds before it crashed back down, lying partly in the courtyard as gravity reasserted itself over the ship and Karlsruhe’s lean hull slowly dropped to her starboard side, her few remaining funnels and masts collapsing onto the fort’s destroyed battlements, along with any debris and damaged loose gun mounts left on her deck.

Pedro squeezed the trigger.

A lone tracer lanced out from his rifle and drilled straight through the thin plastic of the tannerite container left where all the ammo had been piled up, right next to Karlsruhe’s exposed belly.

For a fraction of a second, Pedro could have sworn he saw Spring Gleam’s eyes widen.

Then it was all dwarfed by the explosion that ensued, an entire magazine’s worth of 155mm shells going off at the same time in a ball of fire that likely was visible from all corners of Belem and powerful enough to blow a gigantic hole through Karlsruhe as it went off practically next to her exposed hull, ripping her apart amidships around the engine room and sending yet another cluster of debris and shrapnel up in the air, mixed in with foul residues of Charybdis’ corruption.

Pedro was pushed back by the blast, skidding painfully against the roof of the command building before he managed to catch himself on the gutter with a grunt, hauling himself back up as small pieces of hull and debris started raining down, Karlsruhe’s destroyed keel now a blazing inferno belching acrid smoke.

He blinked. He was reliably certain he could see the secondary explosions going off… feel them too… but all he could hear was ringing. The parrot brought a claw up to his ear hole, his vision going fuzzy for an instant as his Imperial aura flared up and the pain faded away, wounds slowly healing.

There were bodies strewn about in the courtyard, some still on fire as they had shambled away from the wreck. The cursed sailors of Karlsruhe.

Pedro looked up.

And of course, she couldn’t possibly have died in the explosion. Spring Gleam – or at least as much of her mind still wasn’t under the Demon’s control- glared at him, standing atop a pile of rubble where the battlements used to be, hooves squared and flame aura blazing three times stronger than earlier if that was even possible.

No theatrics whatsoever in that case. Pedro barely had time to see the kirin’s horn flash before he unsheathed his saber to deflect the first salvo of magic blasts, each ringing with a crystalline tint whenever they impacted his blade.

Busy as he was with those, Spring Gleam took her opportunity to cut the distance between them, dashing forward, hooves leaving a trail of fire as she went, still firing blasts at Pedro. Then, at the halfway mark between them, she turned her horn away from the parrot and fired off a blast at her own hooves, catapulting herself high enough in the air to crest the edge of the command building’s roof and surprise Pedro enough that she almost skewered him with her fiery horn, the Emperor dodging just in the nick of time, though the attack still left a streak of charred cloth and feathers across his chest.

There was a reason Spring Gleam had garnered the attention of Charybdis, and where most kirins were already significant threats in nirik form, she had honed her mastery of the fiery form to a downright psychopathic degree, reaching a level few of her rather placid species ever went for. And that didn’t even account for the power boost she’d earned by associating with a demon, which not only manifested itself in the corruption that had granted her a set of four tentacles sprouting from her back that regenerated faster than her fire aura could scorch them, but also by vastly increasing her magic output.

In short?

Were it not for Imperial magic evening things out in Pedro’s favor, the Emperor wouldn’t even have managed to survive the first hit.
Or remaining within the area covered by the kirin’s aura for that matter. Everywhere she went you could see the effect of the sheer heat and flames she radiated, leaving fiery hoofprints and scorch marks all over the place, turning the rain into steam before it even reached her.

A few minutes into their duel, it even managed to ignite the timbers that held up the command building’s roof as they fought back and forth across it. Pedro’s saber rang and whistled at every blow and parry, thrusting and slashing, trying to get past the barrage of magic and tentacles that prevented him from delivering a significant blow to his foe.

Every time he so much as hoped to score the killing blow, the tentacles would get in the way, and though he could damage them, they could also regrow and heal up faster than he could dish out damage.

Yet… he had his Imperial aura. The same one that made him so fast. The same one that let him heal some of the damage inflicted upon him whenever Spring Gleam would score a glancing hit.

It was a stalemate, but one that veered in his favor the longer that it lasted. While the tentacles could heal, Spring Gleam’s actual body, corrupted though it may be, couldn’t. 	And with Karlsruhe’s destruction, the storm that came with her arrival was fading.

Dawn was near, pinkish hues starting to appear in the cloud cover as rain slowly wound down into a drizzle and the minutes went by in their relentless clash.

Beak gritted, Pedro refused to let up, battle-scarred as he was, his uniform no more than charred tatters. He swung, slashed and thrusted at Spring Gleam. Parried and feinted to get around her defenses as they kept their back and forth across the roof.

And as the duel just refused to come to a close, all signs of Charybdis were fading, his corruption in the rubble dissolving as the skies cleared and more of his thralls around the city either died or ducked into the darker recesses of Belem’s ruins.

Finally, after what to Pedro felt like hours of endless duelling, as the sun finally crested the horizon to bathe them in its warm light… he found his opening. Taking one short leap backwards as though he was falling, he managed to trick Spring Gleam into releasing her guard and going for an attack.

It was a clean thrust forward, the tip of his saber lodging itself in Spring Gleam’s neck.

The kirin spat blood, the red liquid mixed with Charybdis’ taint. Immediately, her aura faded and her tentacles went limp. There was a scant second where Pedro saw a flash of an unspoiled, pristine kirin with white fur and jade scales across her back… but then the nirik reappeared, and before his eyes, the corruption infecting her swelled up as the tentacles detached themselves, and it started eating at her body until a minute later nothing of Spring Gleam was left.

Charybdis’ corruption lost its power. The cluster of tumors and knots shuddered, and then it dissolved into a vile, smoking puddle that trickled down the gutters.

Of Spring Gleam, kirin pirate, scourge of the seas, only a puddle remained…

Pedro fell down to his knees, dropping his saber.

Of Charybdis’ forces, the Scourge of the Atlantic had been removed.

He had won.





	It hadn’t taken long for chaos to engulf the militia’s convoy once Enigma got going. In a matter of seconds, the convoy that had already taken long to assemble was in complete disarray as troopers ran for their lives or tried to muster some kind of defense to fight off the gigantic sphinx.

To little avail unfortunately. Not only was Enigma powerful, but he had enough wits about him to go about it cleverly. He likely knew he wouldn’t last long against the combined gunfire the entire convoy could muster, so he was making a point of carefully angling his assault so that no more than one or two vehicles could fire upon him at a time.

And he had taken care to knock out the armored cars early to ensure their missiles couldn’t be brought to bear either.

In short, he was doing the exact opposite of a monster, and this just wasn’t what poorly-trained troops like Samuel’s militia could do much against. Those few that stood between their commander and the attacking ancient sphinx were either batted aside without a care, or dispatched so gruesomely anyone that saw it directly immediately routed.

On the bright side… Enigma’s methodical approach meant that his advance onto Samuel was slowed down significantly. This gave Aleksei and her team some time to prepare a plan and help regroup the rear of the convoy as the trio made their way up towards the middle where Samuel’s vehicle should be. Up ahead, they spotted Radiant halt by a damaged humvee to nab a satchel of medical supplies and healing potions, the gray pegasus giving them an encouraging nod before he took off, intent on going around Enigma to assist the wounded in the front of the convoy.

Judging by the pained screams coming from that side, the pegasus had his work cut out for him. Aleksei winced sympathetically.
“So what’s the plan?” Thanasis cut off her train of thought as he and Scarface trailed a few steps behind her.

“I… I’ll think of something.” She stuttered as they found themselves running in the opposite direction as most of the troopers they passed, most not knowing what to do and trying to make a run for the assumed safety of Poza Rica’s suburbs they had left behind earlier.

Incidentally, some of them trying to take their vehicles with them and turn them around had created a traffic jam in the back of the convoy which most likely wasn’t making it any easier to escape for the runners.

But really…

How do you bring down a sphinx the size of an elephant? Aleksei’s mind raced, but the closer they got to the middle of the convoy and Samuel’s position, the less she was feeling like they actually could do much in this case.

Would her banishment spell be effective? Scar’s magic lance?

Would they be lucky and Enigma would see Thanasis and take pity on a younger sphinx?

Yeah even in her head that one sounded stupid.

	And it wasn’t like she had the time and resources about her to launch a ritual and attempt to… garner assistance from Epona? Summon a gateway to the Otherworld and hope a powerful entity or divinity popped out to help them?

“Any plan?” Thanasis insisted.

“I’m grasping at straws here!” She snapped back, not breaking her stride. “You got any idea to suggest yourself?”

The sphinx couldn’t muster a reply. They just kept going, weaving their way through the utter chaos, past troopers running this way and that, Abyssinians overwhelmed by their own sense of prescience and cowering inside their vehicles, Ornithians so deeply covered in mud their usually colorful feathers were just various shades of brown… until they reached Samuel.

Like a beacon in the darkness, the feline was waving a road flare around to gather his subordinates attention, yelling to those still listening to put the vehicles in formation and muster a defense. To create a frontline. To help the ones carrying their wounded comrades to the back of the convoy.

Yeah it looked like the guy had yet to notice the backline was trying to make a run for it.

Comforting though the sight may be… it didn’t change the fact that Samuel was the one Enigma was actively gunning for.

And he was standing on top of a humvee shouting his orders.

It was just in the nick of time that Thanasis pounced and tackled the Abyssinian out of the way before he could be blasted apart by a magic bolt courtesy of Enigma, the sphinx having just come into range of them.

“Why, lookie here...” Enigma purred dangerously, the sound powerful enough to be felt by everyone in the vicinity as all stood transfixed at the sight of the gigantic sphinx walking towards them in an almost casual manner, the gems on his regalia gleaming the same hues of yellow as his eyes. “A kitten. Didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to steal a fellow sphinx’s prey?” Enigma chuckled darkly.

“Didn’t yours teach you not to murder, pillage and enslave?!” Thanasis yelled back, putting himself into a defensive stance, eyes shining with his own magic as he stood where Samuel had been seconds earlier.

Said militia commander being quietly led towards the back of the convoy by Scarface while Enigma was distracted, of course…

“Why, what cheek...” Enigma’s eyes gleamed. A second later, the barrels of the three fifty cals pointed at him were bent at a ninety-degree angle. “I’d almost feel offended. Almost. But then I remember kittens will yowl and hiss...” He picked up the comparatively tiny Thanasis in his telekinesis and licked his chops. “...until they’re taught a lesson.”

Then a banishment beam impacted Enigma in the chest. There was a flash of light. Enigma dropped his telekinetic grip on Thanasis.
Aleksei cheered internally. The spell actually worked!

Until it didn’t.

She blinked, finding herself the target of Enigma’s glare as the gigantic sphinx slowly raised a paw and brushed against the patch of blackened fur right where the most powerful spell in the cleric’s arsenal had managed to drill through his wards… and then utterly fail to score any worthwhile injury.

Aleksei swore in Latvian.

“Didn’t think this through, did you?” Enigma tilted his head.

“I swear this usually works out better...” The hippogriff cleric smiled awkwardly.

“They all say that...” Enigma rolled his eyes, and immediately proceeded to fire a mana blast towards her.

She threw herself backwards, only just putting enough distance between her and the spell for the blast wave to propel her back, with force. She was sent flying and tried to flap her wings, only for the flight to spiral out of control and have her land painfully against a vehicle.

She tried to stand up and stretched her wings. Searing pain sent her back down just as quickly, one claw reaching for the base of a wing that was definitely broken…

Her talons brushed against the pendant Morvarc’h had gifted her.

“You know, while I can respect standing up to me and putting up a fight, why even bother? It’s not like there is much most mortals can do against an ancient sphinx like me.” 

“Then how about a demigod?!”
> Chapter 115: When a Demigod Gets Going...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Then how about a demigod?!”

	Though the words were spoken in Breton, a language only one soul present could possibly understand without aid, there was a burst of magic added to it that translated the challenge to every single creature in the vicinity and had the intended effect of halting Enigma right in his tracks.

Lying in the mud cradling a broken wing, Aleksei couldn’t help but crack a smile despite the pain as she felt Morvarc’h manifest himself behind her. There, midair above an abandoned humvee, a portal had opened up to reveal Epona’s son as he hopped out, bellowing his challenge to Enigma.

Like most other times she had seen him, the stallion wasn’t wearing anything. He was just there in his birthday suit: short black fur, his russet mane and tail braided, cutie mark bare, and a fierce look in his red eyes as he snorted out embers and glared at Enigma challengingly. 

Said sphinx burst out laughing.

“An Earth Pony?! Really?!” He threw his head back and laughed harder. “Of all the creatures, fair or wretched, that could possibly come up to face me… and it has to be an Earth Pony. I mean...” He raised a paw and waved at Morvarc’h. “… sure, you’re pretty big for a pony, but you’re still just a pony.” He spat out the last word.

Morv’ scowled, but didn’t falter as the ancient sphinx came closer.

“Worse even, you’re just an Earth Pony. Can’t fly, can’t cast magic, then what’s the point?”

“Oh you’ll get it in a minute.” Morv grinned, pawing at the roof of the humvee he was perched on. “My name is Morvarc’h, Sea Horse of the Bretons, son to the goddess Epona. I offer you one chance. One. Cast aside your allegiances to Scylla and leave now so you may live to see dawn again.”

“My, quite the confident one aren’t you?”

“Quite. Your decision?”

“I haven’t lived by my own will for centuries to fold in front of some lowly pony!” Enigma bent down to Morv’s level and roared.

“Your funeral.”

Before the sphinx could get much of a chance to react, Morv coiled up his hind legs before leaping upwards with enough force to uppercut Enigma and snap his jaws shut. The sphinx recoiled abruptly, roaring out in pain and spitting out a glob of blood and broken fang. Then before he had the time to reassess his opinion of Morvarc’h, the stallion carried on and practically turned into a blur of motion that left a reddish trail behind him as he went and wove in and out of Enigma’s reach, bucking, kicking and punching each chance that he got.

It was like watching a gnat fighting a boar, except the gnat had enough raw force to its blows to actually hurt the boar, and the boar was not only desperately trying to swat away the gnat, but also casting magic blasts around in the process.

Nevertheless, Morv was showing little trouble in dodging every attempt Enigma made at getting rid of him, delivering blow after blow and pushing the sphinx back and away from the convoy, eliciting roar of both pain and frustration from Enigma.

To be fair, Morvarc’h was taking a great deal of pleasure in causing said pain and confusion. A great foe to fight. A point to make to a condescending enemy that refused to take him seriously. And a serious amount of payback to deliver for hurting Aleksei.

Ducking below a mana blast at rainbow-maned-pegasus speed, Morv dove under Enigma’s belly before kicking with his hooves to send him back in the opposite direction to punch in the shoulder. He felt the bone crack, but not give, though the blow was hard enough to make Enigma stumble. Morv didn’t let himself lose steam, staying in motion and bouncing back, racing around Enigma to resume his assault from the opposite direction before Enigma could regain his footing, effortlessly ducking under one claw swipe trying to bat him away.

Strike. Dodge the retaliation. Change direction. Strike again. Repeat.

Enigma even tried to grab him in his telekinesis, to use wards, anything to contain the pony attacking him.

To little avail. Not only was Morv’ insanely strong, but the demigod had a degree of protection from such spells. Any spell that might have an effect on him took so long to cast a faceful of punching stopped the process, and the rest just slid right off the protections Epona had bestowed upon her prized son.

Understandably, Enigma soon figured that he had little hope to win by staying on the ground and spread his wings, taking off with a powerful gust of wind.

He was, however, quite surprised – and dismayed- to see Morvarc’h follow him up in the air.

“What in the- How?! How are you even flying?!” Enigma wrenched his wings hard to get away from another attack. “You- you’re just a pony!”

Morv halted momentarily, stopping to hover in front of Enigma. There was a red sheen around his hooves.

“I am Morvarc’h, Sea Horse. I can walk on water. It is raining. Figure it out.”

And the fight went on, only now Enigma had somehow made the situation worse by opening up more directions for Morv’ to attack from. One strike followed another, then another, each battering the already wounded sphinx more and more as militia troopers down below rallied at the sight, the sound of Morv’s blows powerful enough that the meaty crunches could be heard hundred of meters below.

Enigma then made a break for the clouds above them. Maybe if the pony was limited to flying in the rain he could have a fighting chance above the cloud cover. He spat out some blood and beat his wings with renewed vigor, breaking through the clouds with a roar and a powerful flap, looking down below with a smirk as he focused, preparing a spell. His eyes glowed yellow, signaling an imminent spell.

Like a black horse of nightmare, Morv’ refused to let up the chase, using the very last cloud as a springboard to propel himself towards Enigma like an equine rocket. The blow was hard, once more, Enigma saw stars, but he was still flying up. Fresh air filled his strained lungs with hope that he could make it, maybe regroup with Night’s remaining forces…

Wait, where’s the pony?

	He felt a weight land on his back.

Near his wings.

Oh no.

“Hope you liked the climb, because now we’re going down.”

	Oh no no no.

Enigma managed to twist his neck enough that he saw Morvarc’h had managed to cling to his mane and somehow stay on and get to his wing. Ironic really, so close, the pony was positively tiny standing on his back… but the two forehooves currently grabbing his wings were more threatening than a millennia-old, hill-sized dragon could ever hope to be right then.

The snap of his wing bones breaking was heard like a gunshot, sending a searing spear of pain through the sphinx’s nervous system and eliciting an ear-splitting roar of agony. He tried in vain to twist around and gore the pony with his claws.

Morvarc’h just kicked up with his hooves, staring down at Enigma as the sphinx spiraled out of control with his wings twisted at an unnatural angle. He thrashed all the way down, trying to regain flight, to stop his imminent death as he fell back down beneath the cloud cover. Hurling insults in sphigyptian at Morvarc’h who just spread out his hooves and let gravity lead him back down. When he fell through the clouds and was once more in the rain, he focused and slowed down his fall, watching calmly as Enigma finally shut up upon spotting the ground.

The elephant-sized sphinx impacted the ground hard enough to create a crater, shattering most of the bones in his body that Morvarc’hs blows hadn’t already cracked. Enigma’s life was snuffed out in an instant, his twisted body now lying in a crater that was already filling up with mud and rainwater, the corpse still lit up by the magic in his enchanted regalia. A few militia troopers came closer to inspect it, eager to ensure that the enemy that had massacred so many of theirs really was dead.

Morv’ didn’t care much for that. He landed right where he had appeared in the first place, trotting past a few inquisitive troopers and some sailors he recognized as Aleksei’s companions.

He didn’t care for them either, instead going straight for the hippogriff mare as she was standing up shakily and embracing her in a hug.

“Hey there Morv...” She hissed through the pain, switching to the demigod’s language. “I… didn’t know you were this good a fighter.” 

“Only with proper motivation.” He smiled down at her. “Come. You’re injured. I’ll take you back to the Otherworld to recover.”

	Aleksei looked on beyond him, seeing a portal open up. She shook her head and broke their embrace.

“I’ll be fine Morv, I have the spells to heal myself. See?” She pointed out, lighting up the palm of her claw with a soft glow and brushing it over her broken wing.

She still gritted her beak, but at least the magic was doing its job of fixing her up. Add a splint and a first-aid potion and that should do the trick. Probably.

“You really could do with a visit...”

“I’ll come around later. You really did an awesome job with Enigma, but the battle around here is far from over.” She stood a bit more firmly, the pain at least numbed by her spell. “But there’s still a dragon out there with a curse to break that I need to toss through a portal. Somehow.”

She didn’t think Captain Lorelei would be too happy if she ditched retrieving Mikhail in favor of accompanying Morvarc’h to the Otherworld.

And most in the fleet were aware of her relations with the demigod, mind.

She saw Morvarc’h face fall.

“I could jump along when I find him though.”

	He brightened up immediately.

“Excellent! I must tell you about the progress I’ve made towards refloating the City of Ys.”

	She actually did a double take at that.

“Hold on a second… you actually found it? I uh… I never expected you’d do it. Not so soon at least.”

That made the stallion puff out his chest with pride.

“I was there to witness its sinking after all. Finding its location wasn’t too hard once I was reacquainted with the lay of the land. I’ll admit, finding creatures that could dive to verify my assumptions was a bit harder, but I’ve made myself a following in Douarnenez. You should come visi-”

The two were interrupted by a polite cough. Scarface. The battle-worn gargoyle was standing expectantly next to an equally frazzled Samuel, and then Aleksei noticed the militia troops that had gathered nearby, some already busy regrouping the convoy to resume their mission and group up with the WSU teams that were already on site. She could even see a group of D-Dogs from the militia digging a pair of salvageable armored cars out of the ditch they had fallen into when Enigma threw them around like toys, ahead of the convoy.

Overhead, helicopter blades whistled through the air, Hawthorne’s aircraft just arriving to evacuate their casualties.

“I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, moreso after what your friend here pulled off against Enigma, but we’re sort of in the middle of a war right now. Mind postponing the chatter to a better date?”

Morv looked at Aleksei with a warm grin.

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind a date indeed.” He said, not adding the layer of magic he previously added to translate. This was meant for her ears only. She blushed.

And then with a mock salute to Aleksei’s team and the militia, he hopped back into his portal to the Otherworld, though not after planting a kiss on the hippogriff’s beak whose ears were by now completely flat against her skull.

“So… what did we just witness?” Scarface prodded.

Her putting herself * even more * at odds with her geas of becoming male again?

“Personal stuff.” She shook her head. “Say, you wouldn’t have a potion on hand, please? I may be stuck on the ground for a while, but I’d rather do without the pain.”

“In the truck. Come on, Captain’s been on our ass over the radio to get to El Tajin. They’re waiting.”

Off the side of the road, as the convoy was about to resume their route, a militia trooper finished emptying the contents of a jerry can on Enigma’s corpse before throwing a flare in his fuel-soaked mane. Rain or not, flames soon swallowed up the corpse of a creature that had for centuries wrought nothing but sorrow, fear and misery.

In the Otherworld, Epona nodded sagely as she stared down at her scrying pond.





“Hey, they’re saying Pedro won over the radio! We won!” Floyd announced cheerfully over the comms.

“Great. Care to tell that to the thralls still infecting our engine room?” Glenn replied sharply. “Looks like they didn’t get the hint. Hold on… HEY! You guys know your boss just bit it?!” She yelled, poking her head around the corner of the passageway.

She didn’t get much of a reply but a guttural roar and a flurry of sharp spikes fired her way.

“Yeah, looks like they’re not aware.” Glenn ducked back behind cover. “And they have a spiker.” She noted, observing the spikes now embedded in a pipe leaking steam.

The engine room would be a bitch to fix once this was over… Charybdis’ ilk may be dying, whittling away or on the run, but enough of them were still alive that they were fighting compartment to compartment in order to retake the aftmost portions of Fugro’s engine room. Glenn had made it there shortly after the Chief Engineer rang the alarm, and in the minutes that had elapsed ever since, she’d already downed half a dozen more of the boarders in the tightly packed compartments.

“Spiker, got it.” MacClelland, the Chief Engineer, parroted back. 

Glenn watched the Rarity-lookalike with the ever-greasy coveralls and bandana round up the corner with both her glocks drawn to dump both magazines into the thrall, shredding its flesh with hollow points.

… And also turning a nearby control box into swiss cheese, the sensitive equipment immediately starting to leak compressed air.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She swore. “This is going to take me days to fix that!” She complained, moving over to the next watertight door and finishing off the thrall with a bullet to the brain.

“Plus the gaping hole they made in the deck.” Glenn chirped, following her superior.

“Correction then. A whole week before we can leave. Happy to stay at tropical latitudes longer then, Miss-Sweaty-Fur?”

“Not really no.” Glenn hugged the next bulkhead and briefly popped out from cover to fire a round of buckshot from her grenade launcher at another thrall. The thundering ‘boom’ of her weapon reverberated around the enclosed space with enough force to hurt her ears through her headset. “And you’ve been awake for a while.”

“Ugh, how can you tell?”

“Miss Sweaty Fur? Come on, you can do better.” Glenn popped her launcher open and chambered another round.

“Well, sorry not to be on top of my game, I got other stuff to worry about.” MacClelland peeked out of cover. “Congrats, you got it. It and our septic tank.”

“Well shit.”

“Pretty much, yes.” MacClelland smirked, a mirthful glint in her sapphire eyes. “I think there are some left further ahead, just don’t breathe in through your nose. And...”

She paused upon seeing where the liquefied remains of the thrall had mixed with the leakage from the tank, below the walkway that went from one side of the compartment to another. Foul brown black liquid that had an oily sheen to it mixed with the purplish fumes from the thrall’s remains.

“With fur like yours, don’t step in that Glenn.”

“No kidding.” The minotaur replied, her hooves causing loud metallic clang as she went from one end of the walkway to another. “I’d hate to be the one to fix that.”

“Jeez, don’t think just ‘cause you’re supposed to be galley crew you’re gonna avoid that. Not enough of us on board to allow that.” MacClelland paused to twist a valve on the sewage system before she followed Glenn through. “There, the locals won’t like us dumping waste in the river, but I’d rather the Emperor get fussy than have this place filled with shit.”

“Your call, Chief Engineer.”

“Aww come on, call me Todd. Might as well. I might be your superior but I read the files, you’re older than me.”

“Todd? Still going by your male name from before?”

‘Todd’ rolled her eyes and moved ahead, hugging the side of the next compartment (the desalination plant) before she galloped past the massive array of consoles and vertical tubes to dump one mag into an unsuspecting thrall.

Being a unicorn, she was so short Glenn hardly had an issue following up and shooting the next thrall with her grenade launcher, the buckshot instantly turning the former hedgefog into mush.

“Hey, last I checked you were called Glenn before too.”

“Yeah but Glenn can be a female name, so it’s a lot less shocking than Todd.”

“And you know what? Screw that. My parents named me Todd after my gramps, and I am not changing from the name I’ve already used for over thirty years.” She kicked a bit of thrall off the passageway with a forehoof. “Gods I hate those things.”

“I’m hearing a plural there.”

“Hate to break it to you, but far as I heard, there were more hints of the old stuff, than the One they built churches for. I mo-der-nize my vernacular, if you will.” Todd snarked. “Should be three more compartments until we reach the point where they breached through the deck, by the way.” She added.

“How progressive of you.” Glenn drawled. “So what, since you’re Scottish we’re going to see you wear Pictish war paint?”

“Don’t be daft now.”

“I ain’t. Doesn’t matter how highly you think of your fellow Scots Todd, the risk is still there that they pull the same shit the inhabitants of Dominica did and go tribal.” Glenn warned.

That gave the Chief Engineer pause.

“Well now you actually have me worried. Thanks.” She shook her head before briefly turning around to buck open the next watertight door.

They didn’t get the opportunity to chat much beyond that. The number of thralls they found increased sharply once they got past the compartment that housed the main breakers – which they took * great * care not to damage with their shots-, forcing the two to focus more on the fighting and less on meaningless banter. Compartment by compartment, they would inch their way from cover to cover, taking pot shots with glocks and grenade launcher at the boarders, Glenn having to take a step forward every so often when one would try to rush them, to remind them why most creatures really shouldn’t try to fight a minotaur up close.

Regardless of how dangerous a thrall could be with the tentacles, spikes and corruption, there was little any of them could do against punches powerful enough to warp steel and the muzzle end of a grenade launcher shoved down their throat.

Or whichever orifice looked the most like one. While some of those thralls still looked reasonably close to their original species, merely with the addition of a bit of corruption and extra appendages. Others… particularly when they were withering as Charybdis’ power in the region was waning… well, they didn’t look like much of anything. Melting amalgams of sea life, demonic corruption and rotten flesh and bones that moved in a manner that wrenched your guts and made you heave at the smell. 

Glenn didn’t know if that was the fate that befell those poor souls the pirates captured, or if it happened to all who surrendered themselves to the demon eventually, but it certainly cemented her thoughts that Charybdis’ and Scylla’s influence needed to be culled from the face of Earth.

Advancing forward abruptly, she forcefully grabbed a thrall that at some point may have been an Abyssinian by the throat and used it as a shield to block the spikes another – formerly hedgefog- thrall was throwing at her before a shot of her grenade launcher ended the latter and a squeeze of her hand snapped the neck of the former.

“And that’s for fucking up our ship.” She snorted bovinely, tossing aside the body as it started falling apart. “Anyone else up for a challenge?”

“Doubt it. Look up.”

Glenn felt a drop of water hit her snout and raised her head, only then noticing the jagged edges and bent beams around the hole the thralls had pierced through their deck. Beyond, above the ruins of the city and the battle that was at long last coming to an end, the skies were finally clearing, the sun unveiling its warm rays.

She grinned.





“So how many did they lose?”

“A lot apparently.” Roberto replied to Dilip. “Enigma went through them like a fox through a chicken coop. Hawthorne had a hard time evacuating all the wounded with the helicopter. And that’s not even accounting for those that didn’t survive.”

“But they got him?”

Roberto nodded grimly.

“Klavins’ doing apparently. Or that demigod friend of hers she summoned rather. If it weren’t for him I’m not sure there’d be much of a militia left to speak of at the moment. They should be there in a few minutes most likely.”

“And still that turn of events puts us at a disadvantage.” Dilip looked towards El Tajin with a scowl where they had watched the defenders hunker down and prepare defensive positions.

“We’d probably win if they sallied out.”

“Which is exactly why they won’t. Doesn’t take a genius to understand that.” The canine’s throat rumbled with a repressed growl. “If they didn’t have that shield...”

“They’re sitting on top of the proverbial motherlode of magic. No chance of getting rid of it that easy, and after Hawthorne’s bombing run I’m sure they improved its resistance against attacks. Unless we can somehow conjure up something better than the missiles on the plane – and no, the MILAN’s on the militia’s armored cars aren’t better-, then good luck getting through.” Roberto stated, then sharply turned his head towards the jungle, ears flicking.

“Something the matter?”

“Uh… no, no it’s just me. Thought I heard something.” He shook his head.





“Quiet, you.” Atzi hissed at the wolf-dog hiding in the underbrush. “If they spot us they might retreat and we won’t ever capture the city. Don’t. Move. A. Muscle.”

Perched atop her dragon’s saddle, she threw a look back deeper into the jungle where Xolotl’s statue had gone still for a few minutes now. The statue’s eyes were glowing, indicating her Lord was still present in there, but he appeared to be busy casting magic.





“Must have been the rain.” Dilip shrugged before turning his focus back to El Tajin.

It was several minutes more before the haggard and battered remaining militia troops met up with them, their trucks and humvees finally cresting the last ridgeline to the northwest. The sight of their arrival was both reassuring and worrying at the same time.

On the one side, it did mean they would have enough souls to finally launch their assault. And judging by the movements of the defenders within the shield, they knew it too.

On the other… at this point a rough third of the militia’s troops were either dead or injured – compared to a fifth of the sailors’ - with many vehicles totaled, several more damaged, and a lingering hit to morale after the debacle against Enigma. 

This wouldn’t have been an easy fight with a fresh force that hadn’t been severely bruised on its way to El Tajin. Now, they would have to be considerably more careful if they wanted to make it through. Dilip in particular knew he couldn’t lose more than a few if he wanted Amandine to remain operational, and the same went for the sailors from Rhine Forest Lorelei had trusted under his command.

At least it looked like the Four Horses were out of monsters, and he doubted they could get reinforcements cornered in there under their shield. But cornered they were, and Dilip figured the cultists would fight like cornered animals indeed.





“What do you mean we lost connection to the nexus?!” Night shrieked at Sirius, the gargoyle sorcerer wilting under the outburst. “First Mage simply refuses to send us help, but now we can’t even evacuate?! What in Tartarus have you fucks been doing with the teleportation array?!”

“Nothing! I was trying to get Haze to send us reinforcements and he was even about to send us some slingtails over from Australia when something started interfering with the array.” The gargoyle made a cutting motion with his arm. “There’s no communication, no transportation, everything’s down.”

“Then what’s doing this?”

Sirius’ eyes trailed down below their watchtower, over to the pyramid they had been tapping for mana, the same one they’d used to rip the souls out of their prisoners for Mage’s rituals. Now the niches along its flanks were glowing an angry red, spewing mana vapours like rivers of blood, as if the entity within it knew the ones that had kept it imprisoned for months were about to be evicted.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Not that one, but it does feel like it has a friend, and that friend is out there screwing with our only means of escaping this.” Sirius then shifted his gaze to the outskirts of the ruined city, where all the war machines of their enemies had lined up on top of a ridge line, their headlights shining brightly and reflecting off the surface of the city’s shields.

They didn’t have monsters left to throw at them.

Most of their wranglers were dead. Enigma and Steel had most likely bit it at this point, somehow.

All there was left now were their fortifications, four to five dozen of their subordinates – ponies mostly- and, if they were lucky, a dozen crystal constructs.

“We have our chances.” Night said crisply, twisting her wing to readjust a strap on her armor. “Take command at the gates and gather half the constructs there. They favor ranged combat, so if we want to get an edge in this fight it will be at the edge of the shield.”

“And the other constructs?”

“On defense at the wards’ anchoring point. We lose the shield, we lose the city.”

“And what will you be doing?”

Night barred her fangs in a predatory smile that sent shudders down Sirius’ spine. The gargoyle watched her spread her wings, a shadowy aura wrapping around her like a cloak until all that was visible of her was a dark vapoury cloud with two gleaming yellow eyes.

“Picking off their leadership.” Her words came out like a whisper you couldn’t pinpoint the origin of.

Out on the edge of the city, all the massed vehicles moved forward as one unit. The assault had begun.





Sometimes, no matter what you do, some folks just won’t get along no matter what. In the case of Rockhoof and Rodrigo’s relation… it was a bit of that, an extra of bruised egos coupled with a dose of wrong first impressions.

The end result was that Rodrigo very much doubted the large stallion would ever look at him favorably. While Meadowbrook was going around the banquet hall distributing potions to the injured guards and surprisingly Veillantif and Rodrigo as well, Rockhoof had yet to stop glowering at the two, even though he had gestured for them to be released from their bounds minutes earlier.

A shame really. If Integrity was the closest comparable Element to Honesty (dubbed Strength in Rock’s original era) in Concord’s set, then that meant Rodrigo should have been on better terms.

Reality would have it that they weren’t.

“Look… we clearly don’t get along and probably never will.” Rodrigo said between two sips of the potion he held between his forehooves. “So it’s likely for the better if we left now. We came here so I could get in tune with my Element and that’s done. No reason to stay.”

	Meadowbrook rolled her eyes.

“Can’t any of you stop acting like you’re colts and swallow your pride?” She called them out.

The room remained silent.

“I hate to say it like that, Miss...” Rodrigo stood up. “… but in some cases it simply won’t work out. Me and Veill’, we go around helping settlements in need as we travel. Yours clearly is established enough that it doesn’t need any. No reason to stay, more to keep to the road.”

“And where are you even going then, jackass?” Miles piped in from her corner of the room. “You legged it all the way here from Spain, can’t go much further North than Brittany unless you cross the Channel.”

Rodrigo stared at the gender-swapping pegasus for a couple seconds then shrugged.

“East I figure. Germany sounds like a worthwhile place to look for a start. Veillantif speaks the language, and there’s plenty of woodlands folks might have made settlements in.”

“Dangerous woodlands too.” It was Merlin’s turn to speak up. “There is worse you might find in those woods than just Equestrian monsters.”

“All the more reason to set off to help those folks out then.” Rodrigo replied immediately, trotting over to where his gear had been piled up in a corner of the room. “Durandal is no butter-knife either. We will do fine. Come on Veill’, we’re done here. And thank you for the potion, Miss Meadowbrook.”

“Dear, you can’t just leave now. You two just made it here! I don’t care how badly things started off with our guards but it just wouldn’t do to send you off like that. We’ve managed to build a rather quaint village here, so why don’t you two head over to the tavern and ask Lionel for a room?” The mare offered.

Rodrigo made a face, stopping mid-gesture as he was about to sling his bags over his back. He threw Veillantif a look.

The green stallion nodded encouragingly.

He relented.

“Fine. We’ll stay a few days just to touch up our gear, trade some stuff we acquired along the way maybe.” He rolled his neck before throwing Miles a mild glare. “Just don’t resent us if there are some around here we’d rather avoid.”

Meadowbrook smiled brightly. Much like Veillantif in fact.

Starswirl cleared his throat before the two travelers could leave the banquet hall.

“Sir Rodrigo… if you will, I believe there are a few things I may be able to teach you before you leave that a unicorn like you would do well to know. Would you care to come visit my tower during your stay?”

“I’ll spare the time.” The stallion nodded before he finally left the ghost wizard’s translation ward.
> Chapter 116: Bullets are one thing, but knives make it PERSONAL!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Slowly, but inexorably, the massed vehicles and dismounted troops accompanying them advanced towards El Tajin. Spread out, weapons raised towards the defenders that they could see were waiting for them holed up in makeshift fortifications poised at the edge of the shield.

Truth be told, after all they had been through reaching El Tajin in the first place, emotions among the assailants ranged anywhere from a lust for vengeance to utter dread at the prospect of more fighting. The advance wasn’t so much deliberately slow as it was overly careful, each of them taking great care not to stick out of cover for too long as they used the vehicles as mobile cover, sometimes bouncing over from one rock protruding out of the muck to a fallen tree or shallow ditch.

Clearly the Four Horses had seen to it that the jungle was cleared around El Tajin, most of the wood used to build the fortifications that they could see through the shield, but the land wasn’t entirely bereft of cover, thankfully. And they did need it, because once they got within range of the defenders, the hailstorm of spells and projectiles began. Spells, crossbow bolts and crystal shards fired at them, forcing the infantry to quickly duck back behind cover and hunker down behind their vehicles. 

The defenders were making the best of the city’s shield, weaving in and out of it to fire their shots and then take cover before the assailants could return fire, their bullets causing ripples on the surface of the shield, but not enough to break through. Most of them were ponies, unicorns on the ground accompanying Earth Ponies armed with siege crossbows on saddle mounts. Pegasi up in the air with bat ponies packing less power but proving no less of a threat at the speed they were going in and out of the shield. Of all the other species, be they gargoyles, kirins or even hippogriffs, only a scant few were left, the rest having been more or less dealt with in the earlier waves.

But Dilip didn’t worry too much about the gang of hippogriffs perched on a watchtower.

The bigger concern right then were the crystal constructs he spotted lumbering by the gates. If they ever were actual creatures like all the thralls that had been thrown at them, they were long past the point of recognition, being minotaur-sized hunks of glowing crystal covered in various runes and sigils with shards floating about them. They looked rough, like upscaled, poorly-made carvings with no head, three arms and a fiercely glowing eye in the middle of their chest.

They also lobbed large chunks of crystal at them whenever they stepped out of the shield, which exploded on impact, showering anyone unfortunate enough not to be behind cover at the time in crystal shards, a fate that befell one unfortunate sailor – one of Rhine Forest- before the rest wizened up to the threat.

“Focus the Bofors on those constructs. Armor-piercing shells.” Dilip ordered. “The rest, suppress them. They can’t shoot us if we don’t let them step out.”

He heard someone translate the order in Spanish over the radio before he saw Samuel nodding from the humvee he was using as a command vehicle before repeating the command to his own troops. Right on cue, all of the .50cals they had opened up, continuous streams of tracer fire that while they didn’t kill much (one unicorn was foolish enough to try and pop out for a quick shot), did keep the defenders stuck inside the shield. One of the crystal constructs still made an attempt, only to have one of its arms shot clean off by the Bofors on the CV90, the crystal appendage disintegrating into dust before it even hit the mud.

Around the gates where the concentration of enemies was the highest, the Piranhas had elected to pop smokes as they advanced, spying the defenders through the dense cloud with their thermals, which netted them four easy kills against careless defenders that thought they couldn’t see them. It was the formation they had adopted: the three Piranhas taking the lead to assault the gates, the CV90 right behind on overwatch with its main guns, and the lighter vehicles of the militia advancing in a line on the flanks, themselves having set up machine guns and even a few of their remaining MILAN’s on top of the ridgeline behind them. They would have to move up eventually, but for now they did a fine job of covering the rest of the militia as they made their approach towards the edge of the shield.

It wasn’t too long either before the assaulting force made it there. Near the gates, the Piranhas had formed a line at the very edge of the shield, with the makeshift fortifications right behind it: salvaged stonework piled up alongside sheet metal found around the region, tarps and lumber to form a gatehouse with thick logs bunched up as gates. 

“Hey aren’t we a bit close for that?” Roberto noted in alarm, popping out the commander's hatch on the CV90 as Artyom dismounted out the rear ramp, the dragon carrying a satchel charge.

“If there wasn’t a shield in the way, yes we would be.” The dragon nodded, slinging the explosives over his shoulder and fishing a few smoke grenades from a pouch on the front of his flak jacket. “Cover me, I know I can take a few hits but I’d rather not.”

Not waiting for a reply – he knew with three APC’s and an IFV at his back he *would * be covered-, Artyom jogged up to the edge of the shield and knelt, rolling two smokes through it before he took a step back, rifle raised. By then the defenders near the gates had fallen back to their battlements behind the gates, and he could quite clearly see them looking down at him. Behind the gates, he could also hear the rumble of the constructs, their steps splashing loudly in the mud.

The CV90 drove forward until its front was nearly touching the shield. Behind, one of the Piranhas swiveled its .50cal upwards to gun down a pegasus trying to make a run on him. One less thing he wouldn’t have to worry about. Eyeing the growing smoke cloud between him and the gates, he fiddled with the reel of wire connected to his satchel charge.

A few seconds went by. The cloud thickened. As soon as he couldn’t see the defenders anymore, he rushed in, his SCAR raised in the general direction of the battlements, opening up as soon as he was through the shield, the feeling of passing through like a bucket of icy water thrown in his face.

He heard a swoosh of displaced air and ducked just in time to avoid a swing from one of the crystal constructs, the defenders having momentarily opened the gates to give the huge hunk of minerals a free shot at him. He let himself fall flat on the ground with a grunt, before rolling to the side to avoid the follow-up stomp.

Screw that, he wasn’t packing the firepower to deal with that thing…

Slicing through the webbing sling of the satchel charge, he hurled the explosives forward, hearing a ‘thunk’ when the bag impacted what he assumed to be the gates before quickly running off in the opposite direction, his reel of wire unwinding as he went.

The instant he was through the shield again, he went for the detonator. 

In an instant, all the smoke on the inner side of the shield was blown away by the blast wave as it tore the makeshift fortifications apart with little trouble, sending debris and body parts flying off deeper within the shield. And while the shield did prevent the blast and shrapnel from getting to them, it didn’t stop the ear-shattering boom that sent most of them reeling despite all of them wearing ear protection.

As most were recovering, the smoke dissipated, revealing rubble and kindling where the gates used to be, a gaping hole in the second layer of defenses. On their flanks, the sound of similar explosions rang out as the militia proceeded to use the same tactic against the palisade.

Artyom turned around to face the vehicles with a cheeky grin, spreading out his wings.

“Door’s open.” He declared.

But it didn’t mean the fighting got any easier from them on. As soon as the Piranhas and the CV90 were past the gates – and the mud prevented them from getting anywhere quick- they were met with fierce opposition, projectiles and magic flying at them from nearly all directions as the gunners did their best to keep track of them while the rest did their best to take cover behind the vehicles and wherever the ruined barricades and fortifications allowed.

And the locale really made it hard to track down where attackers could come from. All the gangways, scaffoldings and raised shacks the Four Horses had erected above the ruins to get away from the mud were more directions they could use to attack from, or stuff they could scuttle to block the way between two pyramids and funnel the WSU’s vehicles in the direction they wanted. Away from both the main pyramid and the wards’ anchoring point that is, though that task was becoming increasingly more difficult as sailors and militia troopers streamed in all guns blazing.

Strangely enough this time around, Dilip had elected to fight not from the safety of a Piranha’s interior, but right on the frontline, saber in paw. Odd as it was – for him in particular- to pull that, there was a very good motive behind the decision.

Leaping over a barricade ahead of the CV90, he whirled around to stab an Earth Pony through the barrel, feeling the incoming rush of magic into him as the Congo Sword sapped the unfortunate equine’s lifeforce.

He needed to make the most of its vampiric effect, and if they were to encounter another enemy lieutenant he’d rather it happen when he had already built up some momentum on fodder.

	Quickly – far quicker than he would have without the sword’s magic helping-, he ducked behind a stone pillar as a unicorn and a gargoyle started firing upon him. When they let up their assault, he immediately went back on the offense, firing his revolver at them as he charged. The gargoyle went down to a stab through the throat. The unicorn made it somewhat harder, conjuring up a shield and trying to both increase the distance and bait Dilip deeper into enemy lines.

Sadly for the mare, she vastly underestimated how much faster the sword was making him compared to a regular D-dog. More than that, he actually used his species’ burrowing ability for a change, digging a tunnel so quickly he managed to pop up right under her as she was trying to keep him away with a small bubble shield. The Congo Sword’s tip sliced clean through her belly as she shrieked out in both pain and surprise.

He didn’t stick around to look at the gruesome result, ducking back in his tunnel and returning to his own lines, not even winded from that surge of action.

It was right on time to witness the two remaining constructs from the group that had been guarding the gates make their stab at attacking the CV90 as the IFV rounded the corner of a pyramid, its vision obstructed by the collapsed remains of a shack. There was a loud metallic gong as the first of the two rushed up to the IFV and slammed one arm down on its front plate, hard enough to dent it and pop a bolt on the outer applique armor.

In an odd twist that must have been owed to a miscommunication however, the CV90 gunned the throttle forward instead of reversing, slamming into the crystal construct with over twenty five tons of metal, opening up with main gun, coaxial and even the commander’s MG into the three-armed creature.

Unsurprisingly, the crystal construct was completely torn apart by both the impact and the sheer volume of firepower at close range.

There was another though, and by charging forward in wild panic, the CV90 was leaving its flank wide open. And it looked like Sri in the gunner’s seat had realized the mistake: Dilip saw the turret turn. Too slow. The second construct was on them before the main gun could be brought to bear, and it swiped the Bofors aside with two arms.

Dilip cringed as a particularly loud grinding was heard and the turret ring started spurting sparks and hydraulic fluid. The machinery wasn’t meant to be treated like that, and he would be surprised if the horizontal drive wasn’t FUBAR.

The construct started beating down on the turret, swinging its arms like hammers to the clanging of metal each time the crystalline appendages impacted the armored vehicle, cracking optics, damaging antennas, the commander’s MG, denting the hatches. It getting through the armor and actually injuring the crew was unlikely… but that didn’t mean it couldn’t put it out of action.

“Turret jammed! We need cover, someone kill that thing!” Dilip heard Roberto yell into his radio as the CV90 started backing away from the fight, only for the crystal construct to climb on top and keep beating down.

One of the Piranhas behind moved up and started hosing it down with its .50cal, but while the rounds did have some effect, they were not a 40mm Bofors, and thus rather than blow it up outright, they chipped at its crystal hide, ricocheting off angled surface and digging craters into its hard surface.

A single round wouldn’t have done much.

Fired from a machine gun however, rounds seldom come out alone, and as chip damage went, it was like taking a jackhammer to porcelain tiling. The creature stumbled back under the onslaught, shielding itself with its arms as it retreated away from the heavily damaged IFV before a sailor from Rhine Forest rounded the corner and ended its life with an underslung grenade launcher.

Dilip didn’t waste his time and rushed over to the CV90, banging on the rear ramp with his fist.

“Roberto. Report.” The Diamond-dog barked loudly.

The ramp opened, revealing Sri had left the gunner’s seat and was fiddling with a device attached to the inner side of the turret ring. Roberto was behind her, the feline looking on worriedly as the device – a pump actually- leaked fluids.

“The hydraulics are fucked I can tell you, sir.” The Abyssinian shook his head, ears flat against his head.

“Jammed?”

“I think I can unjam it.” Sri scowled at the pump and ran her talons through her orange crest feathers. “We lost all pressure in the hydraulics but I could make it rotate using the emergency horizontal drive. Cranking it manually I mean, so it won’t be fast. And don’t get me started on the commander’s gun. That one I can’t fix. Not here at least.”

“Then you do that. Move back to the rear so the lack of traverse speed won’t be as much of a problem. Keep an eye out, I doubt that was the last of their constructs.”

“Aye cap’n.” Sri nodded crisply, turning the shutoff valve on the hydraulic pump before she moved back in her seat.

Fighting hadn’t stopped in the slightest while they were talking. The staccato of gunfire, whizzes of spells and the cries of the wounded filled the air as the assault force continued its relentless progress through El Tajin, troops advancing between the pyramids and trading fire with the defenders as they came at them from all directions.

As Dilip was stepping back from the CV90 to let it maneuver back to the rear of their force, he saw a flash of lightning strike the same Piranha that had just assisted the IFV, right in its machine gun. It didn’t disable the vehicle, but the remotely operated gun lit up in a shower of sparks, the sensitive electronics in it completely overloaded.

Dilip traced the bolt back where it had come from, on top of a nearby pyramid. It was a black gargoyle, the same one he recognized as Night’s lieutenant with the mage’s rig and copper-plated gauntlets. Sirius – though Dilip didn’t know his name-  was already charging up another spell, aiming at the next Piranha with the intent of disabling its gun.

“Oh no you don’t!” He growled, immediately charging forward and leaping up in the air, blade held forward, parallel to the ground.

He saw the sapphires adorning the gargoyle’s rig light up with magic, his gauntlets imbued with crackling electricity before it lanced out, towards the Piranha…

...only to be intercepted by Dilip’s sword. The blade gleamed brightly at the sudden surge of magic, an electric arc appearing between the sword and Sirius’ gauntlets, and then it absorbed it. The gem in the pommel blinked, and Dilip let out a smirk as he felt power rush inside himself.

Not stopping for a taunt or even a word, the Indian immediately went on the offense, rushing up the side of the stone pyramid firing his revolver at the gargoyle. Sirius tried casting another spell while flying away, but he fell back down when a shot pierced through his wing’s membrane.

Blade clashed with gauntlets in a shower of sparks. Dilip was upon the lieutenant, and this time he had a lot of momentum built up. Maybe even a bit much actually, as Roberto on the ground level looked in worriedly.

“Something wrong?” Sri inquired as she frantically turned the manual crank to rotate the turret.

“This isn’t like him.” The Abyssinian mumbled, watching as his canine superior attacked relentlessly, swinging at Sirius who was desperately trying to fend off the Diamond-dog with his gauntlets. “Something’s not right.”

“Got an answer for you.” Sri grunted, stopping the turret to fire a frag shell at a pillbox a group of demonic followers were taking cover in. “It’s the sword. I knew there was something wrong with it from the start.”

Roberto frowned.

“And the more he drains power with it… the more aggressive he gets. I need to put a stop to this!”

“No. Sit down.” Bart interrupted, the unicorn in the driver’s seat turning around to glare at him. “Too dangerous. We must stay here, and cover the others...” He jabbed his hoof up at the Bofors. “...with the gun.”

The Abyssinian worked his jaw a few times, looking at Dilip as the D-dog fought on atop the pyramids.

“Bene.” He relented.

Outside, Dilip still fought, becoming increasingly more aggressive the more blood the Congo Sword drew. Given its origin… and the whole evil vibe it gave off… they really should have seen that coming.





She swooped down silently and plunged her fangs in the throat of an unfortunate Diamond-dog before flapping her wings and gaining height again, the batpony ever silent in her attacks, wrapped in an aura of shadows that made her blend in near-perfectly with the dark skies overhead.

Night was doing good with the fighting. Really good, expertly picking off targets left and right without giving her foes the opportunity to retaliate or even notice her. Unfortunately for her, though her technique was good, good just wasn’t enough to cut it at the moment. Left and right, her troops were dying and the enemy advancing ever closer to the main pyramid on one flank, and the wards on the other. Out of habit Night bit her lip with a crystalline fang, the taste of blood soothing her nerves as she rose near the top of the shield dome and scanned the battle below.

The militia had gotten dangerously close to the wards’ anchoring point despite her best attempts. Before her own eyes, one of the constructs defending the reclaimed pyramid with their own structure covering it in its entirety exploded in a ball of fire and shrapnel, utterly demolished by an anti-tank missile courtesy of the militia. Its large body collapsed in one itself, disintegrating and dropping the piece of rubble it had been about to hurl at a militia humvee, taking with it part of the building in the process and exposing a group of ponies that had been using the upper floor to rain down crossbow bolts on the attackers.

They were promptly gunned down to the cheers of the militia, their spirits rekindled since the mayhem Enigma had caused.

More alarmingly, the other group of attackers with fewer but larger war machines was getting dangerously close to the main pyramid. If they reached the entity trapped within…

Night spotted a flash of steel down below.

Sirius. Sirius was being attacked by a Diamond-dog wielding what was obviously an enchanted sword, and bucking tartarus, call her a donkey if that pup wasn’t pissed just by the way he was fighting, relentlessly pushing her lieutenant back towards the center of El Tajin. He was in a bad shape, the membrane on one wing entirely torn up and bleeding profusely. Some of the gems on his mage rig blackened and cracked from sudden overload.

Can’t allow that.

She folded her wings halfway and angled her body in a shallow dive, feeling the wind rush against her fur and armor as she picked up speed, yet without making a single sound.





There was a red haze of rage and bloodlust obscuring his vision as his sword leeched more and more power off Sirius each time the gargoyle attempted to cast a spell, which only served to increase the Indian dog’s power and make him angrier, faster, meaner.

‘Clang!’ The Congo Sword vibrated from the impact, bouncing once more off Sirius’ gauntlets in a shower of sparks. The gargoyle backpedaled, looking more exhausted by the second and tripping on a piece of rubble behind him.

He looked genuinely scared.

To be fair, Dilip wasn’t a vision of peace and kindness right then. Far from the point where he’d started the battle with a flak jacket and his usual cargo shorts and short-sleeved pilot shirt, you’d be hard pressed to figure which was the original color, so covered in blood and mud was he. Not even the usually well-trimmed and tended, short bronze fur of the pariah dog was recognizable at this point.

Normally a rather calm dog, the more the fight went on, the more power the sword leeched, the closer to a wild snarling and growling monster he got.

Again, he slashed down, and again, Sirius blocked with his gauntlets, stumbling backwards over a piece of rubble and landing on his back with a pained grunt.

Dilip raised his sword. Not to finish it off with a clean stab, more like to hack at his foe’s neck until his head came off.

An alarm went off in the back of his head and he twisted around on his paws, swinging to deflect the wing slash was aiming at his midsection. His arm jerked back from the impact, but before he could hope to further combat the annoyance, Night was already up and away, virtually impossible to make out against the night sky.

The Diamond-dog twisted around to focus back on Sirius.

The gargoyle had turned tail and was running for the main pyramid.

With a snarl, Dilip gave chase, running off after Sirius without a care for what was going on around him. Not that he needed to in most cases. The one brave hippogriff that tried to interpose himself between him and his prey found itself promptly bisected as he rushed past in a blur. Sirius was doing his best to put some distance between them, but he was wounded, slow, and out of options to run off to.

Dilip caught up with him on the first few steps of the main pyramid. The niches adorning the edifice’s flanks were gushing out red magic like a river of blood, the rage of the entity trapped within more palpable due to the ongoing fight around the city. High above, the clouds were swirling.

This time around, when Dilip didn’t bother swinging his sword first. He pounced on the gargoyle, slamming him against the steps with one paw around his throat. Sirius was stunned by the impact.

A fraction of a second later, the tip of the Congo Sword was plunged straight through his skull. Dilip raised his muzzle to the skies and howled his victory.

He only noticed the usual alarm bells his sword gave him when he was about to be blindsided too late. He raised his revolver in the direction the threat was coming from and tried to snap a shot.

‘Click’

	The black blur whizzed past.

A searing pain in his elbow. A rush of adrenaline. His sanity coming back to him at last as he heard something thump on the steps to his side. Gasping in pain, he stumbled and tried to catch himself on the railing on the side of the steps. He fell flat and tumbled down the stairs, his rolling only coming to a stop when he hit Sirius’ lifeless body at the bottom.

An object landed beside him.

His severed forearm, cut right at the elbow by Night’s wing, the Congo Sword still tightly held by the hand, despite the lack of nervous connection to keep the grip tight.

Brown eyes looked immediately at the stump from which blood flowed profusely, horror only then dawning on his mind. Clutching his wound and putting desperate pressure on the artery despite the pain, he forced himself to look up as Night banished her shadowy aura and perched herself on the railing a few dozen steps up the pyramid. She licked her fangs.

And further above, at the summit, a large purple quadrupedal dragon landed, bearing a rider.

Mikhail. And Atzi. And the latter had her paw glowing with what looked like a spell, pointed right at the main glyph holding the entity entrapped inside the pyramid, though Dilip didn’t know that.
> Chapter 117: For the sake of peace...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Losing a limb ranked easily as the worst pain Dilip had ever felt in over half a century of life. As soon as the adrenaline drained from his body, all that was left as he tried his best to keep the blood from pouring out of the severed artery was an unending tide of indescribable pain that left him dazed as kept his eyes on Night who, in turn, had taken to stare at Atzi and Mikhail in sheer horror.

He heard loud steps rush up behind him, as well as the sound of vehicles… his troops were closeby. A shadow neared him and helped him to a sitting position. Artyom, the VDV veteran, swore profusely in his own tongue at the sight of the wound… but didn’t let it distract him.

“Sorry Cap’n, but this is going to hurt a lot.” The blue dragon said before his superior spotted the tourniquet in his claws.

It did. Dilip couldn’t help but howl out in pain when Artyom put the band around the stump and started tightening it, but stop the blood from flowing it certainly did. A vial of potion was practically shoved in his muzzle after that from which he drank greedily, the magic soothing his pain. Somewhat. He felt numb, lightheaded, but the stinging ache remained.

Up above them, he heard Night cry out. The batpony had seemingly forgotten about them, eyes wide with panic as she noticed the wolf-dog High Priestess and what she was about to do.

“Don’t mess with that thing!! You’ll kill us all if this thing gets out!” Night yelled at Atzi, the wolfess still astride Mikhail, perched on top of the pyramid.

Atzi grinned.

“All? No. A thing? Unwise words to say in your position. Lord Huitzilopochtli has some matters to settle with your ilk. Best not keep him waiting then, shall we?”

Night tried to take off and prevent the much larger wolfess from releasing her spell, but it was far too late. The magic escaped the large wolf-dog’s paw in a bright flash, and the moment it impacted the enchantments, a sound halfway between a deep bass and glass breaking was heard throughout the entirety of El Tajin.

The outpouring of red magic vapors from the pyramid’s niches redoubled, a shockwave that sent Night flying back as months of meticulous warding work, enchants and other glyphs were torn apart in a matter of seconds, releasing a downright massive amount of magic the Four Horses had been so meticulously draining out of…

“Come forth, Lord Huitzilopochtli. I call upon the Lord of War, Sun and Sacrifice. I call upon the Patron of the Mexicas, for whom has come the time to rise upon us mortals once more!” Atzi intoned in the Aztec dialect most among Los Lobos were using – and with her being the exception, could exclusively speak-, spreading her arms wide in front of the magic column that had appeared rising up towards the heavens.

The beam struck the shield around El Tajin as it rose and shattered it without the slightest hint of resistance. When it reached the clouds, they parted, spreading out and away from the radiant energy of a sun god and lighting up the skies with the colors of dawn despite it being hours away yet.

“Blessed Lord, we have striven to see you free from the bonds of the heretics. Those that dared capture the radiance of the Sun God himself and attempt to cast it underground, ever to serve their ill wills.”

	And as the enormous beam of magic coalesced into something that could vaguely be associated with a humanoid figure of some warrior in ceremonial armor with frills and feathers, itself wielding a snakelike mace, Atzi proceeded to turn her gaze down at the sailors, the militia, and – more menacingly- the Four Horses’ followers (none of which could understand a word of what she was saying), she brought her paws together in a loud slap.

“May your divine judgment be passed onto these souls for their sins upon our faith.”

The humanoid figure in the beam dissipated, or more accurately, it reformed into a large ball of magic that slowly rose higher and higher above them, shining increasingly more brightly until it felt more like a miniature sun that dried most of the mud and water around the ruins in a matter of seconds.

It stopped. Remaining in a hover above them for a few decisive seconds.

And then it descended upon then, a miniature sun of intense divine magic that was hurled down at the pyramid Atzi was standing atop of, entirely unafraid. It popped like a balloon the moment it impacted it, spreading a wave of the same red magic vapors.

Dilip raised his one remaining arm when it passed through him in a surge of magic not unlike the one he had felt way back in Belfast near the passage tomb, though it also had a tang to it far different from that of Celtic magic.

The wave didn’t harm him, surprisingly.

Nor did it harm any of his or the militia’s troops.

The Four Horses group, however? From those that had still been alive at this point, screams of terror rose as their very souls were ripped out of their bodies when the wave touched them before being dragged kicking and thrashing towards the pyramid, leaving behind empty but oddly pristine bodies.

Night collapsed in front of them, her empty body still alive, still clad in her stolen set of Lunar Guard armor, but now devoid of both Scylla’s crystalline enhancements… and her Cutie Mark, for that matter. She actually was fairly plain as batponies went without all the modifications: black fur, black mane, and pale yellow eyes that looked out emptily, the large eyelids only opening and closing by reflex. 

Much like her, her followers everywhere around the city collapsed here and there, empty, the visible silhouettes of their souls converging towards the top of the pyramid from which Huitzilopochtli was dragging them, forming a bubble of coalesced souls.

Then, it stopped, the sound of the shockwave still echoing around the air. The soul bubble rose up in the sky until it met the Sun God’s artificial sun, and both popped, dispersing into thin air.

For a few seconds that felt like eons, complete silence hung over the city as Atzi panned her eyes over the remaining militia troopers and sailors. The artificial sunlight faded away, revealing the warpaint adorning her fur that glowed like moonlight.

“Judgment… has been dished out.” She announced solemnly.

Below her, the flow of magic vapors out of the pyramid had shifted, decreased in intensity, shifting from the aggressive reddish hues it had to golden.

All the troops around the main pyramid immediately raised their guns towards Atzi. Dilip rose to his paws shakily, using Artyom for support after downing three potions in quick succession.

“Now I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish here, and thank you for getting rid of them… but you’re surrounded and alone.” Dilip proclaimed. “Surrender. We have this city on lockdown. We control the accesses. It’s ours now.”

“Is it, really?” Atzi didn’t falter from having hundreds of guns pointed her way. She even grinned. “El Tajin rightfully belongs to Los Lobos.”

“More like La Loba. Come now, step off Mikhail and leave. You’re on your own. We defeated your goons once, we can do it twice.” Dilip declared, managing to put up a facade of confidence in spite of the pain.

“Doubt it.”

In hindsight, they really should have seen it coming given she was known for having wolf-dogs – altered Diamond-Dogs- under her service.

In practice, none of them spotted the ambush as scores of wolf-dogs sprang out from tunnels they had been digging under El Tajin for the better part of the battle, surprising the already weary troops while jaguar warriors converged onto those few that remained on overwatch outside. They came at them from all directions, weapons raised and shouting at them to drop theirs… which unfortunately for Dilip soon cascaded in an entire assault force dropping their weapons one after another with much reluctance.

Atzi put a paw on her hip cheekily.

“It is I that should be enforcing the terms of your surrender, as I’m aware.” She commented, beckoning Mikhail to slowly crawl down the pyramid until the feral dragon’s maw lay no more than a meter away from the wounded Dilip.

He wrinkled his truffle at the smell. Smoke and sulphur. Unkempt dragon.

“Congrats. You picked off the stragglers after the battle. Clever, but not very classy.” Dilip refused to falter despite the towering purple dragon and ever-taller wolfess looking down upon him. “Bet your gods will be real happy with the sacrifices.”

The ground rumbled. With loud and deliberate thuds marking each of its steps, the statue of Xolotl’s avatar lumbered over to them after emerging from behind a ridgeline.

“They already are.” Atzi bowed her head at the arrival of the statue. “Now Captain, much as old me would have loved to see your likeness culled from these parts of Mexico, you happen to be fortunate enough that our Blessed Lord Xolotl showed me the value in reason and temperance.” She said, digging a paw into one of the pouches along Mikhail’s saddle and pulling out a thin notebook.

She caressed a finger over its leathery surface, almost sensually so as she looked at Dilip who had managed to keep standing without Artyom’s support.

“Consider this the terms of your surrender and withdrawal from this city. Far too few are left in this world to needlessly throw away lives when such can be avoided.”

“Do tell.”

Atzi looked annoyed. Off to the side, Xolotl’s statue rumbled slightly. Amusement?

“This… is the peace treaty that you...” She wasn’t looking at Dilip. Samuel had just arrived, the militia commander looked no less exhausted from all the fighting than Dilip was. “… will see delivered to Carmelita in Coatzacoalcos. It contains every detail regarding the separation of the state of Vera Cruz in a Northern and Southernentity along the latitude of Cordoba. Neither of our factions desires further wars that would benefit none. You will vacate El Tajin and return to your own territory. And as a token to ensure the treaty is respected, we will take Captain Prateek in our custody, to be returned at a later date when all troops are back on their own turf.”

“Captain Prateek is in no shape to be taken prisoner!” Artyom rumbled defensively, taking a step forward. “He requires medical attention. Right. Now.” The blue dragon bared his fangs on the last word, a fierce look in his red eyes.

Atzi visibly rolled her eyes and waved a paw, the lunar warpaint on her fur surging up with magic. Dilip felt a wave of invigoration wash over him.

“I will personally ensure to take care of your precious Captain, stand down. Any harm that would befall him would instantly void the peace treaty, as you will read.” She said, tossing the notebook over to Samuel who caught it deftly.

“Fancy seeing orderly paperwork come from former sicarios. But I can’t agree.” Dilip grunted.

A crowd of sorts had started to amass near them. Wolf-dogs leading groups of prisoners and ensuring none were armed. A couple jaguar warriors picking through the remains of the Four Horses and gathering the soulless bodies left behind. Some more that were vigilantly eyeing the wounded as they were being tended to.

“Really now?” Atzi quirked her head. “I did say no harm would come to you, so say I, in my honor in front of my own sworn deity.”

“I cannot agree to terms that don’t see Mikhail returned to us.” Dilip replied near-instantly, looking at the dragon in question that the wolfess was using as a mount.

Which in and of itself spoke volumes about how large he had grown in the last few days, being large enough to comfortably support a rider large enough to rival a short minotaur.

“Is that really so important?”

“We don’t get Mikhail back, I don’t come along. I don’t come along...” He shrugged. “No peace treaty. The WSU will not leave a sailor behind. Cursed or not cursed.”

The High Priestess turned her head toward the giant dog statue that had been observing silently through glowing magic eyes. She beheld its gaze for a few seconds before nodding. Relenting it looked like even.

“Very well then.” She slowly said, dismounting from the dragon and approaching Dilip. “But if we’re starting to negotiate like that, we want something as well.”

Even dismounted she was far taller than Dilip, and Diamond-dog instincts towards females – wolf-dog or not-didn’t help one bit in maintaining his posture. He found himself curling up his lip and arching his back ever so slightly.

“And what would that be?”

She glanced pointedly towards the ground where Dilip’s severed forearm lay.

“The sword. Its magic has garnered Lord Xolotl’s curiosity and it may so happen its powers make it of special interest to our faith. You relinquish the artifact, you get your dragon back.”

“Remove his curse and transformation and that’s a deal.”

“No.” A deep, cavernous voice rumbled from Xolotl’s statue.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You may beg indeed.” A chuckle like rocks grinding against each other before the magic glow in the statue’s eye sockets turned more serious. “For I will not remove a curse that is but a due punishment. Nor will I allow any of my priests and clerics to do so. Mikhail, though he is not in any state to actually comprehend his own predicament, deserved every bit of this curse when he chose to insult me before one of my own temples.”

Wouldn’t stop them from trying. Dilip knew Aleksei was just around there somewhere ready to whisk the dragon off to that Otherworld of hers the moment she got the opportunity.

“Oh, I do know you will * try *, but you’ll find curses bestowed by a God are a ways away from the mere inconveniences a witch, shaman, or even medicine man would use. Your friend may return by your side, but as far as I and my followers are concerned, his curse stays.”

Dilip blinked.

“Are y-”

“Aye. A means of ensuring no treachery or lie puts a stain on these negotiations.”

Dilip scowled, but bit back a retort that would have done nothing but garner the ire of Xolotl. Instead, he turned back towards Atzi, the wolfess still looming over him, casually brushing a speck of dirt off her golden breastplate.

“So this is it then?” He cocked his head to the side. “A dragon for a magic sword. Me, for peace in Vera Cruz. Why me, if I may ask?”

Not like the militia’s commander wasn’t right beside him. Somehow following the conversation despite not knowing a word of English.

Probably a spell Aleksei had cast earlier. He craned his neck… there she was, tending to the wounded with her magic.

“You really need to ask?” Atzi threw her head back and let out a howl of laughter. “You’re valuable. I can smell Carmelita on you, she wouldn’t dare to do anything so long as you’re in our custody. Nor would your precious sailors.”

He had Carmelita’s scent on him?

No no no… wait...

Atzi knew Carmelita’s scent? Carefully, Dilip threw Xolotl’s statue a side-glance. It looked… amused, but didn’t comment on Atzi’s slip or his reaction to it. Dilip did his best to remain stone-faced, or as close to it as one could with a severed arm and half a dozen vials of potion in his bloodstream.

“Do we have a deal, then?” Atzi pressed.

Dilip threw a look at Samuel. The Abyssinian leading the militia had been going over the terms written down in the notebook.	The feline nodded curtly.

Then he felt a paw tap his shoulder. Not Artyom that had been by his side for the last few minutes – and the dragon looked none too happy about Dilip * actually agreeing * to be captured-, but Roberto. The Intel Officer looked no less concerned than Artyom was, if less disgruntled and more willing to admit to it.

“Something the matter?”

“Sir, you’re injured.”

Dilip looked down at his stump.

“I’m aware, yes.” He stated with surprising detachment.

“You need medical attention. If we could get you back to Rhine Forest, Doc Delacroix might be able to reattach it. If you go with them...” He trailed off looking at Atzi with a scowl, the feline’s tail lashing behind him. “… you lose that chance. Health potions can regrow limbs when applied properly...”

“… but it will take months. At best.” Dilip finished.

“More than a year if you account for ingredient scarcity.”

The Captain made a face, but he didn’t step away from Atzi.

“Sir?”

“I’m afraid it’s a sacrifice that will have to be done Roberto.” He sighed. “Me being off-balance for a year probably isn’t much of a loss compared to what we would gain from Vera Cruz being at peace for the foreseeable future.”

Atzi smirked.

“Glad we’re seeing eye to eye.”





A frustrating conclusion to all the battles and conflict they had waged. Dilip himself loathed to see them forced to put down their guns like that, but at that point their forces hadn’t been in any shape to keep up the fighting.

It was with a sinking feeling in his gut that he watched the vehicles form up in a convoy and leave El Tajin… without him. And he damn well knew Alejandro and Schmitt would be asking for some explanations behind the decision as soon as he was back among them.

For now… there he sat on the steps near the top of the main pyramid after a jaguar warrior had come with some bandages and healing salve for his stump, his whole right side feeling eerily empty without his arm. Out in the distance, there was a flash of light as Aleksei conjured up a portal to the Otherworld when they reached the edge of the city and led Mikhail inside.

Then the rest of the troops faded from sight behind a ridgeline, headed back to Tùxpam to re-embark on Rhine Forest.

He heard some steps behind him, then the weight of Atzi’s paw as she put it on his shoulder, sitting down beside him.

“You’ve made the right decision. Mexico benefits more from this than our two factions wiping each other out.”

“You do know us sailors are part of another group entirely?”

“Yes, I also know you benefit immensely from having the refinery in operating condition to refuel your ships.” Atzi paused, looking down at a group of wolf-dogs gathering the soulless bodies of the Four Horses’ followers on cots under a tent. “And look on the bright side. You doing this for the sake of peace in Vera Cruz lets you renegotiate a better deal with the refinery.”

“How kind of you...” Dilip drawled.

“Oh, I could never be mean to a cute pup like you.” The wolfess let her paw trail down his back and laughed when he scooted away.

“So… what are you going to do with these bodies?” He quickly asked, pointing a finger at the soulless bodies.

“Put some souls in them for a start.” Atzi explained. “Look at these canisters we found near the wards’ anchoring point over there… It’s pretty certain now these culeros had been using Huitzilopochtli’s power to tear the souls out of some of the returnees they captured. Soul-powered batteries. My guess would be that either their bodies were destroyed in the process or your goons blew them up when they got rid of the thralls.”

“We didn’t really have a choice you know.”

“I know. That wasn’t an accusation.” She paused. “We just so happen to have the spare bodies to shove the souls in. It will take a fair few rituals to do it, but all those souls will have bodies again. Not the ones they started with, I’ll give you that, but you make do with what you get.”

“I count less bodies than canisters.” Dilip noted.

“Good thing these cultists had females on their team then.”

He whipped his head towards her in surprise.

“You can’t be serious. You can’t be serious. That’s...”

The ethics… the morals… it was just all wrong. To put errant souls in that predicament...

“Lo digo en serio. Anything would be an improvement on their situation.Sacrifices have to be made. You should know that. You spend over a year short an arm, they’ll spend a couple months bearing the burden.” She stared back, completely straight-faced, before standing up. “Come now, my subordinates should be about done setting up camp. We’ll get you settled for the time being before the celebrations start. The cultists are defeated after all.” She smiled.

That got Dilip to halt mid-step.

“You know the name of their group? The Four Horses?” He pointed with his one remaining paw at where Night’s soulless body lay on a cot. “You killed one. That leaves three of them, the demon leading them, and another demon and its own cult entirely.”

Atzi swore.





Rodrigo would have been lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t awed at the sight of the little realm of floating islands inside of Starswirl’s tower. But he was the Bearer of Integrity, and lying really wasn’t part of his modus operandi.

As it stood, the wizard offered to meet him two days after their initial arrival and invited him for tea on some verdant garden island inside the realm. It was connected to the main island with the tower via a narrow stone bridge that arched over the void, leading up to a gazebo via a small path through dense but colorful bushes with topiaries and various beds filled with all kinds of shrubs, flowers and creeping vines supported by brass meshes. All that vegetation masked the swirling expanse of the void inside the pocket dimension except for the sky, a stark reminder the place was as far from natural as could be.

Nevertheless… quaint.

“Pleasant little place.” Rodrigo commented as he sat down across from the wizard as he was pouring the tea, the wicker stool creaking slightly under his weight.

Though it felt a bit unsettling to hear the translated echo of his voice as the wards did their job making their conversation possible. It seemed like Starswirl liked fiddling with different variants of translation enchantments out of curiosity. At least that’s what Rodrigo assumed.

He wasn’t wearing the armor he usually traveled in, having instead opted for a thick wool sweater he’d traded for some supplies the day prior, along with something that looked like a cross between a caparison and the back end of a horse blanket with a couple of pockets which turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. As for Starswirl, the wizard in equine form had stuck to his usual cloak and hat, as if that ever changed.

“I rather like it, yes. I find it very relaxing to lounge here after a long day, enjoying a corporeal form.” Starswirl casually cast a cooling spell on his steaming cup of tea and took a sip. “You’d be surprised at the quality of some of the plants Meadowbrook can grow here in Trecesson. We don’t have the entire scope of teas, but it’s rather decent.”

“The tavern is well-stocked I’ll give you that.” Rodrigo raised his own cup in his telekinesis but quickly set it back down after scalding his tongue. “The local brews were pretty good too.”

“I take it you two didn’t have as many problems with our settlers as you had with the guards?”

He shook his head.

“No we didn’t, thankfully. So that’s it now? You’re over calling me an imbecile?”

“Are you over your pride and ready to make amends with the guards?” Starswirl deadpanned, earning a flat look from the knight unicorn. “I figured as much.”

“Pleasantries aside, can we get to why you wanted to see me? My point still stands that Trecesson has no use for the likes of Veillantif and I, and it’s probably better if we went back on the road soon.” He said.

“About that… As you know, it will be some time before Martin is anywhere near ready to complete his training, and the Elements were only ever supposed to be used as a group. Not much power behind them on their own, which I figure is part of the reason behind tying them to select artifacts.” Star explained. “It’s always hard to grill Concord on anything, he’s too...” The wizard made a rolling motion with his hoof.

“Young?”

“Well he was planted a couple months ago, so despite the size of his tree it’s understandable. But I do believe his sister in Equestria, that he has a bond with, coaxes him into being more… evasive, you could say, than is strictly necessary.”

“And once we get to your point?”

“I managed to obtain some details from him regarding the identity and location of an Element Bearer. Emphasis on some.”

“So now you want me and Veillantif to find him. Her. Implying it’s not anywhere near here.”

“Thankfully, it’s still in Europe.” Starswirl admitted. “I already pieced together the geographical clues. You said you were heading East after coming here?”

“We’re in Brittany, I can’t exactly go much further West.”

“True.” Starswirl calmly sipped his tea. “As the clues go, you’re looking for the Bearer of Benevolence. Blue. And he or she should be somewhere along the Balkan side of the Adriatic.”

“That’s quite the walk.”

“You’re the one who chooses not to stop and fix up a vehicle. Sky carriages and temporary wings potions are a thing you know.”

“Mind you I actually enjoy taking the scenic route.”

“Do you?”

“You get used to it. We’ll check out the Croatian coastline, then. Any further hints?” Rodrigo leaned forward, brushing his goatee with the tip of a hoof.

“It goes as such ‘A tale of two lovers, a hidden pearl fallen in a harsh world, an outstanding name, seek out the forsaken bastion for the weapon that fails-naught’.”

“You were right, that is as vague as it gets.” Rodrigo blinked.

“Indeed. It’s not hopeless however. Even back in my time, many knights on a quest took a liking to the Adriatic – for a good reason actually-, so it’s not impossible that you’re looking for the ruins of a keep where one of them whisked off his belle.” Starswirl shrugged. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if that was a knight I knew before my passing. They did go there quite often back in the day.”

“Yes, but are you up to snuff as to what happened in the Balkans in the centuries that followed?” Rodrigo pointed out.

“It can’t be that bad.”

“History begs to differ.”

Starwirl’s ear twitched in curiosity. There were a couple books he’d have to borrow from Rockhoof’s history collection, it sounded like.

Rodrigo finally tasted his tea, the liquid now cool enough.

“I think we can manage, but don’t expect to see us back here too soon if we’re going that far.”

“Oh but I’m not sending you two out empty-hooved.” Starswirl quickly said, lighting up his horn and summoning a canvas-bound package from somewhere in his tower. Noticing the look of mild interest in Rodrigo’s eyes, he decided to clarify. “I made you a scrying mirror linked to one in my tower, plus… I couldn’t help but notice your knowledge of magic is fairly basic. There’s a small notebook in there with some common spells you’ll have some use for on the road, and exercises to build up your mana stores.”

“Thanks I gu-”

But Rodrigo didn’t get to finish his reply. A sharp ringing cut off their conversation, and instantly Starswirl was on his hooves conjuring up his magic.

“What’s wrong?”

“Long range wards I keep on the lookout for major magical events...”

“You mean like when those sailors had a battle in Mexico? They got the news over the radio in the tavern.”

“Like that… but Mexico is way too far for the wards to pick that up, even if that was reawakening a bloody God. Blood God.” He swiped his hoof in the air and a streak of magic and runes appeared out of thin air. “Mine only keep an eye on Europe.” He paused, scowling at the runes as they streamed in front of him.

His horn blinked and the flow stopped, Starswirl scowling at the runes for several seconds before his eyes widened.

“Disco- no… It feels like him but it’s different… and that essence?” He mumbled, stroking his beard. “Her? That far West? Why?”

“Details?”

Starswirl whirled around on his hooves to face Rodrigo.

“Your journey might just have become that much harder I’m afraid.” He started solemnly. “Baba Yaga has just crossed the Vistula River, and she has a draconequus along.”
> Chapter 118: Missed it by *that* much.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere up in the heights of Canterlot, a quill dropped, suddenly released from a purple telekinetic grasp out of sheer surprise. In the confines of the Royal Library, Princess Twilight turned away from the piles of heavy tomes she was consulting to look down at Starswirl. And she needed to, in her few years on the throne, the alicorn had already grown to two thirds of Celestia’s height.

“That’s impossible.” She stated firmly.

“I hate to break it to you like that, Princess, but my detection spells confirmed it across three different kinds of magic. There is a draconequus on Earth...” Starswirl trailed off, looking up at a painting above a bookshelf depicting the original fight of Luna and Celestia against Discord.. “… and I would very much appreciate some information as to how that even happened.”

Twilight gave pause, gauging the old wizard’s features. Funny really, the expression was an almost exact match for when Celestia used to do the same.

“Starswirl, I’m certain of what I’m saying here. You and I both worked on creating the ritual, and for all the nations and races involved adding all the racial matrices to the process, I am positive that at no point in time did we add the possibility of humans coming back as draconequii.” Twilight explained. “That would be far too dangerous, and given the situation over there I’m certain that’s not what they need... How goes your progress by the way?”

“Slow but steady. I just sent off a bearer to fetch another. Give it a month or two and we should be at three out of seven. The humans seem to be giving the demons’ followers a good fight too, they’ve been earning victories here and there. But please, can we get back to the topic at hoof?” He pressed. “If it can’t be a human, then who is that draconequus? Last I checked both Discord and Eris were on Equus, and they were the last of their species.”

And given how husband and wife were actively avoiding each other… more so the former... no chance to see a change in that anytime soon.

Twilight tapped a hoof against her chin, thinking.

“Well, maybe if humans were deserving of all those races the ritual made it possible to return as, it would only be fitting that they get their two draconequii too.” A voice above them commented offhoovedly.

His voice.

Simultaneously, both Starswirl and Twilight turned their eyes towards the painting on the bookshelf where the little Discord had come to life, its fight against the two alicorns momentarily interrupted whilst it poured itself some fizzing hot chocolate in a champagne glass.

“Discord...” Twilight intoned menacingly. “What. Have. You. Done!”

“A mere tweak in those great plans you and everyone drew, my dear.” He raised his glass in a posh manner, a monocle and bowler hat appearing on him. “If every race was deserving of being represented I don’t see why mine couldn’t.”

Starswirl opened his mouth to give a sharp retort to that, but Discord quickly zipped it shut with a flick of his claw.

“Don’t you fret. I did nothing to that ritual of yours. It isn’t my kind of magic and I don’t work with that. What I did was hoof-hand-claw-talon-pincer pick a suitable soul as it drifted around in the aetherium, pumped up the chaos magic and voilà!” He spread out his arms, tossing the chocolate-champagne which landed on the depiction of Celestia in the painting. “Earth gets its first agent of chaos. Well… sure, he-she sounded a bit confused, so I made sure to hand him-her to a proper teacher. Lovely old lady this Baba, I really like her house.”

“So does that mean Eris...” Discord visibly flinched at the mention of the one other remaining member of his species. “… picked a likeness too?” Twilight asked.

“She even made sure hers would get on as well as oil and water with mine, just like we do!”

	Starswirl finally managed to conjure up the proper spell and remove the zipper.

“Do you have any idea about the kind of chaos you just unleashed on Earth?!” He cried out, jabbing an accusatory hoof at the painting.

Discord gave him a blank look.

“Chaos is what I do.”

“Earth doesn’t need that! It never has! Never in their history have humans needed the likes of your kind to stir up the pot! They can do that just fine on their own!”

“Then it’s a good thing my likeness was human at one point.” Discord smirked and reached out of the painting with his claw to boop the wizard on the nose. “Don’t you worry. After all, if Lu-Lu and Celly can have their own pawns in the game through Sunset, Twily through you and I’ll pass all the others… it’s only fair that Eris and I set our own pieces on the board. Eris’ is still in the aetherium at that.”

“You handed one of the most powerful types of being Equus has ever known to the crone!” Starswirl stomped his hoof down. “And somehow that’s supposed to be fine? You tried to take over the world, what’s to stop a mortal you randomly gifted powers to from doing that, uh? When trained by a crone notorious for being unpredictable?”

Discord’s smirk widened.

“Then it’s a good thing Earth has its own set of Elements as well. Really, being petrified for a thousand years is a character-building event for our kind.” He said before the painting returned to its original state.

For a whole minute, Twilight and Starswirl stared at the now inert painting in complete silence before the Princess finally summed up the encounter.

“Oh horseapples...”





If anyone had tried to tell Lexington how far out of track his sentience experimentation on mice would stray, or even how much he would start to care for the little creatures, even as soon as weeks prior, he would have laughed in their face and walked on.

Life… as it stands… finds a way.

Maybe it was allowing crossbreeding across different batches of mice that caused this. Maybe it was their lack of understanding on thaumic exposure and the genetic cocktail of various races each little mouse carried.

Either way, the result was there: a skyrocketing increase in cognitive performance across most batches (save for the control group, obviously) of mice were seeing improvements on a daily basis, every single time they rolled out a new experiment to test them and prod a specific behavior.

Mirror test? Passed.

Mutual assistance and teaching? Passed.

Every single test that they could devise, the mice learned from on the first try, taught their brethren on the second, and ensured the entire group passed on the third. They were showing signs of a developing social structure, defined roles for each member of a pack, clear signs of near-constant communication and social reinforcements…

They still had a ways to go before they could truly be called sentient on a level comparable to humans (or maybe more accurately ponies and other post-Event creatures), but they were accomplishing in weeks what took humanity millions of years.

Gotta give credit to the little guys, they were on a roll.

More interestingly, not all changes were below the surface. Across the board, they were noting increases in size following a decreasing curve that according to their estimations would bring the mice to a size averaging at one foot in length after a dozen generations, along with increases in gestation time, decreases in clutch size and longer development time after each generation and each leap in cognitive faculties.

Going with that were more menial changes in appearance: a wider range of fur colors likely attributed to the pony DNA in their genes, more expressive features that went with the increased social activity, and even an increased number of joints and improved range of motion.

At that point it was actually hard to mistake the modified mice with their far smaller brethren in the control group up in the upper lab.

And yet… those weren’t changes Lexington was worried about. Curiously, given his character, he found himself caring more and more about the smart mice every time he went and inspected their cages, finding the little creatures give pause and look up to him with an air of reverence, some of them preening and trying to get his attention. It was like they saw him as a God.

He rather liked it, and soon enough started handing out treats to the ones he noted were performing the best in the testing, or exhibiting positive behavior towards their brethren. The recipients would then usually show off the treat to the others, maybe share a bit, but they always handled the little bits of candied corn with the utmost care.

Given circumstances like that, was it really that surprising the little guys warmed up the scientist’s usually cold heart?

Amelia was different. His pudgy assistant would gush over the mice, being more the type to cuddle them and comfort them whenever she was conducting examinations on them or just handling medical treatment. She just couldn’t stand that any of her precious mice be subjected to cruelty or discomfort in any shape or form.

Needless to say, scientific detachment was long lost among the two, and though Lexington noticed, he was too far down that lane to care.

Whichbecame a problem. Maybe not at first, but eventually it did lead up to issues with the duo who were so focused on their project that they failed to see it coming. The matter was, so much of their time wound up devoted to the mice that Lexington started to neglect his other projects, and inevitably when new iterations for exoskeletons and portable shield generators failed to be delivered in time, the higher ups came knocking.

And once it started, there was no stopping it. First it was just a visit with a stern reminder to abide by the schedule. Then more HPI agents than just Eko (whom they could manage) started snooping and an extra totally-not-suspicious assistant was assigned to their lab to ‘assist with development of exoskeleton tech’.

Ergo, no matter how many efforts Lexington and Amelia undertook, their little secret would eventually be unearthed from all the attention they were getting.

Did that cause Lexington to panic and act rashly?

Of course it did.

The Escape Pod protocol, as the folder was named in his files, was something he had accounted for not too long after the HPI facility went under lockdown and the Event happened. He just didn’t trust the Upper Echelon enough not to abuse its given powers, and having backup plans was a habit ingrained in his mind from a young age.

Which under normal circumstances should have meant he could reliably nab the supplies and equipment he would need and make a hasty exit. Were it only him, it might even have been the case. Grab supplies, stow a few shield generators and equipment on a VTOL, fly off in the sunset while throwing a diversion and never be heard from again.

The existence of all the mice and Amelia… considerably altered his thinking at the time. It was like he just had to ensure each and every one of the little genetically altered creatures would be safe.

What would have been done quietly and covertly… instead involved him hacking the mainframe to throw the entirety of the HPI’s North American facility into safeguard mode (thereby locking down most subsectors), hopping into his latest exoskeleton prototype, and having a gunfight with security personnel while Amelia was evacuating the mice and loading up one of the cargo VTOL’s in the hangar.

Predictably, he also got shot. Right as the ramp was closing and they were finally taking off, one stray round of .45 caliber that managed to find the gap between two armor plates and punctured his shoulder.

Amelia had looked at him in shock as the blood poured out on the floor. He could have sworn the mice huddled in their little cages along the walls of the cargo hold also looked shocked. He was reasonably certain he collapsed heavily as soon as the VTOL’s autopilot shifted into cruise mode and that Amelia rushed up to him.

Next thing he knew, was waking up on a cot laid out in the cargo bay, all bandaged up. A lone brown mouse had managed to escape its cage and was looking down at him worriedly, perched on his chest

With difficulty borne both of blood loss and all the painkillers coursing through his system, he reached up and scratched the rodent’s head with a finger. The little mouse turned around and gestured. Chittering erupted like a cheer around the cargo hold.

Forward in the craft, in the cockpit, Amelia finished inputting the data into the autopilot, finally convinced their former colleagues hadn’t sent out fighters after them.

They had the shield generators. They had the supplies, the equipment.

And there was an abandoned nuclear silo waiting for them in Missouri.





Aleksei hadn’t wasted her time middling around in the material world once Mikhail was recovered. As soon as the ‘negotiations’ were concluded, Dilip placed into custody (much to the irritation of the WSU folks) and the troops were out of El Tajin, she was gathering up stray stones and assembling a quick ritual circle to whisk the feral dragon away to the Otherworld for treatment.

She and Mikhail weren’t alone however. Pavlos had insisted on coming along, saying Mikhail being his best friend he had to come and make sure everything went well for the cursed dragon. Aleksei didn’t so much mind the fact that he was coming, as she did the fact that it left Rhine Forest missing one of her two bosun, and the other one being a de-aged griffon chick.

That said, Pavlos was the one who would have to give a damn proper explanation for his departure, not her, and truth be told Mikhail did deserve a fellow shipmate to be there for comfort. So she decided to humor the gargoyle, albeit only after going off on a lengthy tirade about the inherent dangers of the Otherworld and the necessity to only ever act with the utmost caution while in there.

It didn’t deter him. At all. A minute later the portal was opening up and they left the material realm, leaving behind the troops to continue their way back to Rhine Forest.

Them? They had an appointment with a certain Celtic God of knowledge named Oghma in his realm… which in itself stood out from what she would have expected from a knowledge divinity.

A library, she would have expected.

Some sort of sanctuary for rare tomes and relics, maybe.

A forest? That caught Aleksei off guard.

Where Epona’s realm was a flat grassy plateau fit for equines of all types with its unique quality being that it was raised above the surrounding realms with sheer cliffs and that its size could change at any given time… Oghma’s choice of realm took a more mysterious approach.

It wasn’t so much a forest as an undetermined amount of clearings, each perfectly circular with a line of standing stones at the edge marking the border between clearing and forest… if that wasn’t already obvious enough. The clearing they appeared in was warm and welcoming: emerald grass that shimmered and swayed in a nonexistent breeze under a warm artificial sun hovering above the realm yet below the Otherworld’s customary eldritch skies.

The forest was the opposite. Dark, foreboding. The trees were gnarly, twisted, with branches that interlaced to cut off any sight line further into the forest that the thorny shrubs hadn’t already blocked.

And the twist? The latter was the part you couldn’t access. There was no traveling outside of the clearings. The key to getting around were the standing stones, the main repository of knowledge in the realm. Each was covered in glowing Oghams – the original Celtic script Oghma had invented and which warranted him his domain-, the simplistic runes telling different stories on each stone, and each clearing grouping them up by a more or less distinct theme.

The trick was the leaps in logic. Need to get anywhere? Each clearing had its theme – of which there were likely thousands in the entire forest- and to reach it you only needed to step between two standing stones that had a link to said theme.

Problem being… the link could just as easily be explicit as implicit. And require prior knowledge of cultures dating back two thousand years. You could step between two stones that were talking about a smith’s tale and that of a legendary weapon expecting to arrive in the ‘smithing’ clearing… only to wind up in the ‘grief’ clearing because the theme was prevalent in both tales.

As Aleksei would put it? Like browsing a wiki with all its links randomized.

Of course it wasn’t just clearings and standing stones. Most clearings had one feature or another occupying their center. A couple libraries and archives in which the denizens of the realm – elusive shadows of druids long dead- milled about consulting tomes and spending their afterlife enriching their knowledge. Ritual circles like the one they first appeared in. A couple with cottages for visitors and this or that depending on the theme of the clearing – which was never told explicitly-.

It took over eight hours for Aleksei and Pavlos to finally find a way to the core of the realm, the artificial sun that hovered above the forest and lit up each clearing. It was hollow, containing a small palace with a throne room in which Oghma and several other celtic patrons of knowledge like Ecne met with denizens of their and other realms in what Pavlos succinctly summed up as ‘a cross between a banquet, a poetry festival and a scholarly convention’.

	Given how eclectic appearances could be in the Otherworld… made it exceedingly hard not to stare and garner the ire of entities that would have made Mikhail’s curse look benign. 

The dragon didn’t seem to give much of a care. Ever since he was thrust back in their care, he was just calmly padding behind them, still wearing the saddle Atzi had been using. His sheer size drew looks of curiosity when they finally entered the palace and awkwardly walked over to Oghma’s throne.

Oghma… didn’t look much like a knowledge god. The Sun-Faced Strongman as he was sometimes called, he was more of a fit for the ‘A healthy mind in a healthy body’ concept than a pure erudite, being a humongous humanoid figure wearing a simple tunic and pelts. Humanoid being the keyword there: shoulders too broad, hips too narrow, head too large, arms too long, eight fingers instead of ten, and an almost orange skin tone that glowed as though it was struggling to contain the fire of Oghma’s fiery jovial personality. His face was the most notable detail: glowing softly, like a faint sun that made it hard to discern his features yet somehow left little doubt behind his state of mind.

Sun-Faced indeed.

And when they finally reached the throne, they found him talking with none other than Morvarc’h, the demigod recanting his progress in refloating the City of Ys, much to the interest of the nearby crowd. He stopped his tale the moment he took note of Aleksei to embrace her in his hooves, introducing her to Oghma in a very enthusiastic fashion.

It wasn’t very hard to convince him.

Minutes later, a group of Oghma’s servants led Pavlos and Mikhail to a clearing where they’d see about breaking the dragon’s curse. As for Aleksei, the God invited her to his table and asked her to regale him with her tale and what led up to Mikhail’s fate.

Jovial as he was – and it seemed like he took great pride in being a good host-, she couldn’t help but notice the concerned frown on his features when she finally left the throne room with Morvarc’h. Whether that was about her geas of regaining her masculinity or Mikhail’s curse… or both…

That detail didn’t stick in her mind long once she and Morv’ went back to the clearings while the curse breakers were at work. He led her to a nearly deserted clearing with a couple log cottages, and once they got going… there was little she could think of but the large stallion that had his eyes on her.

Which made it all the harder once things wound down and she tried to explain the full extent of her geas to Morvarc’h. It didn’t seem to worry him overly much. When they separated and he opened the portal to head back to his own affairs, he just smiled dashingly.

‘And what if you didn’t have the geas?’ He had said before vanishing.

The question still lingered within her mind by the time she met back with Mikhail and Pavlos and the trio headed back the way they had originally come.

In fact it weighed so heavily on her mind that it was only they hopped through a portal back to the material world that she noticed two details:

One, while Mikhail was talking and seemed back to his original intellect… he was still a feral quadruped dragon, if slightly smaller… and still wearing a saddle with Pavlos as his rider… with the Greek somehow chatting in Ukrainian with the dragon he was riding.

Two, and that was far more concerning, was that they hadn’t teleported back to Mexico. Steep hills, dark green pines and decrepit villages. She spotted a road sign.

“Einbahnstraßen?” She read. “Where the fuck are we?”

They had gone into the Otherworld somewhere near El Tajin.

She had tried to have them come out close to Coatzacoalcos.

Mortals never were supposed to use the Otherworld for travel.





To their credit, Los Lobos were true to their word when they said no harm would come to Dilip while he was in their custody. It took three days before a jaguar warrior came back with the news that he would be led back to Cordoba where a meeting would take place.

In the span of those three days, he saw the wolf-dogs and jaguar warriors proceed with bringing all their resources over to the ruins of El Tajin and begin the lengthy process of tearing down what the Four Horses had built and replacing it with proper structures, temples, and even warrens for the wolf-dogs.

Dilip was forced to concede, maybe they weren’t quite the savages some accused them of being.

And maybe there was a chance the peace would last longer than what the peace treaty initially enforced, though that was a bit of a stretch and would heavily depend on how they ‘modernized their faith’, so to speak.

On the one paw, they were an inherently aggressive faction with a core composed of former sicarios with their own distinct breeds of species thanks to their gods altering their form upon swearing fealty. That could be very dangerous.

On the other paw… something he noted while Atzi kept him closeby wherever she went was that they sort of were forcing a nomadic faction to settle down and take up heavy work on a lengthy project, and with the settling down… A least half a dozen times he saw couples come up to Atzi asking for her benediction.

Pregnancies, it seemed, were even more of a problem to her workforce than it was to the WSU’s. And that could be something that forced them to tone it down with the violence in the long run. 

That… and another detail that might deter them from attacking the refinery anymore.

Atzi was very insistent that Dilip remain by her side while he was in her custody, despite the fact she could just as easily have ordered one of her subordinates to keep him in a cell in the warrens. In part, it was a diplomatic effort to have him vouch for them when he got back to Coatzacoalcos.

She also was unable to keep her paws off of him. He didn’t stay in a cell, he stayed in her chambers. And every single time the two wound up alone, she would make advances on him. Did he refuse?

Well… not really. Sure she was the proverbial big bad wolf, towering above him with gleaming yellow eyes, fur dark as the night and glowing fur paint that towered above him wherever they went. Buuut she also had the same kind of proportions that had made it so easy for Carmelita to lure him in.

Which, in hindsight, really made it look like the Mumbai-born dog was developing a streak for fiery latinas made all the more fearsome by the fact females were that much larger and more assertive among both D-dogs and their lupine cousins.

That was just about how he wound up being spooned by the priestess while the two caught their breath after the act, deep within the new warrens dug under El Tajin in a chamber that now reeked of musk. She had an arm wrapped over his chest, his head resting on her breasts like they were pillows (and they were bigger than his head) while she casually rested her chin on the top of his head after nibbling his ear.

The mildest she had done that night. Good thing Dilip’s bronze fur could hide the bite marks or his colleagues might question the part where no harm would come to him.

Atzi’s paw ran circles on his fur. His leg kicked slightly.

“Not bad for a small one-armed pup.”

“I’m not small. You are huge.” He pointed out.

The nibbling on his ear turned into a playful bite followed by a lick.

“Lots of cheek coming from someone in your position.”

“Good thing you like that then.”

Atzi paused, then rested her chin against his head again.

“That I do.”

She shifted slightly in the bed, pulling Dilip closer to make sure the pup was close, holding him much like one would an overly large plush toy. Dilip had already felt small back when he slept a few times with Carmelita, but Atzi was something else. Lying on top of her, only his legs touched the mattress between her thighs.

Carmelita…

Feeling Atzi’s breathing slow, Dilip decided to speak up before she could fall asleep.

“Back after the battle… you said you knew Carmelita’s scent? You met her?”

He felt the wolfess tense.

“I met her? Of course I have. Before the Event too. Took me a while to figure out it was her – him rather- when I first saw her with my own eyes, but there’s no mistaking it.”

“So you two knew each other from before? Well… that doesn’t happen often unless folks come back in the same vehicle.”

“We did not. It’s her picking Abuela’s name as her new one and keeping the same job as before the Event that clued me in.” Atzi sighed. “Fate just seems to have a twisted sense of humor sometimes. The species some turn into. What they come back as. Two sisters winding up leaders of opposing factions.”

“Sisters? Really?”

“Brothers by birth, sisters by Event.” Atzi mumbled a saying in Spanish. “To be fair I also had two sisters, but Diego was my little brother. He was the youngest, and I, the eldest.”

Dilip blinked.

“I don’t get it. Why would you attack the refinery then if you’re siblings? I’ve had issues with my brothers but I never mustered an assault force to destroy them.”

“Never gave the order to destroy, nor to have her killed. We wanted to capture the refinery.”

“Capture? By coming in all guns blazing?”

Atzi growled.

“Look, I wasn’t all right up in the head at the time. I didn’t want her killed, but it was still recently after I swore my fealty to Xolotl and became a wolf-dog. That stuff gets to your head you know? So...”

“Kill all who resist, subjugate the rest, but bring me their leader? Were you trying to act out the stereotypical zealot?”

He knew he’d struck a chord when she flipped him around to face her with a mild glare.

“Because of that battle, I will spend my afterlife toiling in the Underworld to help passing souls, for the act of needlessly throwing away the lives of my underlings. I will not hear any word from you about that, understood?”

Dilip met her glare head on and nodded. She set him back down and hugged him tightly against her breasts.

“I guess it’s also a bad case of sibling rivalry.”

“You said that already, and I’ll repeat it: never had that bad of a problem with my brothers.”

And him being the youngest meant he wound up with the lesser share of the cake, yet that never was a problem.

“Were they fucking ingrates?”

“Beg your pardon?” Dilip’s ear twitched.

“Dieg- sorry, Carmelita, she said she got to study in America before she came back, right?”

“She did.” He nodded.

“We… never were that rich of a family. It wasn’t too bad, but we were four siblings, and with that many of us, that’s no hope of sending any studying in a place as expensive as America.”

“You paid for her studies?”

Atzi laughed.

“No! Of course not! You know how expensive a degree is in America? But… well I guess it’s correct in part at least. I was the eldest. I had to work and help while the others were still kids. So… maybe I did a couple bad things to earn extra cash. Drive there, pick those guys up and don’t ask questions. Then it was breaking a couple fingers here and there. Then I had a gun in my hands to accompany a few trucks as they passed through the state.”

“All that for the family uh?”

She made a face.

“I would be lying if I didn’t buy a few things to make my life more comfortable with that, but most of it went to work on fixing up the house, a bit more meat in the pantry… and for my siblings, the evening lessons they’d need to get further. I didn’t send Carmelita to study in America, but I damn well made sure she had all the lessons she’d need to pass an exam and have her studies financed by PEMEX. Then when she came back and had her degree, she had the gall to look down on me and tell me off for what I’ve done!” Atzi ranted. “Me! If it weren’t for me she’d just be some cashier tending to a gas station in the ass-end of the state, but somehow I’m the bad guy – err, girl- in this story? I’ve seen less hypocrisy in politicians!”

Dilip chose not to say a word. She did have a point, sure, but it didn’t make her actions any better. It only made her sister’s attitude worse.





Talking about her sister that night had the effect of frustrating Atzi to the point that she kept Dilip up most of the night blowing off steam in the most primal manner available to both within the confines of her chambers, though now the Indian had an inkling of an idea she was also doing it to spite Carmelita by overriding her scent on him.

Not that he minded, but by the time a convoy picked him up and headed for Cordoba the next morning for the exchange, he knew he would need a couple days to fully recover. Atzi’s subordinates laughed knowingly when they noticed and slapped him on the back.

As for his colleagues and the locals that met them in the middle of the abandoned town – and with much armed escort, the meeting was tense-, they assumed his state meant he had it rough during those three days.

Not the same kind of rough, though he was thankful when Doctor Delacroix rode along with him in a unimog on the way back and gave him the long talk on what kind of treatment he should expect for his arm.

She had something for the phantom pain… but he would still spend over a year off balance, trying to catch his footing with a limb that wasn’t there anymore and generally having difficulties with anything from dressing up to brushing his fur.

Menial issues when compared to the state of things when he got back to the refinery. Funerary services to hold for those lost in the battle (of which they were thankfully few among the sailors, thanks to having used their potions sparingly prior, and the decision of using their pilots for medevac instead of fire-support), long recovery times for the several dozens of wounded across the fleet, the need to renegotiate the oil deal with the refinery workers after the battle…

And boy was that a sight to see when Carmelita took note of whose scent he had on him, she ranted on for hours inside her quarters after the meeting ended. But she had the same method of relieving stress as her sister, meaning a few more days of feeling sore all over added up to his tally.

And when her ranting was done, it was Lorelei that started some more, berating him for using dangerous magical weapons and putting himself in the line of fire where he had no business being…

Which wasn’t entirely untrue, but doing so, he soon noticed, had more than garnered the respect of both sailors and locals.

	Eventually it wasn’t so much repairs and additional work that held them up, but the impossibility of sailing out with too many wounded personnel, and the lack of a need for that. It was only three weeks later, when they received news from Fugro that the repairs on the offshore support vessel were done, that they said  their goodbyes to Coatzacoalcos and left port.

Their first port of call after that was back in Havana where they offloaded some fuel and extra supplies imported from Mexico for the locals, though the motive for their presence was more about regrouping the fleet, Rhine Forest’s auxiliaries encountering Fugro off the Cuban coast a day after their arrival, the freshly repaired ship’s hull gleaming from the fresh coat of paint that bore a streak of yellow across the funnel to match Amandine’s style…

And decks bristling with Bofors guns too.

Add another two weeks to the count to install 40mm mounts to Rhine Forest, some of the auxiliaries, and Amandine, and they were well into December by the time they finally stocked up on supplies, filled up the food stores…

… and headed back across the Atlantic.

With their growing list of personnel and equipment, the time had finally come for the WSU to set up and found their headquarters. And they already had the ideal spot picked out just for that, after weeks of back and forth arguing between all three captains and their crews.

The Maasvlakte.
> Chapter 119: Gotta make do with the cards you’re dealt… somehow...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“If you’re anywhere near Baba and the draconequus… just scram and avoid contact at all costs. You are * not * capable of dealing with threats of that level.” Starswirl said looking down into a bowl of water, the reflection showing none other than Rodrigo.

The Bearer and his… squire… destrier… whichever... were already gone and headed east by the time Starswirl had his meeting with Princess Twilight, but that didn’t stop him from scrying the duo as soon as he figured they had stopped to make camp.

“They’re that dangerous?”Veillantif asked, peeking above Rodrigo’s shoulder, momentarily taking his eyes off the stew he was making at their campsite.

“I… we don’t know. Baba has always been an unknown, and Discord implied the draconequus was indeed a human before, so neither can be predicted reliably. I can only tell we * suppose * they are master and pupil, and last time my long range spells sensed them they were somewhere in Poland, with a general westerly heading.”

“Any advice then?” Rodrigo inquired.

“As I said: avoid them at all costs. Back in Equestria… Discord...” He trailed off. “He plays nice, but it took a couple thousand years and multiple failed attempts at taking over the world before he calmed down and stopped abusing his powers. The Elements could deal with the one on Earth, but not without all Bearers.”

“And if we can’t avoid them?” Rodrigo’s ear twitched. “No offense to your intel, but for a Slavic witch it looks odd that she would keep going west when she’s already in Poland.”

Starswirl took on a serious look.

“I know it’s going to be hard, but swallow your pride and play nice if that happens. The single worst thing you two could do if you encounter her is to show disrespect. Lying I wouldn’t expect from the Bearer of Integrity, but you wouldn’t be the first knight – bogatyr in her case rather- she doesn’t take kindly to. Mind your manners, be humble and honest, you understand?”

“Yes. We’re still passing through Aachen for Veill’s sake, but we’ll make sure to steer clear of Poland when we recoup south towards the Balkans.”

The wizard took a pause to visualize the general path they would be following. The duo would have to pass through the Alps at some point, but given Rodrigo had already crossed one mountain range during his journeys he doubted another would pose that much trouble.

That said, depending on how long it took them they might wind up doing that in the dead of winter.

“Don Rodrigo? I know this is a sound plan, but please stay on your guard. Poland is already extremely far west for her, and given the nature of the draconequus accompanying her… I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re either gunning for you, or the Golden Tree. I doubt they would outright attack, but there is little chance we would benefit much if they’re to get involved. I don’t know if you’ll pass the mountains through Switzerland or Austria, but were I in your stead I would pick the former out of caution.”

“Then we will.” Rodrigo nodded. “It’s a ways away still, we’ll keep in touch. Can you update us on their heading?”

“No guarantee on that. Whatever they did to cross the Vistula, it was big, which makes me think the draconequus was behind it. Baba is notoriously harder to track down than that. If they slip up like that again, I’ll know, but knowing her she’ll make sure her apprentice doesn’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Better than nothing then. Thank you, we’ll call back in a few days once we’re past Paris.” Rodrigo concluded curtly before his horn blinked.

The scrying bowl shifted, and the water was once more just a shimmering surface. Starswirl turned his head towards the nearest window, from which he could see the expanse of his realm of floating islands, and a nearby one on which Martin was currently practicing, the little fawn balancing on his hind legs while holding his neophyte’s staff and casting several spells at once, holding up a bubble shield around him while multiple stones levitated around.

The kid was a natural at it, he had to give him that.

The stones wobbled. The shield flickered. With a cry of frustration, Martin lost his balance and released his magic. Starswirl saw him stomp his hoof against the pavement covering the floating island, but then he quickly regained his composure and was back at it.

Idly, Starswirl wondered whether he would have the time to train him until adulthood… or would he be forced to send a fawn out to save the world? Knowing what was out there?





Germany.

Honest to Gods (emphasis on the plural),Germany. She had triedto go from one end of a state to another in Mexico, and somehow their trio wound up exiting the Otherworld some fifty kilometers south of Stuttgart, nearly ten thousand kilometers off target.

When her spell tome said not to use the Otherworld for traveling, it really wasn’t kidding. Which made it all the more embarrassing because as Epona’s first cleric, Aleksei should have known better.

To make matters worse they hadn’t exactly popped out fully-geared, far from that. Pavlos and Aleksei were still very much weary from the battle in El Tajin, low on ammunition, and with none of the supplies they would have needed to comfortably last very long so far away from the fleet.

And no means of communication to reach a fleet that still was in Mexico at the time.

Needless to say… the next few days were a mess. None among the three spoke a single word of German, which was not too much of an issue when Aleksei could use a few tricks and cantrips to translate… but which became more of an issue when they wound up away from any colony with anyone to speak to.

Figuring out where they were to begin with took them an entire day of scouring nearby villages and flying around (Mikhail having to carry Aleksei around on his back given that even with spells, her wing was still broken) until they found an autobahn and gas station with the maps to pinpoint their location. And a bit of junk food to stave off the hunger… but only Pavlos’ and Aleksei’s. Mikhail had only shrunk slightly after being cured, but he was still a very large feral dragon, and he didn’t run on thin air and goodwill.

Cue another two hours to find a herd of cows grazing in a pasture at the bottom of a narrow valley, and then they were flying back to the nearest town where a freshly acquired guide from the gas station pointed to the location of a Decathlon store they were all too happy to gear up at… and set camp in.

No judging, the tents were already set up in there and it was getting dark with little time to find a house large enough to fit Mikhail in… and given the massive streak of blood the dragon left behind when he dragged a dead cow into the display space, it was probably better that they left that fate to a store’s concrete floor.

It was kind of a bizarre sight really. The display space in the store had been arranged so as to show off the tents around a fake campfire, complete with plastic trees, a couple paper-mache and all the completely unnecessary gear the store tried to peddle to newbie hikers. But beyond that were rows upon rows of shelves filled with sporting and camping goods lying in the darkness, and above, a thin corrugated steel roof with enough holes that birds had used it to nest on the beams supporting it.

The only source of light at this point was coming from the display area, where a large pile of gear had accumulated next to the tents after the trio’s arrival, and an even larger pile of clothes that Mikhail had piled up in an attempt to make a mattress large enough for his bulk.

It worked, partially. The large purple dragon now looked as though he was lounging on a hoard while loosely coiled around the campsite, the bronze spikes along his spine reflecting the light coming from the wind-up lights.

“So… what’s the plan now?” Pavlos plopped down onto a folding stool across from Aleksei as she watched her canned raviolis heat up on a portable gas stove. “We got gear, we know where we are. Where to now?”

The hippogriff furrowed her brows.

“Not really a matter of ‘where’ for now. We haven’t got all the gear we need.”

“What’s left then?” Mikhail’s guttural voice broke in, the dragon seemingly eager to turn away from his cow he had been poking at with a claw for a few minutes.

Looked like with his mind back, he wasn’t too eager to eat his meat raw.

“Comms.”

Pavlos threw her a look. She raised her claws.

“Yes, I know, we have our radios. You think that’s remotely close to calling the fleet in Mexico? Not even a HF could pull that off I reckon, we need a sat phone to contact them.”

“We’re in a freaking sports store with a camping section, don’t they have that?”

“We’re in a cheap store, you really expect them to pack a very specific piece of kit that can cost well over thousand euros? It’s doable to find some in port towns because all ships must have comms equipment, but your random German hiker?”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Pavlos conceded. “Know any store that would sell that?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe if we hit Stuttgart and start looking around we’ll find a specialized store. That would be our best chance. Or we find somewhere with people who would have some of those. An army base maybe, though it’s no guarantee their sat phones would connect to the Inmarsat and Iridium networks. A naval base would be better, but we’re a bit too far inland for that.”

“So it’s a needle in a haystack kind of thing.”

“Pretty much, yes.” She shrugged – wincing slightly due to her broken wing- before picking up her ravioli and digging into it with her multitool. “On the bright side, we know the Captains were planning to head back to Europe after a while. So as long as we can contact them, we’ll know where and when to expect them to regroup.”

“Al-right, sounds like a plan to me.” Pavlos nodded before letting his eyes drift over to where they had piled up some gear and their weapons. “The ammo though...”

“Please, it’s not like monsters are much of a bother so long that they don’t get the drop on us.” Aleksei rolled her eyes. “You have magic, I have magic that actively counters heavyweight monsters, and… well...”

“There’s me.” Mikhail chuckled, a deep rumble that sent puffs of smoke out of his nostrils.

“Yeah. Big guy over here can take care of a few himself.” She joked, setting down her – barely touched- ravioli.

“Tastes like shit doesn’t it?” Mikhail pointed out.

“Turd in a can.” She replied. “How’s the cow?”

“Cold as shit and I wish smoking could alter a dragon’s taste ‘cuz then I wouldn’t have to complain how bland it feels.” The large dragon lazily poked a claw through its rib cage. “Which is kind of amazing given how fresh it’s supposed to be.”

“Dragging it around in the sun for an entire afternoon does tend to spoil meat, yes.”

“I wish I could cook it.” Mikhail complained, then noticed the look Aleksei and Pavlos were giving him. “I said ‘cook’, not ‘turn it to ash’, I know I can breathe fire, thank you.”

He looked back at the dead cow and gave pause.

“To be fair, maybe it’s a trick I could learn.”

“Should.” Pavlos added. “I don’t think there’s anywhere I could find enough spices to help your case, buddy. Either you eat it raw as soon as you kill it, or you… master cooking until it comes as easily as you… breathe...”

Aleksei and Mikhail stared.

“Bad pun?”

“I give it a three out of ten.” Mikhail quipped.

“And I, two.” Aleksei shook her head in disapproval before letting her eyes linger over Pavlos. “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask...”

“What happened to...” Pavlos jabbed a thumb towards his dragon companion. “Cure Mikhail?”

“If that even ranks as a cure.” She said.

“It absolutely does.” The dragon in question snorted out some smoke.

“I hear you, but you’re still…” She gestured with a claw at his still significant size and very much quadrupedal form. “A feral? You barely have opposable thumbs anymore. So what happened in the Otherworld while I was with Morv’?”

Her two companions in misfortune remained silent for a few moments, exchanging looks until Mikhail gave a small, barely perceptible nod.

“The thing is… they couldn’t break Xolotl’s curse. Not really. The ‘cure’ is more of a workaround.” Pavlos started. “A God’s curse is no small thing… which is why Mikhail is still… like that. The curse is still there.”

“So what did they do, then?”

“Removed some of the spells that had accelerated his growth for one. That’s why he isn’t as big as he was when Atzi was using him as a mount.”

Which still left Mikhail a very large dragon, large enough that by Equestrian standards he was the equivalent size of some… late two-hundreds? He was roughly half again as tall as a regular horse, and over three times as long.

“Which, if I’m understanding correctly, doesn’t influence the ‘feral mind’ part in the curse. Correct?”

As soon as she said that, Mikhail took on a somber look and rested his head on his forelegs.

“It was horrible. I could see and feel everything I was doing, but I just couldn’t control anything.” He rumbled darkly. “It’s like being in a car speeding down the highway, there’s a drugged-up ape in the driver’s seat, but you’re tied up and forced to watch.” He threw Aleksei a look. “I’m sorry for what I did to your shipmates.” He tapped a claw against the side of his head. “The feral inside was like a cornered animal when it happened.”

“It’s sentient?”

“More like… every single instinct a dragon has, amped up to the n-th power and given free reins. It’s not an actual being.” He sighed. “I had to watch it fly around and behave like a mindless beast until it started flying towards Atzi’s location. My best guess would be that Xolotl told her and taught her a ritual to bind an animal to her will, because then it was those instincts’ turn to be caged, and from then on this body just acted like a docile little dragon that reacted to her mental commands. After that… It gets fuzzy. I’m not sure what they did, but I didn’t attack when she handed me over?”

Aleksei shook her head.

“You were… rather docile actually.”

“Maybe she passed on the imprinting then. Or it was just another spell. Would explain why it was all so fuzzy.”

“Doesn’t explain you getting your mind back.” Then she looked at Pavlos. “Or why you spoke Ukrainian when we first got here.” She added, looking expectantly at the gargoyle.

Pavlos stared right back, his blue eyes shining with a peculiar sheen in the dim light.

“Mikhail said it. The curse isn’t removed, just circumvented. As some of the druids in the Otherworld told me… it’s far too late to turn him back into a young, Equestrian dragon, and the mental aspect...” He winced. “Without intervention it would have been impossible for him to stay in control of his head.”

Aleksei leaned forward, picking up the implication.

“What kind of intervention?”

“I guess you could call it a symbiotic relationship. I ah… volunteered.” Pavlos made a face, then tugged one of his ears to show off a little discreet tattoo on the inside of it.

She recognized it instantly and swiveled around to give Mikhail a once over. As if on cue, the dragon lifted a wing, revealing a similar – if slightly large- tattoo on its membrane at the base.

“A soul bind.”

“Yes.” Pavlos nodded. “Like a mental anchor. So long that I stay in relative proximity of Mikhail...”

“I will be in control of my mental faculties.” The dragon completed. “If I stray more than a few hundred meters, I start to feel the instincts rise up. A kilometer, I become aggressive. Two, and no more Mikhail, just an angry feral.”

“That’s horrible.”

Mikhail growled suddenly, prompting her to jerk back.

“Anything is an improvement over my previous situation. Don’t get me wrong, I hate being stuck halfway between intelligent and animal, I hate not being able to get inside buildings comfortably, I hate being so large the only clothes that fit me are a fucking saddle...” He growled again, glaring at the pile of bags and leather in question that Pavlos had removed once they made camp. “...but beggars can’t be choosers. Pavlos puts his mind on the line making sure I can have mine by volunteering for this while the druids themselves admitted they didn’t know the full extent of the ritual. Maybe it comes with side effects for the both of us, some we have yet to discover. But I don’t know many people on the planet ready to make such sacrifices for anyone.”

“Few people left as there are, when you got a friend that came back with you which you care about, it’s more than worth the sacrifice for me.” Pavlos reassured.

“A sacrifice I’ll forever be thankful for.”

“And those side effects?” Aleksei pressed.

Pavlos glanced towards Mikhail. The dragon looked away and closed his eyes.

“Show me a number with your claws.” Pavlos asked. “Come on.”

Quickly, she raised two talons.

“Two.” Mikhail said.

She closed her claw and picked another number.

“Three.”

...

“One.”

...

“Four.”

A mental bond, that was the main side effect. Shared dreams, a (admittedly uncontrolled) thought exchange that explained how Pavlos could speak Mikhail’s tongue without issue, and maybe even another effect that allowed the gargoyle to draw magic from Mikhail for his spells, making him feel far healthier than before. They still weren’t certain of how it would affect Pavlos in the long run, but as of then it certainly looked like the gargoyle would have some advantage in being used as a mental anchor for Mikhail.

Along with the obvious cool factor of being stuck around a dragon the size of Mikhail all of the time.

“Pretty neat uh then.” Aleksei commented.

“Neat? Being forced to stay in proximity of someone so as not to turn into a rampaging monster… is neat?” Mikhail deadpanned.

“Sorry, that was phrased poorly.” She apologized hastily. “It’s a good thing you got a way out of your curse, maybe with time it’s possible to improve your situation.”

“Or get used to it...” Mikhail sighed. “Say, that’s a lot of us telling you about my situation, but ain’t you the one that’s trying to get your dick back?”

“Which sounds weird given we both saw you with that demigod.” Pavlos pointed out.

“Look err… it’s complicated.” She defended. “I took a geas.”

“A what?”

“Think… magic oath you can’t renege on. A vow really. When I became a cleric, I swore I would find a way to become male again.”

“Then you met him.”

More like Epona arranged for the two to meet, Aleksei thought. Thinking back on it, it really did seem like her sworn deity had been matchmaking the two.

Was it successful?

Sadly enough… it absolutely was.

“I didn’t plan for that.”

“Does anybody ever account for love?” Pavlos chuckled. “And now you’re stuck. Either way you go, it’s going to hurt. I figure it takes a lot to remove a geas?”

She nodded.

“And what was the plan to become male again, anyway?” Mikhail prodded before she could start sulking.

“Epona gave me a quest back then. I… I could postpone it while we were all busy sailing across the Americas. Now… I know there’s one of Epona’s children in the Black Forest. Bayard. And then if I found him, he would have led me back to a wizard called Maugis that has the spells to pull this off.”

There was a brief pause, Mikhail raising his head to stare at Pavlos knowingly.

“And right now we are...?” The dragon trailed off.

Aleksei shifted.

“I know my geography. It can’t be more than a hundred kilometers away.”

“Will you go and try to achieve that?”

“I… I must. But we have other priorities in the meantime.”

Actually, she wasn’t entirely correct.

It took them a few days to fly north and explore Stuttgart, the trio finding the city largely deserted even though they spotted signs that returnees had passed through the area. Looted stores, dead dogs left on the streets next to spent casings, but no actual colony to meet up with and ask for assistance. The city had weathered being abandoned reasonably well, thanks to its generally sturdy architecture. While vegetation did run rampant and climbed up facades with its vines, digging its roots through asphalt and concrete, most buildings were sturdy enough that the large beige structures held up strong, with most of the damage being mostly found among more modern buildings whose expansive windows had been shattered, leaving entire streets filled with glass shards that reflected sunlight like a myriad of little diamonds, scenes that shared the cityscape with the charred remains of its industrial districts.

Whatever had caused the fire, it hadn’t left much of both the Porsche and Mercedes complexes, museums included.

Not that it hampered their search. The sat phone was found after a little while, and with some extra effort they managed to put a working sim card in it and have it charged up to call the fleet.

The Captains were glad to finally know where they had ended up, their shipmates equally happy to learn they were all right and eager to tell them how good things were going in Mexico.

But they were still in Mexico at the time, and it would be several weeks before they would be heading back across the Atlantic to set up a base of operations, and even then it was too early  to say where the fleet would make landfall.

Which meant that, by default of having nothing else better to do than repeatedly call their friends, they soon headed back south and into the Black Forest to take up Aleksei’s search for a mystical horse that might have ties to a wizard that might be able to make her male again.

Lots of assumptions, little information to go on, and a whole expanse of steep forest hills to scour in search of one specific creature. The Black Forest was vast, and as expected of its name and with the return of magic to the world… it had turned into an extremely foreboding and difficult place to explore.

And yet, somehow, while places like Stuttgart (which would have been fine enough to start a colony) were deserted, they found a few stubborn locals holding homesteads in that place. Common sense, shockingly enough, was a thing that could even elude Germans, contrary to their reputation. Stout little farms with tall palisades housed a population of stubborn batponies and unicorns at the bottom of some valleys that just refused to let go of their land of birth despite the numerous monsters – Equestrian or Earth-born- that roamed the more densely forested heights with their dark pines and twisting trees deformed by the magic that steeped the region. In fact, flying above the Black Forest, it was almost impossible to see through the canopy which blocked most of the sunlight and made traveling beneath the branches a perpetual trip through the night.

But the inhabitants just didn’t care about the danger. Those that were originally from the region anchored those few dwellings, which in turn attracted more settlers that really were just coming so they wouldn’t be alone. And the arrival of new settlers, in turn, allowed each farm and homestead to amp up its defenses, and therefore only made the locals more convinced that they could survive in spite of the forest.

A self-reinforcing loop of stubborn ponies that just wouldn’t admit living in close proximity to a den of timberwolves might be a bad idea.

They spent the better part of two weeks flying above and under the branches, stopping at this old ski-lift-turned-farm on the Feldberg to ask if they had seen anyone that might look remotely like Bayard.

Mikhail even helped drive off some bizarre mutated bear’s attack on a settlement.

But in all that, not once did they catch the slightest whiff of Bayard’s whereabouts. The forest held many secrets, sacred groves or hallowed caves under its hills, even places where mushrooms grew to enormous size, but it just looked like the Black Forest refused to yield its juiciest secrets to them.

And Aleksei… didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when the search didn’t pan out and they finally got a call to fly over to Rotterdam and scout out the area where the fleet would make landfall.





	The Maasvlakte.

Overall, it took a little short of two weeks for the three ships to make it to Rotterdam starting from Havana, a fairly straightforward passage that took them back across the Atlantic and then through the English Channel to reach Dutch shores, and what would become their new headquarters.

It had taken a fair deal of debating on the topic, but Rotterdam and its expansive layout of harbor facilities was eventually the location that won out ahead of other places like the Thames Estuary or even Gdansk.

For several good reasons actually. It wasn’t for nothing ranked as the largest harbor in all of Europe prior to the Event, and compounding with that were a few other pluses that could only make their life easier.

To be precise, the Maasvlakte was the most recent section of reclaimed land that had been created at the extreme western edge of the city, right where the Rhine emptied itself into the ocean. It was absolutely massive, an intricate system of deep basins able to fit the largest vessels the seas ever witnessed, all safely sheltered behind tall dykes designed to prevent weather from eroding the artificial piece of land. The Maasvlakte alone had enough mooring space to receive fleets dozens of times more numerous than the WSU with anchoring to spare, and it was only the tip of the iceberg. Nearly ten nautical miles of harbor facilities and more reclaimed land separated the Maasvlakte from Rotterdam proper, an industrial range of humongous proportions that also happened to be a key node in the European network of gas and oil pipelines and therefore also had the storage capacity that came with it, and half a dozen different refineries.

Sure, most of the oil was spoiled and in need of some serious recycling before anyone could contemplate actually using it for fuel, and by then all the natural gas in storage at the time of the Event had either been flared or simply boiled off and dispersed into the atmosphere… but the harbor still was connected to several offshore gas wells in Dutch waters, and if natural gas didn’t cut it for power, the harbor also had oil- or coal-fired plants with outputs several orders of magnitude beyond what their group would ever need.

Add to that all the other facilities ranging from drydocks, vast expanses of warehouses, factories that could be found near the docks and even all the installations that would have catered to passing sailors, all within the harbor’s limits…

At that point it was rather obvious why Rotterdam was so compelling.

There was also another point that made the place a more suitable area to set up in compared to other regions.

Holding land isn’t easy. Especially in a world where wild dogs roam around uncontested, monsters can slip within a security perimeter at any time, and zeebeasts are an ever-present risk to shipping. Reclaimed land, polders that is, made it considerably easier.

Where any other place would have required you to secure an entire perimeter and actively patrol its edges to ensure all was well (and Rotterdam’s harbor did have that, out of anti-terror concerns), the Netherlands had the trait of having so many canals splitting the landscape into many subsections that what would have been a matter of securing a border turned into the considerably easier task of keeping an eye on a handful of chokepoints, most with locks or drawbridges that could be cordoned off, monitored and manipulated from afar.

That right there might have been the one detail that made all the difference. In a world with so few people, the WSU didn’t have many souls under its banner either, only just edging under two hundred with all the tag alongs and whatnot that had joined them and volunteered to help after the end of conflicts in Mexico.

With normal land, they’d barely have been able to keep the port facilities secure.

In all those polders? Blow that bridge, raise that one, hack into those cameras, and no sooner than a week after their arrival in the Netherlands, they were holding not only the Maasvlakte along with the port facilities of the Europort a few miles further inland (both being on an easy-to-isolate island on the south side of the river), but also the entirety of the island of Voorne-Putten comprising of a couple rather quaint towns, a lot of dunes on the seaside… and a vast network of canals and highly fertile polders.

Prime real estate, despite all the wear and tear and the scope of repairs they would need to fully reactivate all the facilities. It might take years, it might take incredible effort to find the workforce to fix it all up and keep it running, but the first pieces of the trade network the WSU wanted were there, and from then on they could only build up on it.

And the best part?

When they finally made landfall, there was a welcoming party for them. Aleksei, Mikhail and Pavlos had managed to gather enough stray souls along their journey back to convince them to join them and set up in the small semi-fortified town of Brielle a stone’s throw away from the harbor on Voorne-Putten.

They finally had a home. An actual home.
> Chapter 120: Oh Rats...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Meadowbrook and Rockhoof soon learned when December rolled in, winters in Brittany were unlike those they had experienced in Equestria. Far from having snow blanket the region, the peninsula instead enjoyed some pretty mild weather that had yet to drop below freezing, even as the solstice drew close.

Sure, it wasn’t warm, but the climate as a whole was rather consistent.

Consistently humid, one would say. Although temperatures stayed above freezing and stagnated closer to the five degrees mark – which was a boon for their magically-enhanced cultures-, the entire peninsula being subjected to the whims of the Atlantic implied a notion of ‘liquid sunshine’ that meant winter was less about snow, and more about grey skies and near-constant drizzle inside a forest that had shed much of its colors since autumn.

It was, overall, rather depressing.

What wasn’t however, was the general mood across Broceliande. Far from letting the season get to them, locals in both Trecesson and Comper had made great strides in expanding their respective settlements. The quarry was churning out stone on a weekly basis, an expedition of guards from both settlements had started salvaging the artefacts vault under the abbey of Paimpont under the governance of Vivian and Starswirl (though neither liked each other very much), and magic working its usual effect on nature meant that stores were overflowing with goods to a point that they were struggling to come up with new ideas to use them.

Granted, it wasn’t all roses and doves frolicking in the air, but even the increase in aggressiveness among the giant boars that dwelled within the forest was something the guards could manage, along with the odd monster incursion and this or that item retrieval in the overgrowth ruins that littered the region ever since Broceliande started growing at such a rapid pace.

When the solstice finally rolled in however, attention wasn’t turned towards the magical forest and the Golden Tree at its core, but further southwest, to Carnac.

Ever since the reactivation of the quarry, some flying carriages could have been seen ferrying huge stones towards the coastal town and its stone alignments, along with frequent shipments of oils and other reagents.

Trixie, Starlight, and the whole crew of the stranded Canterlot Courier certainly hadn’t wasted their time with repairing the ancient site. When Rockhoof and Meadowbrook finally came to visit on the day of the solstice, they found the visitors’ center with the airship landed in the parking lot turned into a fully-fledged carving operation from which the two unicorn mares were meticulously guiding how each stone that arrived by carriage should be enchanted before Captain Moral Compass would have his pegasi gently lift them up and fly them to wherever in the field of standing stones there was a need for a replacement.

In the past month and a half, dozens of broken or damaged stones had been replaced this way, which now gave a stark contrast in the field between ancient, thousands-year-old stone smoothed out by rains and winds, and the more jagged, newer stones that protruded at odd spots in the field.

All shone with glowing sigils nevertheless, their enchantments rekindled and ready to amplify any ritual conducted in Carnac. All of the thousands of stones lined up in a field so rife with magic there were particles floating around and mana crystals growing here and there.

Adding to the atmosphere and for once not furthering the otherwise dreary weather, was the drizzle raining down on them, the minuscule droplets causing ripples in the air from the intense magic as they sparkled.

While the sight had grown normal to the eyes of the stranded Equestrians who had been hard at work fixing up the place, it certainly did mesmerize the few who had come all the way from both Comper and Trecesson by sky carriage, even though they themselves were somewhat accustomed to the kinds of displays Broceliande could put out.

But now, as the sun rose in the sk-

Well, they didn’t really * see * it with all the clouds but at least they had a general idea of its position in the sky.

And as the eve of the solstice closed in and the magic in the air only charged up more, the time had come to finally cast the ritual after months of preparations and send the ponies home.

“Impatient?” Starswirl quipped after setting up a brass clock on a tripod, next to the circle of stones from which the ritual would be cast, at one end of the stone alignment.

It had become a hive of activity, with Meadowbrook and Martin carefully reviewing some of the ritual circles that had been drawn on flagstones set in the center of the stone circle, some next to various brass gizmos and bewitched crystals Starswirl had brought there himself. An entire supply of magic to be amplified by Carnac to make the ritual possible, each little crystal its own battery.

Further behind, the Canterlot Courier had been moved nearby, the airship’s decks serving as a makeshift stand for all who had come to witness the ritual. Most of the locals were interested in what was to happen to the otherworldly (not that Otherworld, mind) visitors that had frequently dropped by in their respective settlements in the last few months.

The Canterlot Courier which… had been quite the source of arguing, to put it mildly. Moral Compass, the Captain, had been quite infuriated when he was told trying to bring the airship back might put an excessive strain on the ritual. He did concede in the end… though not after Princess Twilight had to send an official letter through Starswirl saying he would not be held accountable for the loss and that he would be duly reimbursed for, verbatim: ‘ship lost in the line of duty furthering the ideals of Equestria and friendship in a commendable display of selflessnesstowards ponies in need on another world’.

	Fancy words to settle Canterlotian politicians.

	Though in practice, Canterlot Courier wasn’t lost, nor scuttled. The airship would continue her life on Earth, under a new flag, crewed by volunteer ponies hailing from Trecesson and Comper alike.

Starlight looked wistfully at the venerable ship, her gondola patched up and worn from all the encounters made.

She would miss her for sure.

Shaking her head, she focused back on Starswirl.

“Impatient? Didn’t know understatements were your trade.” Starlight shifted on her hooves and looked at the clock. “It’s been months since I’ve seen Ponyville, at this point I even miss pulling all-nighters scoring exams at the school, and I know I’ll regret thinking that.” She sighed.

And she and Trixie would see Sunburst again. Poor stallion was having a hard time on the other side as well, trying his best to help design the spell matrices for both sides of the ritual, along with holding the school together while two key staff members were gone.

But at least they were able to trade letters through Starswirl thanks to the wizard existing in two worlds at once.

“You know, I could always offer some assistance at the School of Friendship.” Starswirl said.

She looked at the translucent ghost in mild disbelief.

“You would?”

“I am not saying I could offer anything consistent since I need to travel around the world for my research, but in a pinch I could offer to fill in vacancies, help out during examinations periods an-”

“It’s about Sunburst isn’t it?”

Starswirl laughed out loud.

“Would you look at that, I’ve been found out. Yes, it’s about him. Sunburst has proven invaluable to a point I feel I’d be making a mistake not to offer some help.”

“That good uh?”

“Give him the right nudge, and his publications might be regarded with great interest on the international scene. I’ve put him in touch with some gargoyle friends in the Infernal Lands. You give him the resources to do that, and your school could get its hooves on some really interesting grants and exchange programs. The gargoyles, even the oracles from Abyssinia, that’s some valuable insight.”

Starlight looked at the ghost more seriously. He had to know the Friendship School never had been on good terms with the mainline Equestrian educational branch.

“Are you trying to undercut Canterlot as well?”

Starswirl grinned.

“I might. What of it?”

Typical Canterlotian schemes… then again…

“I promise we’ll look into it some more once I’m back in Equestria.” She finally said, looking at Starswirl’s clock. “But only then. We still have a ritual to complete. Is this thing in sync with the other one in Ponyville? I swear if we’re off by a second...”

“I am currently looking at both Miss Glimmer. Rest assured, current conditions meet every standard we accounted for. It will be fine.” The wizard reassured.

“And the locus in Canterlot High? We need both dimensional anchors for our plan to work out!”

“The locus is enchanted, charged, and prepped for casting. As we already asked yesterday.” Trixie drawled as she approached the two. “Starlight, would you please stop being so jittery? Worrying now won’t change a thing.” She reassured, wrapping a hoof over the other mare’s neck.

“I know, it’s just...” She sighed. “It’s different from just those experiments we usually did at the school. If we miss this...”

“Which we won’t.” Trixie and Starswirl replied in perfect sync.

“… if we miss, won’t that mean we’re definitely stuck here? We’ve looked at it, Carnac is powerful, but this ritual is more than brute forcing ourselves across the dimensional gap with just the amplification factor, regardless of how many zeroes it has!”

“And doubting it will work is, at this point, a discredit to all who have worked on the project. We’ve had the best minds on the job since you turned up in France, it will do fine.” Starswirl insisted. “Come on, it's time to get this started.”

Around them, the magic in the air was rising to new heights as the seconds went by and the effects of the solstice set in. Each of the thousands of standing stones lined up in the field thrummed with power, the vibration resonating in the air like an arcane clarion that extended for several miles ahead of them.

Meadowbrook finished her last round of inspection on the various ritual circles and gave Starswirl a gesture of approval before retreating towards Canterlot Courier with Martin.

“Two minutes to gateway opening.” Starswirl called loudly. “Waiting for confirmation that Canterlot High synced up and…”

A dimension away, in Ponyville, Twilight looked into the mirror for a second before nodding at the Equestrian half of Starswirl.

“… they’re in sync! Entry point is green. Exit point is green. Dimensional anchor is green. All sites ready for casting and awaiting directions.”

	The last piece fell in its slot for Starlight and she felt her worries be replaced with cold professionalism. Trixie looked at her in expectation… and trust. Starlight stared back with a confident smile.

We’ll make it. Get back to Sunburst. Get on with our lives.

“Alright ponies you heard him!” She cried out and jabbed a hoof at Moral Compass and his crew. “Get in the main array’s circle. And if any of you steps a hoof on the chalk lines, I’ll have your Cutie Mark. No joking, I really can do that. Trix, station two, get ready to send out a ping on my mark. Starswirl, timing?” She barked, moving to a smaller circle that had the arrays to monitor the state of Carnac’s alignments.

“Ninety seconds until full solstice!”

“Start telling off at thirty! Trix, ready to ping? We won’t get nowhere if Canterlot High doesn’t snag the line.”

“On your mark!” The illusionist yelled out above the rising hum of magic.

“Send it!”

Trixie’s horn blinked. The lines of reagents arrayed into sigils around her ignited with purple light before following a line that went towards the stone alignments, like a trail of gunpowder being ignited.

A ball of purple sparks went up when the lines reached its end and the ‘ping’ was fired into the megaliths. Then the ball was drawn into the alignments, and a low ‘thoooom’ rang out with such force most ducked their heads and covered their ears, the purple ball turning into a long streak that went through the entire ancient site before disappearing into an invisible point at the other end.

After a second, the streak disappeared, so bright that it left an afterimage in their eyes. Silence reasserted itself over the place.

Some more seconds went by. The crowd on Canterlot Courier whispered worriedly. Starlight started pawing at the ground with a hoof.

“They got it! Canterlot High has snagged the line and passed it to Ponyville!” Starswirl erupted. “We’re anchored! Get ready, Ponyville is connecting. Fifty seconds to the solstice!”

Fifty seconds to the height of the power amplification.

Their math was solid. While Carnac certainly did draw from ley lines and ambient magic for power, according to their calculation, the interdimensional rift had increased to such a point that just the connection (not the gateway) would already push the ancient site to the limits of its output.

It showed. Wisps of magic had started showing up in the sky above them, some of the clouds high above shining with white streaks of stray magic while down below, all the standing stones were glowing and rumbling.

Hence why Starswirl had brought a few dozen charged mana gems, and even more uncharged ones, but they had to use them wisely. 

Ponyville would send extra mana along with the return ping to be amplified on the way back.

The extra mana goes into the empty gems. Overcharges the entire mana bank connected to Carnac.

Ten seconds to vent the power back into the stone alignment and use the surge to open the gateway.

Time it right, and those ten seconds would be less than ten seconds before the exact time of the solstice and the maximum amplification factor.

Open up the gateway at solstice time. Get the maximum return on magic spent in the ritual, and the longest time to keep the gateway open.

…

“Ponyville is connected!”

Starlight smiled. Now they just needed to wait until they hit the ten seconds mark and…





‘Crack!’

On the Equestrian side, Sunburst, Twilight, and Starswirl all turned their heads slowly in dawning horror as one of the gems in their mana bank shattered, the sound echoing the Friendship School’s courtyard like a gunshot.

It could have been a lot of things really. Just a fault in the gem’s crystalline structure they failed to detect. Underestimating the amplification factor when Carnac sent the first ping. Maybe even just a misalignment in the connection or a catastrophic failure according to Thaum’s third law of mana convection...

Regardless, it started a cascade reaction. The first gem in the chain shattered. Then the next. And the next, while at the other end of the bank the gems started glowing with stronger intensity.

“They’re overcharging! We’re losing magic!” Sunburst yelled in alarm. “We have to send it back now or we’ll lose it all!”

“No! Hold it!” Twilight interrupted, the alicorn quickly teleporting over to the mana banks.

“Princess, the gemstones are popping by the second! They won’t have enough power if we don’t send it bac-”

“I said...” Twilight’s voice slowly rose in a rare use of the Royal Canterlot Voice before she stomped her hoof down on the main mana line connecting the bank to the ritual circle. “Hold!!!”She ordered as her horn ignited and she started pulling the mana into her as more and more gems broke.

Her fur stood on its end, wings splayed out as her muzzle opened in a mute gasp and her eyes glowed like when the Elements were being activated.

“Princess!” A Twilight Guard sergeant cried out in alarm and rushed ahead to help her before Starswirl caught him in his telekinesis.

“Don’t! If her focus breaks it could blow Ponyville sky-high with all this magic!” The old wizard warned.

“What then?” Sunburst asked.

“We. Wait.” Starswirl eyed the clock.

Thirty five seconds… to contain enough power to blow up an entire town.





“Starswirl what’s wrong?”

“Ponyville’s got a problem. The Princess is on it but...”

“What?!”

The ghost wizard raised a hoof to stop Starlight before she could leave her post.

“Stay right where you are! This could unfold really fast if this goes further off track, but we * will * get you through. You’d best get ready to gallop through the gateway when it opens because it won’t stay open for too long at this rate.”





Twilight gritted her teeth in pain but kept her hoof on the mana line despite the pain.

“Thirty seconds!”

Her tiara fell as her mane rose in the air under invisible winds, momentarily losing its ethereal nature as the tips started burning.

“Twenty five!”

A coppery taste in her mouth. Sparks flicked around her horn.

“Twenty seconds!”

Just… ten… more… seconds… The flagstones around her turned black, a faint halo appearing around her as she started radiating heat, spots of her fur and wing feathers turning black as they were singed. Time seemingly slowed down to a crawl, Starswirl echoing like he was speaking through the other end of a tunnel. Her ears buzzed.

“Eighteen!”

Was that really just two seconds? She was starting to feel faint.

“Seventeen!”

Twilight wobbled. The courtyard around her was a blur tossing like a ship in the storm.

“I’m sorry Starlight...”

Just as Starswirl was about to call the sixteen second mark, the Princess of Friendship (and Magic) fell to the side, gasping, releasing her grip on the mana.

“Send it Sunburst! NOW!” Starswirl didn’t miss a beat before rushing towards the alicorn.

The orange unicorn reacted instantly, whirling around on his hooves and igniting his horn to finally unleash the ritual they had prepared. All of the lines and glyphs drawn on the ground of the courtyard came alive at once, untold amounts of mana racing back the way they’d come towards the main array with a deafening thrum.

It ended in a fraction of a second, and an eerie silence soon filled the courtyard, broken up only by the clatter of armor as Twilight’s guards raced towards her.

They were six seconds off their mark.





“Get ready it’s coming early! Ponyville had an incident with their mana bank!” Starswirl yelled as a light strong enough to rival a sun appeared on the opposite side of Carnac and soon raced towards them. “Miss Lulamoon, you’d best be ready with that gateway because you won’t have much time!”

Waiting nervously in the main array, Moral Compass and his ponies pawed at the ground. The gateway wouldn’t be open for long.

The light approached, a massive load of mana moving at the speed of sound through the stone alignments, nearby grass growing in a fraction of a second before instantly turning into charcoal as it went. The more the load travelled through the ancient site, the more momentum it gained as the enchantments amplified it.

Starlight had to shield her eyes with a foreleg when it reached them and was absorbed in their mana banks, the mana so intense the inlet array wasn’t only charred into the flagstone it was inscribed on, it partially melted it. Her horn ached from the ambient magic.

The mana banks immediately started overloading.

Ten seconds until a catastrophic explosion.

Fourteen until full solstice.

“Open it! Now!” Starswirl bellowed.

	Trixie fumbled on her hooves, struggling with the urgency.

Seven seconds… Gems in their banks started shattering.

The mare muttered something under her breath. Great and Powerful… She was glaring at the stone alignments. Her horn lit up.

Six seconds… wild arcs started forming between all the gems.

Trixie finished casting. There was a noise, like someone took a hammer to the glass separating dimensions and all you could hear was the barrier shattering. A gleam appeared, not intense then, but more like a faint reflection on glass as the gems finally stabilized now that the energy was being spent.

It was the gateway. Not taller than three ponies and about as wide, it looked like the reflection of an image on water, sans said liquid, a faint image that showed…

Equestria. Starlight’s features brightened up as she recognized the architecture of the Friendship School, the blue skies, the vibrant world… 

Sunburst at the other end.

“Gateway open! Get in! Get in! You got eight seconds before it shuts! Move!!” Starswirl’s voice erupted, enhanced by magic and breaking her out of her daze.

She leaped and hopped above the myriad of lines and sigils inscribed on the ground as a cheer rang out behind her among the spectators and Moral Compass and his sailors raced through the gateway, Trixie a few hoofsteps behind.

Starlight practically threw herself through the portal, the last pony in, and not two seconds two soon. 

It was… weird. Unlike her first experience with the original system which just felt as though you merely stepped from one world into another, this one was like plunging into a tunnel filled with water. She hovered in place for a fraction of a second, suspended into limbo… then she felt Carnac accelerate her towards Equestria, like she was fired out of a cannon.

She didn’t stick the landing, instead joining the pile of ponies that had formed in the center of the school… her school’s courtyard.

Then a pair of hooves wrapped around her neck and Sunburst pulled her into a hug, and she knew everything would be alright. Sun’, Trix’, and herself.

She could finally get on with her life.





	Lexington twirled the pencil between his fingers with his uninjured arm, thinking.

You don’t just turn your back on the HPI and get away with it so easily. He had done some efforts prior to leaving to ensure they wouldn’t be tracked down too soon.

But there was a key difference between having ensured their former colleagues wouldn’t be able to figure out where they went with their VTOL… and not spotting them with their satellites and long range sensors later on.

They had dug themselves in tight in the confines of an old nuclear silo in Missouri, somewhere between Warsaw and the Lake of the Ozarks. The installation was old, but it was covert, and designed for autarky, to let crew remain under lockdown for prolonged periods.

About what they needed, and despite the lack of nuclear weapons inside the silo, the facility had still been maintained and supplied. It supplied itself reliably on ground water with durable filters, and while its fuel tank had been empty at the time of their arrival, a quick bit of jury-rigging and a field trip (which even with exoskeletons and personal shields was no easy task with a bullet wound in the shoulder) to a nearby abandoned ranch meant they had about a month’s supply of recycled fuel.

Sadly, that recycled fuel was nowhere close to the kerosene they needed to fill up their VTOL, the aircraft currently hidden under a camo net near a copse of trees.

A month.

And that was after reducing their consumption to the strictest needs and decreasing the area of coverage of the safezone shield they had unloaded off the VTOL to its minimum. That meant that of the entire facility, they could only really protect the command center and the two barrack floors underneath it. The rest of the facility with the utilities, generators, ventilation units and the silo with all of its twenty floors; those they needed to don their shielded exoskeletons to explore.

With one batch of mice sharing the barracks with them (they did need to keep one relatively unexposed to thaumic radiation after all), it meant their current dwellings were no small bit cramped; and durable as cold-war tech was, it was incredibly spartan compared to the high-tech facilities of the HPI.

The pencil in Lex’s fingers halted its twirling for a moment as Amelia passed in front of the tiny room he called his. She was carrying a little white spotted mouse on her shoulder – though with how big the latest batches had grown, she was actually fairly big-, the both of them nibbling on some crackers.

	And how did he even know the mouse was a she at a glance?

“How are you doing sir?” His assistant asked, not stopping the nibbling. The mouse on her shoulder chittered something. Was that concern?

He really needed to stop anthropomorphizing the lab mice…

“It’s… ah, I’m fine. The meds are doing their job, it’s a good thing the bullet didn’t hit much on the way out.” Lexington sighed. “I can make do with an arm in a sling in the meantime. Thanks for patching me up.”

“You really had us worried you know?” Amelia shuffled on her legs.

Us?

“I know. It could have gone a lot worse catching a .45 with my shoulder. I made it though, and now we’re free.”

“Safe.” Amelia added.

That remained to be proven…

“Are the mice settled?” He shifted the topic.

“They are! I just finished setting them up in the silo with all the gear. We’re ready to resume the intellect experiments as soon as you’re better. It’s so much roomier here for them too! They’ll love it!”

“I’m sure they will.” Lex let out a small smile witnessing the pudgy nerdish redhead’s antics. “I hope the trip didn’t stress them too much. Leaving was… hectic, I’d say.” 

The shoot-your-way-out kind of hectic even.

“Oh I’ve just managed to settle them down with Brisby’s help here.” Amelia smiled and scratched the mouse sitting on her shoulder.

“You… called a mouse… Brisby?” Lex deadpanned.

“Yes, wasn’t that the obvious choice?”

He flipped the pencil expertly and jabbed it accusatorily towards her.

“You’re also making it sound like we’re the bad guys in this story.”  He pointed out sternly.

And he cared too much (which still was weird given his background) for the mice for anyone to say he was some kind of negligent experimenter. Not with all the steps they were taking to nurture the fruits of their research.

“I’m sorry sir, I honestly thought…” Amelia looked crestfallen. “She does like the name though. I played the movie for them, the mice I mean. Pretty sure they liked it.”

Lexington opened his mouth to retort, took a second look at his assistant, then closed it with a sudden gleam in his eyes.

Amelia didn’t notice.	

“It’s alright. Why don’t you go ahead and prepare the linguistics part of our evaluations? I think they’re ready to move on to that stage, they’re already expressive, let’s see how they deal with language.”

That got her going. She nodded eagerly and quickly departed, leaving Lex alone in his room, still thinking. There just seemed to be this… thing underlining all that had happened. A key piece in the puzzle he was missing, and he knew it.

Idly, he dropped the pencil and sneaked a finger under the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. The flesh was tender, the staples still present… but he knew a wound that severe should still hurt far more than the mere ache he was feeling.

Lexington leaned back in his chair, seeing his reflection in the open bathroom’s mirror out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t look good. Hints of white in his hair, unshaven, a tinge of yellow in his eyes…

Got no choice but to swallow more drugs and hope it turns okay at this point.

He groaned.

Of course it wouldn’t turn okay. They were just two eggheads holed up in a bunker in the middle of butt-fucking nowhere, their supplies would run out at some point, and they’d either have to take the VTOL, or salvage whatever country hick’s truck they found in the nearest ranch – that could also fit them inside their exoskeletons- to resupply.

And not only was the whole HPI after them, but listening to those sailors’ radio broadcast or the one from that guy in Montana would tell anyone the countryside was rife with monsters. Looters even.

What was that all for?

Clever lab mice.

Did he realize how stupid that whole thing was? Obviously.

Then why had he even done all that?

	Lexington slumped forward on the table and grabbed his air in frustration.

Why did he care? He never had! Not even for his own family! What was the difference with that goddamn mice?! Why did it feel like he wasn’t in control anymore? WHAT WAS THE LAST PIECE OF THE FRIGGIN PUZZLE?!

	He felt something brush his arm.

A mouse. Duh. It was the little brown male with a grey belly he had seen when he woke up in the VTOL, pawing at his sleeve with a look of worry in his beady eyes.

At the sight of the creature, all previous concerns melted away, replaced with the need to care for the tiny rodent.

“Hey there little guy.” Lex cracked a smile and scratched him upside the head. “No need to worry, just the big guy working himself up on… probably nothing actually.”

Probably nothing…

When an old spirit from the Lake of Ozarks peered out of its realm to look at the recent arrivals in the region, it had a good laugh at this particular human’s fate. He certainly did have an interesting future ahead of him, not that he’d ever know until it was too late.





A few days later, lower Silesia, near the river Oder

	Winter was always quick to wrap its cloak around Poland, never waiting too long into the later months of the year to first make its entrance with the first snows. Sometimes it also liked to be a bit coy about its presence, in a fashion. 

Begin with an early first snow. Then alternate. Sunny spells, a week of rainfall, freeze and then thaw, snow one day, rain the next. This year hadn’t been very consistent, and it showed. Just north of Wroclaw, the abandoned fields had first turned into shrublands, and then quickly turned into semi-marshlands when the repeated melting had made soil near the river Oder unstable, introducing the food scarcity of winter, but without the presence of snow animals could convert into quick shelter or clean water.

No, instead the shrublands between all the interspersed copses of trees around the river had become deceitful little traps critters had to wade in at the mercy of predators whenever they wanted to leave the cover of one forest and venture into the next to keep foraging. Human roads and their abandoned dwellings were there, but save for the smaller birds and rodents who could use it for shelter, most of the food had already long rotted away, reducing the animals to only use the increasingly worsening roads as fast but risky shortcuts.

That day, snow was falling, the cover still thin so far, with the sole other hint of color in the countryside being the brown streaks of mud and bark here and there where snow had yet to prevail.

And deep red in the snow.

Right there, under a bent sign that read ‘Wroclaw 35km’, a pair of griffons were bent over a freshly caught deer – Earth’s native feral type of course, not the Everfree deer type-. 

“Here, now that it’s dead, time to show you. You got it in the throat, that’s good. Most of the blood’s already out, meat won’t spoil too fast.” The older of the two, a female falcon-lynx with blue streaks under her eyes explained to the cub accompanying her. “But now you need to field dress it too so it doesn’t spoil too fast. Here, first you take your talon and carve out its anu-”

“Eww!”

	The elder whacked the cub upside the head – with her gutting claw- and the cub reacted positively disgusted.

“Quit acting silly! Hunting’s not all fun and games, it’s the dead of winter, the colony can’t afford us wasting good meat. Want to be pulled away from hunting duty?”

“No!!”

“Then you field dress your kill the right way, and that means pulling out the entrails. I even got a bag for the organs we actually want to keep. Heart, lungs, liver. Now...” She pushed the cub closer to the carcass. “I did the yucky part silly child, you just need to open it up an- wait what was that?”

The elder raised her head abruptly, wings already halfway open as a fast thudding was heard in the distance. Laughing too, cackling.

“Babciu?” The cub asked hesitantly.

“Be quiet Agata!” She squawked, then raised up on her hind legs to scan the horizon, her thin scarf billowing in the wind.

The snowfall made it hard to see very far, creating a veil that masked anything in the dist-

She saw the silhouette.

“Stay silent! Don’t make a move!” The elder ordered quickly before she shoved the deer off the side of road into a bush at the bottom of the ditch, along with the cub before she gathered their bags, swept the snow with her wings to mask all the blood, and dove into the ditch as well.

The silhouette was huge, tall as a house, a dark shadow advancing on two legs coming from the east, laughing and cackling a chilling warning of its arrival.

“Bab-”

	The cub’s question died in its beak when the elder wrapped two talons around it to shut her up. The silhouette was coming closer, approach heralded by a primal feeling of dread and humility.

Tall as a house, because it was a house, running along on two gigantic chicken legs that likely made it easy for the construct to cross the nearby River Oder. The elder of the two griffons recognized the sight instantly, and quickly tucked herself tighter underneath the snowy bush, holding the cub between her two wings.

Baba Yaga’s house, and the cackling was none other than the owner, bouncing along in her mortar ahead of the house, looking every bit the dreadful crone stories described her: hunchback, crooked, with thin wispy white hair and a blue and red embroidered dress.

The odd sight in all that was the… amalgam of creatures flying behind her, the two laughing and cackling respectively at some joke or whatever else. It looked like someone had taken a snake and decided to add various other animals to it in order to fix its lack of limbs. Hoof there, paw there, tuft of hair on the tail because why not, mane and antlers.

The house went by.

Old Baba went by without taking note or offense of the griffons’ presence. The noise finally died in the distance after a minute.

With a sigh of relief, the elder poked her head out of the bush and scanned the hor-

“Privyet.”

With slowness borne of terror, she looked up and into the orange and purple of the mismatched eyes of the creature hovering above the bush as it reclined casually on a piece of cloud.

“D- dzien dobry?” She replied, hesitant.

The creature smiled widely, revealing the fangs filling a maw from which emerged tusks.

“Izvinite, a gde granitsa?”

	Granitsa?

… 

	Oh, grani-ca. He was looking for the border.

Trembling slightly, she raised a talon and pointed it to the southwest.

“Spasiba!”

And in the blink of an eye, the creature was gone. The griffon deflated visibly, releasing a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She turned her head to the cub who looked up at her, confused.

“Agata, forget dressing the deer now and grab it by the hind legs. We need to fly fast and warn the colony.”
> Chapter 121: The Last Note
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Maasvlakte was quiet, a vast expanse of dense industrial clusters that extended everywhere Dilip could lay his eyes from his position in a meeting room under the harbor control center. A flock of seagulls flew past the window, headed inland for the night after trailing after the lone trawler visible in the estuary and picking off whatever scraps they could.

One of Rhine’s auxiliaries, coming back from a fair day of fishing, with the setting sun in the backdrop as the skies took on a rosy tint.

Dilip went to reach into his pocket, just to snap a pictu-

Cloth swished, but there was no arm in the sleeve, and he barely repressed a frustrated growl for once again forgetting he was short an arm. With his other paw he tugged his shoulder cloak back in place to hide the stump.

Sure the supply of potion meant it was slowly growing back, but he barely had a fifth of his forearm back! And the potions against phantom pain only turned it from an ache into a constant itch.

“Nice view innit?” Skinner quipped, the hedgefog joining his fellow Captain by the window. “Gonna take some serious work keeping it all together. Do you have any idea just how many workers it took to keep it running and maintained before the Event?”

“Do you?” Dilip deadpanned.

Skinner threw his head back and laughed.

“I sure don’t! But I can tell you one thing, and that’s that two hundred odd sailors won’t cut it.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not reactivating everything.” Dilip replied. “Oil refining? Unnecessary after all the effort we’ve done in Mexico. Same for chemicals. Let’s leave it to key facilities and we’re down to just handling natural gas to secure ourselves a power supply from the offshore wells...”

“Which is already a lot of folks just to keep the current running and the heating on.” Lorelei said as she entered the meeting room. “Lest we forget, we still have our ships, and this will fall apart real quick if we don’t charter routes between settlements to keep the goods flowing.”

“And...” Dilip turned around on his paws to face the tiny pink unicorn filly, watching her take a seat at the table with a mug of coffee in her telekinesis. “… given our current workforce, if we charter any ship, we either don’t have enough folks left to guard key choke points entering our territory, or we don’t have enough to safely operate the gas plant. By the way, is that stuff even safe with a body as young as yours?”

“Settle down...” She took a sip and unfolded a map on the table. “… it’s decaf. I just need the taste, you know? Can’t just settle for tea like you do.”

“Hold it there, I don’t ‘settle’ for tea. It’s just better, period. Coffee doesn’t have a quarter of the variety you can get out of tea blends.”

“Big words coming from the pup who only ever drinks Darjeeling.” She quipped, brushing a strand of white mane behind her ear with a hoof. “That said, there might be a solution I’ve put my intel officer on.”

“Do explain.”

“It’s in cooperation with that radio station you’ve had broadcasting from your ship since Copenhagen. I asked Monica to gather up a list of all the personnel we need so she can pass on the info to be announced over the radio. I can’t say just how many will make the journey to us directly, but maybe when we next turn up in a colony, we’ll start finding fresh hires. We do need a lot of specialists after all, and we can make Voorne-Putten into a fairly attractive place.” Lorelei said.

“And the local returnees?” Skinner inquired.

“Found a few, convinced most of them to join us in Brielle, but that was… a dozen at most? The entire world’s population is scattered thin, you can’t expect to find a lot of folks at any random spot.” Lorelei told the meeting.

“You can, if they have something to cluster around. Like a colony.” Dilip said before moving over to join Lorelei at the table as the unicorn was unfolding a world map.

Dilip eyed it briefly, seeing all the current known settlements highlighted in gold with the routes between them already traced, with several other symbols also present. Savannah was a blood red diamond with the letters ‘HPI’ in bold, a color also visible in several spots on the map.

Then some hints of purple. Oddities in need of exploring maybe? He could see Lorelei had put a purple cross on Brittany – they knew there was activity in the peninsula- and another on the Suez Canal.

“What do you think we’re doing then? We’ll get the folks after, not before. And then we’ll have our issue solved. Just need to make the place attractive enough that people will be willing to come work here from all over Europe, which shouldn’t be too hard really.” She stated.  “Just a matter of being patient.”

“We can’t exactly sit on our collective asses either.”

“Wasn’t thinking that we would.” she tapped a hoof on the map. “In fact the more colonies we add to the network, the easier it gets.”

“What’s your suggestion then?” Skinner pulled a chair and sat down with them.

“A simple plan for the upcoming year. Now that our ships are armed, it’s a lot less risky for each ship to operate on her own. We keep Rotterdam on a skeleton crew with one ship moored there to ensure things are running as they should, the other two, we send out. One of us three gets to ply trade routes for a while ensuring the colonies are okay, the other goes off on expeditions.” She suggested.

“What kind of expeditions?”

“It varies. On the one hoof we have HPI contracts like retrieval of nuclear materials which would net us some serious credits from them, and thereby high-tech gear and parts we can’t find anywhere else. On the other hoof we got potential leads on other colonies we could track down and add to the network, along with strategic points like the Suez Canal which I hope you understand need to be kept open.”

“So that point in Brittany on the map? That the one with...” Skinner started.

“Not that one. It’s the bay of Douarnenez I put there.”

“Why?”

“’member that demigod one of your engineers is infatuated with? I grilled her on it and she did say he was trying to raise an ancient sunken city and was actually making progress. We could make ourselves a powerful ally if we came to lend a hoof and fix up his city.” Lorelei said.

Dilip made a face.

“What’s the matter now?”

“It’s just that I’m not entirely comfortable swinging too much in favor of the Celts. That religion already gained a lot of traction among the crews and I fear we could lose any claim of neutrality if we let this get too far.” He laid his paw flat on the table. “Let’s say we do go to the Suez Canal and find a colony there. If we can at least still claim religious neutrality then it will be that much easier to strike a deal, and not piss off local divinities which will inevitably be there, if too many among our crews start spreading their own beliefs.”

Not that he really had anything against Celts, most of their deities had modernized pretty well and shed their more bloodthirsty rites… but the WSU didn’t need to find itself stuck in a clash of divinities if it could be helped.

Because having to deal with sea monsters and demonic cults was probably more than enough for a trading faction, yet as Lorelei pointed out, they more or less had taken up the quest of dealing with those the moment they defeated some of their key lieutenants.

“You’re not happy about that.” Dilip stated flatly, looking at Lorelei.

“No. We’re not warriors, Dilip, and unlike you I’m not too keen on taking up that conflict. This time around, the radio works against us, because wherever we go now, folks will be expecting us to take up arms against demons. The… ghost-pirate-zombie ships of whatever like Skinner defeated, those I agree we need to take care of. And with Cape Horn blocked off by a demon and the Panama Canal closed for the foreseeable future, Charybdis is a gigantic thorn in our side. But Scylla? I’m still not convinced it’s our fight.”

“They were kidnapping returnees! Ripping out their very souls and using the empty bodies to make thralls! How is that not something that should be fought?!” Dilip erupted, standing up in one motion.

“Fought, yes, but not by us.” Lorelei retorted, not faltering despite the sheer size difference between a filly and an adult D-Dog. “I lost sailors in that fight, Dilip. More than you did. Folks I had known for years, some of the only ones left that knew me as something other than just a tiny pink filly. We have a wall dedicated to them in our mess hall, you know. They went in because I asked them to. And now they’re dead. We’re not the navy, Dilip. That kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen to us.”

“I’m-”

She made a cutting motion with her hoof, glaring. That kind of expression already looked weird on a pony, on a filly like her it was downright unsettling.

“No platitudes please. I’ll just tell you this. You may interpret our charter however you want to, but there was this clause we agreed upon in Belfast. Switzerland clause, on neutrality. Go off and be a gung-ho Captain barging into local wars and conflicts if you want, but don’t ever expect me to ask any more of my sailors than to protect ships and settlements.” Lorelei brought down her hoof on the table.“Any workforce is hard to come by these days, sacrificing them on campaigns that offer little benefit to us isn’t just a waste of resources, it actively hinders us. Need I remind you what we just said about our current limitations?”

“And yet you said you won’t stop me.”

“I gotta side with him on that.” Skinner shrugged. “If you said it’s bad for us, why don’t you just ask him not to do it?”

“Because keeping it to Amandine will at least ensure the damage is contained and...” She groaned, rubbing a hoof against her horn. “...PR is a thing too. We’re a mercantile faction first and foremost, which in turn means some of the less… ethical groups might think our ships are easy marks for loot.”

Skinner raised his head, having figured out what she was implying, a surge of sparks running down the hedgefog’s quills.

“Dilip’s our big stick policy.”

“I’m sorry?” The canine in question quirked his head. “Is that a dog joke about sticks?”

“More of a callback to Teddies, and I’m not talking plush bears.” Lorelei chuckled. “Speak softly, and carry a big stick. You are the… ‘proof’, if you will, that lets other factions – by which I mean bandits and pirates- know we’re not just an easy mark they can raid for loot.”

“And if they don’t play nice we release the hound!” Skinner slapped his thigh and laughed.

Dilip sank in his chair.

“So that’s it now? We’re down to bad puns?” He complained.

“Not much else we can do for now. Give the crews time to rest, claim houses in Brielle so they’ve got a stake in it and something to look forward to after our expeditions… which by the way you should do as well before all the nice ones are claimed, mind you.”

“You have?”

“Quaint little house, first one south of bastion eight. Can’t miss it. If you need a ride I got one of Rhine’s tugs running ferry service between Harbor Control and the marina in Brielle.” Lorelei advised. “It’s a faster trip by boat, believe me. Netherlands you know? Can’t get around anywhere without encountering a canal, and you’ve got loads of those between the Maasvlakte and the moat around Brielle.”

“Fine then...” Dilip stood up. “I’ll try and find some prime real estate in town. What’s your take on how long we’ll have R&R here? Two weeks? Three?” He inquired, already going for the door.

Might still need to settle a few things on Amandine before he could have the luxury of visiting town. Decide who would stay and guard the ship, spread duty lists around…

“You tell us. You are the guy with expecting mothers on your crew, wait too long and you’ll have to deal with maternity leave.”

Dilip froze.

Right, the griffons.

He swore profusely in Marathi.





	Given the current presence of a Princess on its grounds, the Friendship School was actually surprisingly calm. Sure, Starswirl could see flashes of purple armor here and there from Twilight’s guards quietly patrolling the hallways, but barring a few curious students they hardly caused a fuss. In fact they were almost as discreet as Lunar Guards, unlike the Solar and Crystal Guard regiments who made it more a habit to put sentries in full view.

Which really didn’t surprise him in the slightest. Starswirl may not have known Princess Twilight half as much as he should have, but even he knew she wasn’t too keen on having a guard detail follow her around all the time.

The old wizard trotted along calmly through the school, making his way towards the upper floors where he knew the teaching body’s lodgings were. They still were the same kind of décor as the rest of the school: bright hues of purple mixed in with white, but the hallways felt more sheltered, with lower ceilings and narrower hallways. You didn’t hear the echo of hooves on tiles quite as much as in the more open floors down below.

Starswirl stopped at the bottom of a stairway he knew led up to the west tower, seeing an armored blue griffon – with Lieutenant ranks no less- leading none other than Rarity down the stairs. The mare crossed his gaze.

“How is she?” He inquired.

“She… she will be fine, but this little stunt took a lot out of her. Alicorn or not, she’ll need the time to recover from the mana burnout.” Rarity explained.

Starswirl winced. Mana burnouts were never a good time for any unicorn, much less for Twilight Sparkle of all ponies.

“She asked for you, you know.” Rarity added.

“I know, that’s why I’m here. Did she give instructions for…?”

“Rainbow already left to fetch Celestia and Luna. Gallus will accompany me to Canterlot for a press conference, we already reviewed the speech. It will be fine.” The mare reassured. “There always was a plan in case something like that happened.”

“Gallus...” Starswirl looked at the griffon beside Rarity with a frown before his features brightened up in recognition. “Oh my! Apologies kid, I didn’t recognize you with the armor. You’ve grown, how are your friends from the Young Six doing?”

“We try to stay in touch and meet up regularly.” The young Lieutenant shrugged with his wings. “It’s hardly easy I have to admit and well… the Young Six’s starting to shed the ‘young’ part if you catch my meaning.” He joked, rubbing a claw behind his neck. “Though if you don’t mind, sir…” He pointedly looked towards the exit.

“Right, sorry.” The wizard shuffled past them. “You’d best get to Canterlot shortly. Safe flight!”

He briefly watched the duo as they bade their goodbyes before hurrying out of the school, before he himself resumed his way up the tower. Twilight’s own Captain of the Guard – a pegasus going by the name of Flash Sentry, whom he knew was a descendant of Magnus- was there at the top watching the door. Starswirl only gave a curt nod before making his way inside, pushing the tall doors aside with his telekinesis.

For a pony that had held back enough magical power to blow up an entire town, she was actually looking rather good. Sure, the entire room smelled of burn salve and parts of her were covered in bandages that still showed bits of blackened fur, but it wasn’t the ash pile any other creature would have been if put in the same position. Her mane was probably the most striking change, having lost its ethereal nature and been reduced down to a pixie cut.

“Afternoon, Princess.” Starswirl announced his entrance and bowed his head slightly. “I came as soon as matters were settled. I hope you’re not too unwell?”

“I’ll be fine Starswirl, thank you.” Twilight smiled, standing up a bit shakily from her bed and inviting him over to a coffee table nearby. “Alicorns have the resilience of Earth Ponies after all, I’ll shake it off in a week’s time.”

“Good. Had it been anypony else pulling that stunt… Celestia even...”

“I know.” Twilight gestured to herself. “Element of Magic, right?”

“That would be my first guess too. I hope the mana burnout isn’t making life too hard for you?”

The Alicorn made a face while Starswirl took the liberty of serving them both some tea.

“It’s not just the unicorn part affected, I can tell you that much.” She spread out her wings. “I cannot fly, and I haven’t felt this weak since my ascension.”

“Fascinating… have your practitioners run scans on you yet? For all that I’ve frequented your old mentor when I taught her, Celestia never suffered such an incident. I wonder if it would affect your ties to- sorry, getting carried away there.” He coughed in his hoof.

“It’s quite alright, I do wonder about it myself. I’ll try and have them do it when I get back to Canterlot, would you like to come and discuss it at that time? I figure since it will be a while before you set out on your travels again, I was curious about some of your publications...” She asked, not really able to hide that eternal fascination she had for everything born from the mind that had fascinated her foalhood studies.

Starswirl hid a smile as he put down his hat on the table.

“Then you’ll be delighted to hear your friend Starlight and I have hammered down a work offer for me here.”

“You? Here in the… How did she?” Twilight quirked her head, confused.

“Sunburst mostly. Need I say more? He is a brilliant theoretician.” Starswirl said offhoovedly. “But I digress. Pleasantries are one thing, and I do appreciate the possibility of talking academics with you in the future, but I do believe you implied more when you called for me, correct?”

Twilight picked her teacup up between her wings and nodded before taking a quick sip.

“I was eager to know how things have gone on the Earth side of things?” She looked at him. “How does your other half fare, I mean? Starlight came by this morning, she did imply it was rather dangerous.”

“She would be correct then, but Rockhoof, Meadow and I are from dangerous times as well. It’s nothing we can’t handle I assure you, and our current settlement is more than ideal for Meadow to give birth.”

“She’s pregnant?!”

“You weren’t aware? My apologies. She and Rock took it as an opportunity to start anew knowing they wouldn’t feel as out of their time as they did on Equus, I’m sure you’ll understand.” Starswirl set down his tea and stroked his beard. “These two have more than deserved a new family after jumping ahead in time and losing their own.”

Twilight averted her gaze forlornly, a gesture not missed by the wizard across from her, but one he chose not to dwell on. She had more than enough friends for such.

“And the seed?” Twilight moved on.

Idly, Starswirl noted the notepad that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere which she held with her wings.

“Concord is planted and rooted deeply at the core of Broceliande. He’s shown he had a bond with Harmony over in Equestria which has helped him mature faster than he otherwise would have. Of his set of seven Elements, three currently have an artifact, and two have their Bearers with one of said Bearers actively looking for a third.” He reported. “I give it a good five years before the team is complete and active however. My apprentice Martin is still far too young and in dire need of training, more so now that we’re aware of a draconequus being allied to the most powerful crone on the planet.”

“You think they’ll pull it off?”

“It’s the Elements, Princess, of course they will. That said...” He paused. “Earth’s population is competent, they have technology the likes of which would make Abyssinia look primitive, the question thus lies on whether or not they’ll be able to hold the line long enough for the Elements to give Charybdis and Scylla the fight they deserve… or maybe how bad all the evils will be allowed to fester before the Bearers can start whittling them down. And there are several Earth-born entities I know that might cause issues as well. And that’s only on one continent out of many.”

But there was still faith. Former humans were getting together to fight the evils brought on by the Event, the population in both Comper and Trecesson was aware of the importance of the Golden Tree for the sake of the world and ready to fight to defend Concord, and now they even had gained access to an airship they might be able to use to find new Bearers faster. Things were grim alright, but certainly not hopeless.

“Starswirl, I’m sorry if that sounds obvious, but for posterity’s sake I need your opinion on the relief teams we sent.” Twilight added after the old unicorn finished recounting about the situation on Earth. “Do you believe they made a difference?”

“Absolutely. As returnee groups come, those that have encountered relief teams find themselves notably better off than their counterparts, largely due to a better knowledge of what they have become which might be key to civilization regaining a footing on Earth, and this knowledge is immediately put to use gaining an edge over the threats that plague their world. If we hadn’t sent teams, well...” he gestured to himself. “My human half would have remained sealed for a long time more, and while it’s unlikely they would have been wiped off, the population would be in a considerably worse position. Those resources weren’t wasted Princess, you have my word.”

“Thank you. I think that should be all for now.” Twilight stood up, still a bit wobbly from her recovery. “Say… did you speak to Luna recently?”

“Not in a while.” Starswirl cocked his head to the side. “Why the question?”

“It’s just...” Twilight sounded hesitant. “I crossed paths with her and I’m pretty sure she had a former human come to Equestria for a while but she doesn’t seem too open on the details. Were you in Canterlot at the time?”

“You think she did something?”

“Celestia said she was rather… affected by what happened to Earth. She did scry the planet a lot before we cast the ritual to save the humans. I think… is she the type to hide things?”

Starswirl hesitated briefly.

“I trained both for several years before and after they ascended, and you’d be right in saying Luna is the more secretive of the two. Now… I could always look around the planet to see if she’d hidden an ace somewhere, but I don’t see why she wouldn’t tell us if she did that.” He shrugged. “That said, if it’s Luna’s doing… good luck finding whatever it is she did.”

“But you’ll look?”

“And I’ll tell you if I find anything.” He reassured her.

“Thank you Starswirl. Say, did yo-”

“Meet Sunburst? No.”

“I was going to say Starlight.” She looked a bit dejected.

Starswirl laughed.

“Princess, you’re lucky your friend even took the time to visit. Way I see it, there’s a certain trio that’s a special kind of busy right now, and it’s a good thing the school has thick walls.”

“What do y-”

“Oh Sunny yes!!” The whole school shook with a pulse of mana as Starlight’s voice resonated around the hallways.

Twilight fell silent, meeting Starswirl’s eyes as he looked at her mirthfully.

“That kind, Princess.”





Brielle was as far from an ugly town as could be conceived, that much Micha had quickly come to realize the moment she flew there from the Maasvlakte. It wasn’t big, but then again given how few of them there were, the relatively small town was as good as any large city.

It was an old town, isolated from the polders of Voorne-Putten by a moat that wrapped around its vaguely hexagonal shape with numerous Napoleonic-era bastions built up around it along with a levy, with several canals passing through the moat and into the city itself to connect it to the intricate network that ran throughout the region. The fortifications, not so much actual stone-and-mortar walls as dirt piled up until it could stop cannon shots and floods, were covered in short trees and grass that wasn’t just due to post-Event overgrowth but more of a decoration added to the town in times of peace.

There, within the town and along its canals, narrow brick roads wound themselves sinuously between rows upon rows of quaint little houses that rarely exceeded three stories in height except maybe for the church in the center and the windmill on the northeast bastion. All generally shared the same hues of red, brown and white with rectangular windows facing streets that had been built long before cars were a thing, and never really redesigned to fit them.

Not that Micha saw it as a problem. Ever since she became a griffon months earlier, she’d steadily felt less of a need for a car the more experience she gained with her wings. Even now, a few months into her pregnancy and carrying two cubs within her, there was this weightlessness to flight that alleviated how ungainly she had become when on the ground.

And few things beat a bird’s eye view anyway. 

	With a smile on her beak, the bald eagle griffon with green highlights around her eyes fanned out her wings and let the wintry breeze flow through the open collar of her parka as her altitude decreased. 

Brielle had also fared rather well once they got to fixing it. The architecture was sturdy, and provided you knew what you were doing, fixing up a house and claiming it for yourself wasn’t too hard, much less after they got the gas running and figured out how to restart the pumping station for running water. Vadim and Micha had been quick to grab Andy from their quarters on Amandine and spend an afternoon moving some of their stuff into a little house with a garden near the windmill.

That wasn’t where Micha was flying at the moment. Andy was with Vadim, her mate currently helping Doctor Delacroix from Rhine Forest in setting up a small clinic on the south side of town. She, on the other claw, was aiming for the north side, where the canals left town through the moat.

Which was exactly where they had picked a jetty for the tugboat ferry that brought sailors and workers from Brielle to the Maasvlakte, and where the first bar had been opened. Not by anyone from the WSU, but by a pair of local ponies who quickly saw an opportunity in hundreds of sailors coming back from work right there on the daily. 

Dixi’s Café had thus come into existence, a small building that leaned over the street with its overhang, a multitude of signs and plates brightening up the facade and nearly hiding the diamond-patterned windows from which light streamed out in the fading lights of the evening.

Micha landed near the entrance, sidestepping quickly to let a pair of Abyssinians – was that Roberto?- stumble out, singing, before she made her way inside. The interior was rather cozy, the furniture’s wood a very dark shade of brown that clashed with the brick walls and ceilings. Patrons were there, an eclectic bunch of various species ranging from pony to minotaur, all drinking or eating snacks as Micha squeezed past, aiming for an alcove at the rear of the room where a particular hippogriff was nursing a drink.

Aleksei.

	The cleric was wearing her robes, the white cloth a match for her crest feathers that made her look like she was glowing in the dim light of the pub, ever graceful in appearance with her swan-like neck and the voluptuous curves her allegiance with a fertility goddess had bestowed her.

“Hey, long time no see.” Micha first greeted her friend before she hopped onto the couch opposite Aleksei in the alcove and sat down on her haunches, opening her parka fully. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner, I’ve been busy like crazy since we made landfall.”

“’s alright...” Aleksei shook her head before tucking some stray crest feathers behind her ear. “Hope you like the place I picked out on recon. Brielle was my idea, t’was that or Rozenburg. Here felt safer with... ya know… moat and all.”

Micha tilted her head to the side.

“Are you alright? You sound… a bit down?”

The hippogriff across from her stared into her glass before pushing it aside in distaste.

“’s nothing.” Aleksei shook her head. “Just been feeling off ever since I left the Black Forest. It’s the geas trying to get me back on track with my quest.”

“That happens a lot?”

“A lot more now that I’m on the right continent.” Aleksei groaned. “Feels like a gut punch at times even. Like I just gotta get back to Germany.”

“Because that worked out.”

“Hey, I didn’t expect to find Bayard immediately. I’ll find him. Eventually. He’s gotta be somewhere.”

“Judging by your tone of voice...”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. I got enough of it with Mikhail and Pavlos, don’t need to be reminded of Morv’ every other hour.” She sighed, a sad trill escaping her beak before she looked back at her friend across the table as the griffon gestured to order a smoothie. “You got… bigger.”

Micha grinned.

“Hard not to when you’re carrying twins inside.” She patted a claw over the growing bump on her belly. “Glad I got them a nest for when they come now. Instincts really get to you until it’s done, if you’ll believe me.”

“I do. Sorry I wasn’t there with the fertility magic, has it been… unwell? You’re doing fine?”

“Well there’s been a whole lot of Vadim holding me while I spilled my guts down the toilet at first, and it feels like walking with a balloon between my hind legs some days, plus it gives me the hornies at times...” She shrugged with her wings. “But I can’t say I feel unhappy. Not in the slightest.”

“Really? Aren’t you… perturbed at times? I mean… it’s not even been a year since we all transformed and you’re already...” She gestured at Micha.

The griffon just stared back with a small smile on her beak.

“You’re going to say it’s instincts aren’t you?”

“Eeyup.”

“Griffons I swear...” Aleksei rolled her eyes. “Not a year into it and you’re a happy mom of three without questioning it too hard.”

“Why bother? I’m happy with it. Don’t care if it’s because of instincts, they’re as much a part of me as my wings. Sure I had a wife before and she was pregnant but… there’s only a ten percent chance that she’d come back this millenium. I wish her the best, but it’s not the kind of thing you should dwell on, what was before. Look at the things you can make now instead.”

“Is that a lesson on me trying to be male again?” Aleksei deadpanned.

“Could be? Look at yourself girl, you want to be with Morv’, yet you got yourself stuck between a rock and hard place because you were so stubborn you took up a quest you can’t give up on.”

“Michaaa...” Aleksei hissed.

“Right, sorry. No lessons, you stubborn bird.” The griffon chuckled. “At least you got to see some country. How were the monsters in Germany?”

“Big.” Aleksei dug a talon in the table. “’Hey it’s fine, those look just like dogs.’ Sure Pavlos, mistake dire wolves for feral dogs, suuuure. You got any idea how big those fucking things were? The alpha was the size of a goddamn Toyota!” She bristled.

“But you got them?”

“Mikhail did. You really think a big bad wolf’s gonna be a problem for a dragon his size?”

“Where is he anyway? With Pavlos?”

“Of course he is. They can’t stay apart. Last I saw those two, they were converting the old powder magazine in the south bastion into a cave for Mikhail.” She said. “Could be that, or just flying south to Antwerp for all the diamonds he can get for a hoard. Gotta be plenty we didn’t take last time we were there.”

There was a pause in the discussion as Micha’s smoothie arrived and she took a long sip, drinking as though she was coming straight out of a desert.

“Cravings getting to you?” Aleksei quirked a feathery brow.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. But I’ve done my part. Us griffons need more red meat, avoid coffee and alcohol. I miss my morning coffees…” She deflated.

“I could prepare a few rituals for you to make your life easier. The cubs’ too when the time comes. I think my spellbook has a few pregnancy safe potions to help your mornings too.”

“That would be a great help!” Micha nodded enthusiastically before looking at the hippogriff more carefully. “Say… I’ve been talking a lot with Tanya when she’s watching her eggs. You helped her lay them? Could you...”

“Of course I’ll be the midwife when they come. That’s my role you know? Fertility cleric. Be a pretty bad outlook for me if I couldn't even do it for my best friend.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Micha reached over the table and pulled the slightly taller hippogriff in a hug. “You can’t believe how much of a relief that is! Come on...” She downed the rest of her smoothie and slapped a few casino tokens they were using as stand-in for money at the moment on the table. “… you gotta come over for dinner. Andy loves helping with the cooking, I think that’s because of all the time she’s spent helping in the galley while we were at sea.”

“Uh… great. But when are you due again?”

She did have to account for the time she’d spend on her quest after all…

… and maybe some extra to visit Morv’ in Brittany?

Yeah… maybe…





“So there you have it folks. That was Chief Engineer Jakobs from Rhine Forest with some really neat advice on how to cover your settlement’s electrical needs. Remember to pay attention to the kind of voltage the parts you salvage work on, and solar panels need a transformer. AC and DC are more than just a band, so make sure you find yourself inverters when you salvage them from wherever you find them.” Sandra held a hoof against her headset with an eye on her computer as the broadcast reached its end. “And for all of those that missed the good parts, remember you’re free to contact me on the usual channels. Sat phone and mail. I know it can be hard to acquire, but there’s only so many comms relays we’ve managed to set up so satellite is the way to go. Chief, anything to add?” The batpony raised her head from her screen and asked the female centaur across from her in the small studio she was using for recording.

The usual state of affairs as far as Rhine’s Chief Engineer was concerned. Middle-aged sailor turned female by the change, making him a centaur mare that seemed decently adjusted to her change. Her bay equine half was covered in a navy sheet designed to match with the top half of a dress uniform bearing the propeller symbol of Engineers, along with her ranks. The uniform jacket was a bit tight on the waist and loose on the shoulders, implying Jakobs hadn’t modified it since she reappeared as a centauress, but given female centaurs had teats, not breasts (a detail which made most who didn’t frequent centaurs mistake mares for stallions), it looked more like she hadn’t had it adjusted rather than she was wearing clothes designed for the wrong gender.

Aside from that, she held herself professionally. Her jet black hair tied up in a bun, freeing an almond-shaped face with the red skin of centaurs, a bright shade of tomato red in her case. 

The current studio was a major improvement over Sandra using her cabin on Amandine to record and broadcast. She had found herself a spot in the upper floors of Harbor Control which had most of the communications equipment the batpony needed to sate her needs, and the rest she had managed to drag there (or have dragged there by calling favors rather). Now it looked like a freelance radio studio, the walls covered from top to bottom in noise insulations, along with a few placards bearing various potential logos for ‘Radio WSU’.

She had yet to make her pick.

“I think we covered most of it. If there’s anything missing, maybe I should add I’d be happy to reply to questions myself if you pass on the contacts.” Jakobs replied. “I’ve got more than a few handy pdf’s for those who need them.”

“You folks heard the lady. Call us if you don’t want to fry your system on the first try.” Sandra leaned over her mic. “That was today’s podcast on electricity. Tomorrow will be a bit more refreshing with news of Miss Naomi and her lions down south in Africa. But before we get back to the music, I wanna make an announcement.”

She paused, letting the suspense build.

“As you’ve heard me say, us at the WSU, we now have a base of operations. Near Rotterdam, that’s no secret. Well… as should be obvious, life is a lot more valuable now that we don’t have billions of people to get stuff done. What I’m getting at is… for those of you listening that don’t feel cut out to either rough it out in the wilds on their own, or setting up colonies of their own… We need people. Any of you feels like making the journey to the Maasvlakte, I can guarantee you a job and a place to stay. We need sailors. We need welders. Engineers. Heck, I’ve even heard we might need web designers to create a platform we can charter transportation on. I don’t think there’s a single kind of workforce we don’t need over here, and there’s plenty of empty houses begging for inhabitants.” The batpony explained. “And if you think Rotterdam’s too far, I can give you a couple colonies where they absolutely need the help as well. We here at the WSU are all in on industrial revival, and that’s not the kind of thing we’ll ever be able to achieve on our own. We need you to step up, this world isn’t lost, and there’s so much we can make out of it still. Thank you for your attention, this was DJ WSU on WSU radio.” Sandra finally concluded before queuing up the night’s playlist of old podcasts and music.

Jakobs gave her a salute before the centaur stood up on all four legs and left the studio, leaving the thestral to tidy things up.

Whether anyone would answer the offer… that she would discover next morning in her inbox.

Now to fly over to Dixi’s before Aleksei started drowning her sorrows…





The jury-rigged set ceased its recording with a dull crackle as a hoof tapped on the large knob at the top to shut it down. It was an ugly creation cobbled together from parts found all over the place, but whoever made it clearly knew his way around communications equipment.

“Well? Your thoughts? Sounds good doesn’t it?” A short unicorn chirped. He had mottled fur, a mix of light and dark grey that clashed sharply with the bright purple mess of a mane.

“I dunno Frick…” Another pony, a larger Earth Pony with a more subdued black mane that didn’t clash quite as much with the blue tones of his fur replied. He was lounging comfortably under the wing of a red hawk griffon hen with snow white highlighted feathers that looked like spectacles around her eyes. “She said Rotterdam… that’s halfway around the globe with an entire ocean to cross.”

“He’s not wrong, you know.” The hen added to her companion’s point as she brushed her talons through his mane. “I know how much you spent to buy this boat… and it’s fine if you just go for some weekend fishing but…” She rapped her other talon against the aluminum grating that made up the deck.

It was just a pontoon boat with a pair of outboard engines and a tiny cabin. Regardless of how many modifications they had made to it…

“I know, I know…” Frick raised a hoof to placate her, the unicorn stepping away from the helm where he had the radio gear set up. “I can’t take Juliana across the ocean, please, I’m not that daft. But she can get us a long way, you know. Right Frack?”

“Uh wha-?” A mess of a golden mane poked his head out from the roof of the cabin. “I missed sum-thin’?” The red pegasus with grey fur looking much like socks around his hooves asked groggily.

“You didn’t listen did ya?” The hen, Frieda, deadpanned.

“We doing what?” The pegasus asked, gliding down to their level, somehow managing to shake off any nap-induced sleepiness in a fraction of a second as he started pacing around the deck of the little pontoon boat as it bobbed in the current, moored at a narrow pier in a flat landscape filled with abandoned fields and pastures.

“We’re going to the Netherlands lil’ bro!” The unicorn wrapped a hoof around the pegasus’ neck and made a grand gesture with the other one.

“Frick, we’ve not agreed on anything yet.” Frieda halted him in his tracks. “We don’t know anything about these folk. It could be a trap.”

“Well if it’s a trap… they’ve been at it for a while, I can tell you.” Frick grinned.

“How long have you been listening?” Fred calmly, but cautiously, asked.

“A week, give or take. It took me only a day after I got us a satellite radio from that truck stop to find the frequency they were using.”

“So you heard more than that.”

“Of course I have.” Frick rolled his eyes. “They put out podcasts giving survivors like us the tips and tricks. Even some nifty stories about what’s happening in the world. Did you know they had a war in Mexico? Demons against oil workers and sailo-”

“Getting off track there buddy.” Frieda interrupted.

“Right uh… sorry. What I mean is… if it’s a trap then it’s awfully elaborate. Never seen a con artist do that much of an effort in the past.”

“If it’s a trap then we’re at risk of losing more than just a rusty Silverado you know?” 

“It was a calculated risk!” Frick bristled.

“Frieda?” Fred nudged his griffon mate. “You know he doesn’t like talking about the Montana incident.”

“Fine…” The hen conceded. “Dropping it for now, but this ain’t settled yet. Frick? Any argument to add?”

“I might? Listen here… we don’t have to decide for now, but it’s pretty clear to me we won’t get anywhere just going up and down Nebraska. There’s nobody here, and here we have a chance to find a place to settle again. Start anew. And them’s the real deal on the radio.” Frick said. “And we don’t even have to decide now.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I’ve listened and come to the conclusion there’s two options for civilization in the country at the moment.” He said, the unicorn lighting up his horn to grab a map of the US. “Up North, there’s a Grizzly DJ or whatnot with his colony in Montana and we’re not going to freaking Montana, no ma’am.” He stared at Frieda.

“And the other one?”

“We take the scenic route downriver, follow the Missouri River until Mississippi, head down to New Orleans, loop back around to Georgia, and reach a trade post of those WSU folks you just heard over the radio, and even some Navy remnants.”

“That… is a loooong way.” Frack slipped from under his brother’s hoof and commented, resuming his pacing around the deck.

“In our case it’s a good thing then, no?” Frick asserted. “Once we reach Omaha, we find a satellite phone and let Fred call them sailor folks in the Netherlands.”

“Why me?”

“You’re neutral grounds bud.”

“Hear hear…” The Earth Pony drawled, eliciting a chuckle from the rest. “So? I have a chat with these guys, and we have from Omaha to Georgia to decide if we try and cross the Atlantic?”

“More like Kansas City to Georgia, I’ll need a short time to get the phone running. You guys down for it?” Frick enthusiastically asked.

The little boat they were calling home for the time remained silent for a minute except for the clopping of Frack’s pacing around the deck, and the lapping of wavelets against the hulls.

“I’ll bite.” Fred finally said. “But I’ll need a serious chat with these guys.”

“And I won’t go without my husband. We’ve not been together forty years for me to decide Georgia’s too long a trip to bear.” Frieda agreed as well.

Which left only Frack, the other three turning to look at the energetic pegasus. He reared up on his hind legs, taking the time to stretch the left one before looking at them with a wide grin.

“Is that even a question? The 4-F’s gang, out on the river on a cross country trip. You think I’d ever miss that?”